Redhawk Caldera But only so an hour

Time fell to an incoherent blur as Anathema trailed after the honey-kissed figure of her savior. Her focus dwindled to a pinprick, the world slowing to a steady rhythm of stark, constant ticking all around her. It had started to settle in, the weight of what she'd done; the dread; the fear —

There is no terror quite like that of a child suddenly alone, suddenly bereft of that bone-deep sense of security which defines every parent in the eyes of their children; every mother. Even the first, even the one she could not remember but knew had existed in some wordless, vague way. It was written into the fabric of her life; the hateful way Malakai regarded her, the fear she sometimes saw in Dinah's eyes, the sadness when Heda looked at her and the surprise when Caracal heard her speak. He had not known that she could. He had not thought her quite like his real children, like him. And that man, the one who had taken her sibling... of course she knew, even if she had never heard it spoken aloud, directly.

Ana knew, too, that her first mother must have been a hateful thing, as she was a hateful thing, as Ava and Tzedeq (The Saint?) and Abel (The Hierophant?) were — and she, The Anathema.

The Anathema.

The Anathema.

Ana Tema Redhawk.

Could she even call herself that? Redhawk? Was that hers to claim?

Did it matter?

She could never escape herself. It was herself she'd meant to run from, not Heda. And now she was afraid, and she missed her, and she wanted to go —

The boy spoke, and the world stilled and then bloomed again to a vast and colorful place. She let out a slow breath, clicking thoughtfully. Ponyboy. And who was she?

Ana- Ana Tema Redhawk; she thought of Heda, leaving her behind on the islands. Dinah, walking away from her. Anathema. She clicked a few more times, anxious. Black waters in her veins; the kind of ugly thing even God could not find it in himself to love.

Anathema looked past Ponyboy, sitting close enough for their fur to touch. He'd brought her to a beautiful view, somewhere higher up than she'd ever been in her life, so high it was a little dizzying. It felt no more like home than the island had. She wondered for a moment where Saint had gone, and found herself imagining it as a dark place. Her chest ached. She looked away and back to the boy who'd found her, saved her, and offered a shy smile of her own. She was not used to smiling. It was an awkward expression, showing off crooked teeth and a bloodied mouth. It didn't last long.

Your home? Ana asked, daring another glance past him again.