Barrier Gulch [m] Asp

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: miscarriage & blood

Part 1

The stars mirrored her trail of blood that night.
Her body convulsed in the barren sands that night.

A nearby bobcat dam suckled her quintuplets in shifts;
a goddess of fertility,
while the husband surveyed his brood;
his wealth of heartbeats.

It’s so strange, isn’t it? How the world keeps moving,
While yours is dissolving. 

Eset’s screams were drowned
By the constant pulse of wind.

There one moment, and gone the next.

Collapsing in night,
She holds the dirt,
because she cannot hold them.

as the world stepped into the long shadows of night, it was not so unusual to hear cries. night brought its own terrors on the world; hunters, predators, oblivion. all scrabbling while the things in their jaws fought their last breath. 

these screams were different; qiao paused from her slow scouting and followed them until the air was thick with blood. 

she came upon a small figure withering under the sorrowed cover of a bare tree. if this figure was alive, qiao could not yet tell — she listened for the pulse of blood beneath the waif’s throat, knowing by the roundness of her condition that she’d met motherhood’s most brutal cost.

Lilitu gone—he wandered. Arlette revealed news of newcomers—a pregnant she-wolf, a man with her. Arric tried to lure him to conversation—words tasted like ash on his tongue.

So yes, he wandered. The deserts—the memories here a cloying sickness in his chest. Silvertongue’s pain lived here—was this the place he had truly lost her, or had it been the day he sought her to end their time together as more than friends—an attempt to be a better man.

But he hadn’t been.

He lost track of time—and a thirst clung to him. He couldn’t bring himself to care—but when the scream rent the air unlike one he had heard before—his heart skipped. Lilitu, perhaps?

He quickened his steps. Desperate to see her—despite knowing that whatever scene he would come upon, that would have elicited such a noise into the heavens, was not something a father would truly wish to see. That didn’t matter though… Daddies were supposed to save their children… Not bury them. But even worse was her doing this alone.

But not Lilitu—a fallen waif—and another who hovered. He did not pause to consider the trail of blood, not when something familiar clenched at him. Even before he could fully see her collapsed form, he knew who she was—he had become all but drunk upon her during their short time together.

And so when pale moonshine eyes fell upon the other bearing over her—blood—despair—it was his own teeth that sought the unknown, Qiao, to usher the rogue away from his lover as he made to push himself between the two.

The Gods in their cruelty will not let her alone. Shadows lurch over her limp body, the shame of impotence open for public mockery. Eset wreathes tighter around herself, cheeks streaming with fresh tears. Delirium burns her mind. If she had recognized his scent, grief would not allow her to place it. Blood is in her nose and an empty space in her arms. It hurts so much, and no one can make it right.

Mustering what little is left of her strength, the coy sucks a lungful of metallic air and liberates it in one raw cry.

“Leave me.”

don't mind me just making this worse

zaahira, too, wandered.
a solo march, past the luneshale, past muat-riya, mind ablaze with thoughts; senmut became father, pharaoh became mother. zaahira was not worthy of either title, and never would be.
perhaps that was why she held a fondness for eset that refused to die — two vastly different hearts, yet they both thrummed with blood that was equally worthless to the dynasty.
perhaps that was what drew her out here. perhaps that was why the spatters of scarlet frightened her enough to scream, to lunge for the foreign bodies which began to crowd eset like vultures.
for in that moment, she was not jodai, but a wild-hearted beast. the very same girl who had crawled to the doorstep of akashingo.

it is bad.

blood darkening the thirsting sand.

the scent of organ-matter tilled over fresh earth.

qiao can tell this one's waning hours may be marked. were it not for the scent around her ruff that announced her affiliation to akashingo, the crone might have left her on that hill for her final vigil.

she curses the workings of the overworld; it would not do well to return to akashingo and convey the bad news she'd done nothing to help.

just as qiao resigned herself to expending her skills on the half-gone woman, a long shadow pressed between them. she can only step back as a man -- of course, always a man to ruin things -- comes at her full force.

