Blackwater Islands sell the kids for food

the listener was not far. her mortal bones called for relief, for rest after the long journey home. she slept often. but she was not asleep when morgana called; she was charting the forest she had dubbed the druids' grove, learning its secrets. the keeper had been at her side, but their paths split sometime before morgana's howl reached the listener. she could not have said how long it had been. time seemed to blur in the misty woodland.

when she emerged to find the sun slumping lazily in a colorful sky and the island swathed in shadow, the listener knew that this place had truly been blessed. time had ceased to exist among the twisted mossy trees, passing all the while in the world outside.

her speaker came bearing a gift. a pale sickly thing, powerfully built and beautiful but wilted against morgana's side like a drooping flower. the listener drew close, whiskers grazing golden throat as she took in the scent of her. she snaked round the pair, wild black fur skimming the flank of the stranger and then morgana as she mapped their course by scent. the listener did not recognize the tree-sap scent of the forest, but noted it, and the musk of inland earth upon them both. the woman was alone, but the speaker's scent was heavy upon her.

bring her, the listener commanded, wasting no time in asserting control. whatever morgana's purpose had been in bringing her here, she belonged to the unnamed god now. the prophet turned with a purposeful sharpness to her stride, already formulating a plan in her mind. this interlude would only further delay what must be done, but perhaps this was meant to be part of it. she would lead them to a hollow within a massive fallen tree not far from the shore, a dry and untouched place she had cleared and taken as her own temporary den some days ago.