Blackwater Islands Nevermind an SMS.

there existed in sobeille an urge to take this man’s understandings and undo him. as she followed and he bent about their task, she took on the role of practiced pupil — a wide eyed exclamation of awe here, an inquisitive sniff of a flower there — he showed her yarrow and fieldspice, detailing the uses of each of them as they went. he collected sprigs of lavender and pointed out the bitter woundwort; the gaultheria and the winter ivy, the sleeping baneberry and Jack in the pulpits — all these she drank in with a neophyte’s thirsty draughts, inching ever close to the man who had no possible way of understanding his pupil planned to be his executioner —

if she could just get him close to the cliff! what dis be? she called out over the storming wind, motioning a patch of pale lichen growing at the cliff’s lip. as he made his way towards her the most unwelcome noises spilled into the air — followed by an equally unwelcome presence.

val! a blade of annoyance wedged its way between her ribs. she stepped back from the man as if caught with her hands in the cookie jar — scowling at her protector with deep resentment.

he could not possibly know, and yet his timing was so fortunidious that sobeille cursed him.

but her maman was not one to disobey. displeased but nevertheless I discouraged, sobeille bid haizel a reluctant goodbye and followed val back to sapphique.