leave me! begged the woman at her feet. there was an almost knife-like twist of pity. a man had put her in this situation, and now a man threatened to make it worse! ah, was this that man?

qiao's green eyes rove between the pugilist and another newcomer, this one announcing herself with a scream before she streaked like a red bullet towards them both.

how much allegiance did qiao owe to akashingo? she'd already bled for them once.

qiao danced out reach of both teeth, eyes flitting between the felled form and her guard. she would try one last time -- but one time only -- before she turned back to her march to the great red halls.

easy! the priestess snapped, fur rippling along her spine. i am the hemet of ramesses' reign. i ask you both -- do you want her to die?

since theres several people in here, this will be a cameo! eset and zaahira can direct khu

blood, the scent of it thick and mixed with eset's fleeing trail. khusobek set @Meseba at the gate and charged @Inji with guarding the halls before he grimly set off alone.

her blood was dark. the sight of it was a spear in his gut. he did not allow himself to think that the hebsut would not return.

instead the mazoi tracked eset's anguished steps across the dunes, to the cloying reek of its gathered clotting.

her shout had him charging. 

shadows, drifting; too close. half-maddened by the fragrance of blood, khusobek snapped into the firm lines of a warrior, wielding teeth and hard shoves until he stood near eset, almost over her. zaahira was here, and to the war captain he deferred, turning his attention to eset. only the mention of ramesses' name stilled his ire, but he would leave that decision to the jodai.

there was no question of this man staying. khusobek promised pain with a harsh expression.

"hebsut. can you stand?" eyes bored into the unknown others, shoulder ready to draw her up. 

don't mind my.phone post... hopefully no weird autocorrects.

His fangs stole down upon air in the most unsatisfying lunge--the red woman having skillfully avoided him. Before he could chase after her with another snap--Eset spoke, and his eyes swung quickly to her, wishing nothing more than to curl about her, to hold her.

She was not his to hold but for one stolen night... did it not count for anything?

A scream then--his jaws worked and another wolf launched to them. He moved, his own form looking to act as a barricade from the newest chaotic arrival. The other spewed a title. A name. None of it meant anything to him.

But Eset did. And if she claimed she was a healer-- Save her, he croaked in demand--save her, save her.

Please, let her be saved.

There is an unknown man, then and he is all but shoved to the side, a snarl and a grimace on his face as he now is forced to watch from the outside, helpless.

Unneeded.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: language

Dizzying, it was all dizzying. One scent, two scents, and then there were more; four. A small voice transmutes into smoke, “I’m not dying.”

Wasn’t she?

The coy opens her eyes. One of her own kind is here, a strange accent upon their tongue.

Another of the bodies moves to stand over her. She lashes her muzzle, cutting teeth on a wrist before recognizing Khusobek.

Zaahira manifests from the shadows, keeping the promise always to hunt her like a cat does a mouse.

Eset shudders from them all. Fear, humiliation, shame, and then one gentle voice of scarce recognition.

“Akavir..?” she murmurs, too exhausted to project.

I killed them. I killed the being we made. They were perfect and beautiful and I killed them.

And he would never look at her the same way again.

“I’m not dying,” she whispers, “so you can all go fuck off with your lives now.”

chaos, descending. a growl ripples in zaahira's throat as she prepares to lunge again, but reality smacks her squarely across the face.
akashingo's gilded tongue is spoken from the mouth of the serpent, and it earns a frustrated glare from the jodai. i do not give a fuck who you are. give her space, she demands, gaze cutting sharply over to the strange, dark man who somehow knew who eset was. he nearly cowers as khusobek makes his approach.
as she takes the time to assess the grizzly scene before her, to truly take it in, she realizes something — the gore splattered upon the sand had once been a child. eset's child. and if she had to guess, this man was the father.
but law was law.
the warchief jerks her head in a swift motion that the mazoi surely understood. detain him.

He caught the scent of blood on the wind. Following the trail through the nighttime desert, until he found evidence. Droplets of crimson spotted the sand. Turning to look up at the sky, which mirrored the grisly scene he soon came upon. What a horrible day to arrive in this new place...how ominous.

