Redtail Rise red

everything is muffled, as if underwater. words are exchanged, but she cannot parse them; a flurry of activity nearby, but she understands it not.

all she sees is the stricken look on her children's faces, and a bolt of real fear cuts through the pain.

she must not leave them. not again. not for good.

too much terror rests in that knowledge, and she shifts her focus instead to Ashlar, who is trying desperately to mend her tattered throat. the mixed aromas of earthy mud and iron-tang blood are heady in the air, and dark crimson dots his legs and chest in patches.

Ashlar. her most loyal friend. she cannot smile—the effort is too great—but she lets her eyes soften and warm as they lock with his.

he's saved her once, twice, many times over. to fall short today will not be his failing but merely an inevitability, a fitting end to her story.

Avicus had been extraordinary lucky in life—a woman with a cat's nine lives. especially for one who has existed in such turmoil and bloodshed: much of it chosen, self-inflicted.

Icarus, always flying so close to the sun. never burned up completely, just singed.

she was always going to die how she lived.

there's peace in the dying, though, nestled against her daughter's embrace. the feeling in her extremities fades, and soon after, she feels nothing at all. sense by sense shuts down until only hearing is left, and then, not even that.

the darkness is welcoming, almost cozy, and she realizes the last time she'd felt so comforted was at her mother's breast as a small child. certainly it had been just as warm and black as this.

whatever realm lies ahead—perhaps Astara waits for her there.

Avicus lets slip a contented sigh at that thought; a last, shuddering exhale. her body twitches once, then stills, and remains that way. the light slowly fades from the deep blue gaze.

the red woman is gone.

goodbye, my savage girl