Ankyra Sound They started praying, they were saying, "well we hope you'll be forgiven."

Erzulie didn't fear them, maybe, but Rosalyn did.  They had numbers and ire behind them, and while perhaps they would leave Rusalka alone, she would never leave this territory north and not be on guard for their presence again.  Likely even to the west she would be on edge, because given a single chance, she had little doubt that woman who led them would tear her throat out on sight.

Finally she turned, her good eye tracing Erzulie's face as she spoke, deadened one kept away.  She too felt her anger rise at the pain in Erzulie's tone as she relayed the state she'd been kept in.  More damage that they would likely never atone for.  Somehow, Rosalyn had no desire to attempt to make them, even with the hatred she felt.  It would only bring worse in the end, wouldn't it?

She shook her head when Erzulie spoke of home, then of her leaving.  She'd planned on it, and hadn't thought she would waver on that course.  But not if her lover wasn't following.  A month, or two, perhaps she could stomach, if Erzulie had felt she needed to help them to recover here.  Not this.  This will never be my home.  She reached over, pressing her muzzle to Erzulie's cheek.  You are my home.  Where you go, I go.  Always.  Then she quieted, her uninjured ear pressing back.  At least, as long as you will have me.  She never assumed anything was endless, and life had taught her plenty of times this wasn't the case.  But she was all in for as long as this lasted, heart and soul.