The shadowed man didn't take long to come to a conclusion of what had happened, keeping a short distance away as figures crowded the crumpled form. Carefully scouting the perimeter, picking one of the scarce plants in the area; desert thorn-apple. A datura.

Jasper approached, putting the white-flowered nightshade at his feet. For the unfortunate woman, he only sought to relieve her of the pain and the grief that would linger. He was almost certain he'd be ushered away, and yet he was willing to try.

But for the rest of this distraught bunch...a part of him yearned to make it worse, make it worse, make it worse...

"Give her some goddamn air!" An attempt to shoo away the nearest onlookers. Turning his conniving gaze upon the coywolf, he spoke in a softer tone. "This is for the bleedin', ma'am." Motioning towards the flower.

He was not a healer, he was an undertaker.

if things were chaotic by qiao's estimation, they got a whole lot uglier.

new faces; a man who was all teeth, shoving others aside.

qiao stood out of close range, waiting for the dust to settle.

is this what the dead felt like, while rabbling squawks of carrion-birds bickered for the choicest bit of organ?

something shifted in the first man -- he was almost begging. but it was the rudeness of the jodai that caused qiao's eyes to widen in scarcely disguised fury. it was the rest of them that demanded the fallen woman's space and crowded them! did they not see they interfered with progress?

and the woman! delusional with blood and child-loss. i am not dying, so you all can go fuck off with your lives now. qiao's lips twisted, bemused by the small flame of life within eset.

another arrived, bearing a gift so sweet, even death would smile fondly. qiao apprised him for a long moment, measuring the knowledge in his gaze and the strange torc around his throat. he brought death in that floral offering — and she wished for him to see she knew this communicated by the cold glitter in her eyes.  

in the end, between the jodai's egregious insult and her absolute irritation with the men that only served to muck up a shit situation further, qiao briefly entertained the sable man's offer. it would serve all but the dying woman right.

would they know?

i believe unless a single one of you is a healer, that it is you all that must give me space. qiao inferred calmly, though a gleam of some ugly emotion simmered behind her tone.

she took the flower, but did not employ it. she could do many terrible things with that flower, but not today.  now, would one of you kindly take this to the nearest spring -- she bent her head so the peltskin slipped from her skull. unfurling its contents, qiao nosed the dessicated moss ball towards the group. and bring it back here, sopping? which of them would volunteer, if any?

moreover, why were they now detaining one of the men? qiao looked to each of them in utter disbelief, about to take jasper up on his offer if it meant they'd learn a lesson about their own sheer stupidity.

‘I’m not dying.’ He blinked—gaze holding an inkling of relief as it sweeps over Eset, who is no longer curled within herself, crying to be left alone. Yet there is so much blood…

He blinks again—Silvertongue before him, he could still hear her scream—could still feel her teeth scouring the scar upon his brow and eye: 'vete a la mierda lejos de mí! vete a la mierda lejos de mí!'

It repeats in his head, recycled, over and over—as it had haunted him, when he had given up and walked away from her in this very desert. Like the present, strangers had descended upon him—threatening, as they did now. Then and now.

‘Go to your fucking home. You have done enough.’
‘If you wish them gone, say the word.’
‘Akavir, don’t fuckin’ touch her.’

He blinks again—his eyes tracing Eset now, the present—‘You can all go fuck on with your lives now.’

Another arrives—plunking a flower before her and encouraging her to nourish herself upon it.

There is a buzzing in the background—words spoken. ‘Detain him.’
His gaze sharply lifts—the man of russet and iron is moving to him, following the woman’s orders. He bares his fangs at Khusobek, his snarl silent—but he does not deflect and allows the man to hold him, while his eyes continue to study Eset for a moment. The blood... had she been...

Before, he had let them drive him from his lover.

Not again. Instead, his eyes direct to Zaahira, Qiao’s demand clear upon the desert air. “Get the fucking water,” he seethes at her, since she is the only one simply standing there by her own will.

She is not dying- but there was a death! And now this- this blood is all she has left of them!

Ignored, spoken over, she is as piddling as a grounded autumn leaf. With a summoned strength she lifts her head, snarling to the shamanic woman who would take them away from her!

“I am a healer,” she exerts with a rasp, pressing onto nerveless limbs to rise doggedly beneath the nocturnal gleam of ten watchful eyes. Deep crimson tears trickle from between her legs, and there is no volition left to secrete what should have been her intimacy to keep.

“Release him, Khusobek. That is an order.” She will not pass her seething gaze from Zaahira, finality in her voice aiming the effect of a slap in the face. “You have no cause to detain him.”

As for the sage-eyed coy, an ancient, rushing instinct told her to trust the medicine woman. So it was with a particular pain that her shaking limb swept for the pale flower as it sat so neatly prepared near the woman's side.

“This is poison,” she crushes the nightshade with her forepaw, smearing it stem, petals and pistil against the grit of the still-warm sands. “I expect a hemet of old Akashingo knows this,” amber eyes flick to the nameless man, “He certainly does.” Two suitable prospects for the Jodai and Mazoi to gratify residual bloodlust over.

And then there were none left to face but the one who she wanted to least of all. Eyes, freed now of their careful custody, she turns to him.

If there was a fair outcome for Akavir, she knew it was this one. For one week she’d had him; a sting of endless potentials and daydreams. But the kindling that had once drawn him to her was gone. They did not know one another, not truly, not in the ways that mattered. But she knew his heart was good, that he was deserving. Now he was untethered, plucked of the final feather on a wing that might have flown her same path. Freed of Pharaohs and kingdoms and the curse of blood.

His leonine stare drew her, and in her ambered eyes Eset hoped to convey it all.

“It’s alright, Akavir. I will nurse my own wounds. It is not the smartest way to live, it is not the best. But- it's the way I am.”

on one hand, there was the fucking man barking orders at her — on the other, there was eset, staring at her with a cool contempt that spoke a thousand words.
had she ever been so cruelly and utterly rejected? here was eset, bleeding upon the sand, and — all zaahira had wanted was to help her. to be there.
to love her.
shame shatters her stone-clad countenance with its white hot claws. khusobek answers to me. i am jodai and he is mazoi, she retorts, emotion prickling at her tongue. and i think we all have every right to learn more about the mystery man that impregnated the fucking hebsut.
shifting, she peels coldly from eset to face the crowd of strangers which she now noticed had grown to three. actually, khusobek, she gestures a forelimb disgustedly toward the poison-carrier. i believe we will be needing two sets of teeth.
her gaze wanders over to the coywoman, the one who tries to — help. the one who knew ramesses. you will go with eset to muat-riya. i am trusting you. do not make me regret it.
and you, the wildfire eyes surge with contempt as they finally rest upon akavir. will shut the hell up and come with me. that is final.

He shared a grateful look with the aging coywolf, unsure if she was unaware of the poison lurking within the bloom, or was simply playing along with his plot. But then, the flower was discarded, rendered useless by the intend patient victim. The onyx man scowled. "Gah, you're delirious, woman." 

Turning his rocky gaze open the other accusers, Jasper weighed his options. To lunge at the fallen 'yote, to finish the job with teeth, was tempting. Furthermore, it was dangerously foolish, settling for a diplomatic approach. "She's lyin'. She's lyyyiing..."

once more just to set his scene!

this was wrong. eset's denouncement did not hurt the crocodile, but the manner in which zaahira snapped upon the hebsut almost broke his mien.

he had begun to slacken his grip upon the dark man at eset's order, and now khusobek did let go entire of the one called akavir with a rough shove for his disrespect. "shut up. bring the water. not another word." if he cared for eset, and she for him, he would do this immediately, and he would come back. 

there was a deeper threat here in the wheedling creature who had brought the flower. 

who had tried to poison eset in her most vulnerable hour. he circled, leaving akavir to zaahira while he slashed violently for the stranger, hoping to pin him to the sands. 

khusobek greatly needed a scapegoat for the turmoil of his terrible fear and hot rage. any resistance from the would-be poisoner was a reason to beat blood into bruises beneath his flesh. 

"jodai. if it pleases you, give me leave to bring our hebsut and this woman to muat-riya, " he rumbled, saying nothing of the stricken akavir. "this poisoning, i am certain rashepses will wish to hear of it." he pitched his voice low for her sharp ear. eset had seen all pretense and privacy ripped from her. the choice to lie with a man outside the palace was hers, and he trusted her choosing of the creek wolf. khusobek had grown uncomfortable in the face of the blood and of her interlude with the hurting, desperate man.

let the jodai take the poisoner and have him flayed in the red halls. it would satisfy he and zaahira. but he was poised to drag the poisoner wherever he was commanded, and did not suggest that akavir be released. perhaps there was more that he did not see. 

he occupied himself with any struggle put up by the one who had brought the flower.

there it was. qiao stepped back as the wounded rallied. she’d seen it before — cheerless eyes suddenly enlivened with newly discovered energy — only to never open again the next day. 

her gaze flits to jasper knowingly. it had been her intention to keep this flower for her own purpose, but now it withered beneath the bleeding woman’s paws. her discretion in knowing jasper’s intention now cost her the impression of her competency. yes, which is why i ignored his offer. she imparted, mourning the lost potential of the crushed specimen. 

much more happened; qiao struggled to understand the dynamics at play, particularly surrounding the man who was accosted and then released. it wasn’t until the jodai’s words sliced between them that illuminated things just a little clearer. 

as a healer, you must also know you will be my worst patient yet. qiao frowned, eyes traveling to the commanding jodai. is that far? she is in no condition to travel.

now the mercenaries advanced on the flower-bearer. until this moment qiao had not been sure of his connection — now it could not be more clear. 

qiao regretted ever coming. she waited for the crew to get their shit together, her gaze on the woman below.

While there is still commotion—confusion—chaos—Eset raises, and his eyes are rapt upon her. Blood, pooled from where she lay and rivulets continued down the slope of a gentle limb. He ached to hold her—and yet politics surrounded her and still he saw her in perfect clarity in this moment. This was why she had stolen away from the creek—the facade she put before them now had been pressed aside during their stolen moments together—but now, she was in the court of opinion and control—a pawn in Akashingo’s game.

His lover ordered him to be released—the sharp-eyed woman seethed—demanding to know more of him not for any other reason more than control once more—as if Eset was not her own being. And, perhaps in this woman’s eyes, she wasn’t.

Eset attempted to soothe him—as if the words she spoke were a comfort to him. His jaw tensed—the blood still heavy in the air. This was a moment for her—this was a moment for them.

Not for the peanut gallery that swarmed.

He casts a stony look to the woman barking orders—standing now, and moving to the direction of the mossball. “No, I won’t be. Ask me whatever questions you want—or your Pharoah, Toula may, if she deems it necessary. Send Senmut, if you wish. But I will be going with Eset. Whether that is to her home—whether she stays here to rest and heal. Or whether she decides to return with me to the valley.”

Eset speaks to him, his focus shifting to her—softening. “I would like us to talk,” he murmurs to her, but first, he sweeps up the mossball, intent now to put aside the drama Toula’s court placed upon them and to look after the one who should have been nurtured from the very beginning of it all.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: suggestions of self-harm

Unfeeling, cold, disregarding her ruinous state, and that of Akavir, new instructions issue from Zaahira’s mouth.

“To what end?” Eset cries of the Jodai, “Is this not enough punishment for your liking? Need you humiliate me more!” Her voice shatters with tears; a second rill to parallel the blood of her would-be child. Beneath the strain of shouting she collapses, and with her chin in the sand she hears how they all go on discussing what her fate shall be, as if she weren’t there. As if she were again no more than a serf. No warmth, no feeling, only the clinical exchange of commands.

Keep to my rules, and you won’t feel the bite of my whip.

She wanted to wither there with them. Her gaze sweeps down from the height of the wolves, considering for a moment what damage the destroyed flower could inflict if it were ingested.

Her eyes find the nightfall of Akavir then. He looks at her as if sensing all that she felt. He was her secret, a beautiful mystery, and now, after all of this, she lay here pondering how she could ever speak with him again. Her mind flickers to needles, a consequence of blood loss, and for once, she is grateful for it.

not everyone is out to get you, eset! zaahira snaps back, whipping 'round to allow their gazes to meld together once again. i wanted to help you! all i have ever wanted to do is help you and care for you because i like you for who you are. i am not your enemy. i am not like them, i am not a-- a p-predator! i am not a man! and yet you turn me away because you, you-- you look at me the same way you look at them, and it hurts me. and i am; a breath, held tight in her chest; i am sorry for every way in which i have ever-- wronged or hurt you or disrespected you. but you could have talked to me about it, how you felt, instead o-of casting me aside like i am some animal! like i will never understand you, as if we both had not come here under the same circumstances for the same fucking reasons.
humiliation burns her features, tears collecting at the base of her jaw as she hiccups and turns yet again; this time to akavir. and you!
she reaches up with clenched knuckles and aims a strike right for his face.
you think you have some kind of fucking moronic barbarian claim on her, you worthless pig? you have no rights here. she does not need a man to save her, she does not need your protection, and she is not going anywhere with you! and if you don't shut your fucking mouth you will be lucky to leave akashingo with a head on your shoulders and a dick between your legs!
sekhmet, smouldering within her.
now, i am going to say this one. last. time. you are coming with me. walk.

Bitterly, he turned to the aging healer. "I trust you have proper remedies for this poor sap..." Internally begging her to end the frail canine, teach these high-falutin' bastards a lesson. The situation, however, deteriorated quickly. Jasper had wanted a death, he'd expected one! He'd wished to fulfill his morbid fascination yet again...and they, they were denying him that. 

He ignored the emotional theatrics of the women. The ruddy guard leapt at him, and he twisted in his grip with a snarl. Panic flooded him. Teeth found the tracking collar around his throat, and the cowboy was grateful for it. It came loose through the struggle, discarded in the dirt. 

Hah! Liberation, at it's finest. Taking the moment of escape, he snapped for the withering, fox-like form on the dunes. The undertaker longed for carnage.

qiao is now the disinterred flower; see here the petal turn, the edges rimed with sand.

she stepped back as hell broke loose. the jodai's words a blade wedged to the secret lover's back. 

only the woman at the floor earned her sympathy: the rest earned a strange brand of contempt.

the man with the flower -- he was interesting -- loose cannon, maybe, but worth seeking out later. he was seized and wrestled free, aiming an unnecessary bite at the woman whose body could not take much more grievance.

for now, qiao does as old women do, who have seen much of the world and become less and less impressed with its occupants. impatient, the crone sets upon the sand and counts the seconds, wondering when eset would bleed out and their bickering would be for naught.

the moss ball collects dust.

the seconds pass.

and she can see in the woman's gaze a gradual fading of light.

PP permission given from Tazi for him to slip a barely conscious Eset on his back.

He wants to comfort her--but for now, he waits. The one they called jodai is on a tangent, and even in the swirl of chaos the corruption is clear--Eset, literally bleeding out on the ground before this woman, who is harping only about how much she has tried to do right by her.

How much she loves her.

He goes to move, the mossball thick and dry on his tongue, when she barks at him: 'And you!'

He swings his muzzle to her direction, just as an impressive fist catches him squarely in his jaw. The mossball flies from his jaws and his teeth click harshly together from the punch. Blood drips and his tongue snakes out, tasting it from the bust of his swelling lip as it trickles down his chin and falls, now, dotting the sands next to the blood of Esets would-be children. His would-be children.

His eyes are aflame as he studies her.

She begins another tirade of bullshit.

He lifts a paw, pointing at her with a snarl: That was-- but movement catches his peripheral--the dark flower giver moves from the grasp of the other man, aiming to strike at Eset.

His own snarl shakes the very commotion around them, his own form lunging as he steps between the rogue and the hebsut, aiming to hopefully toss the man back into the clutches of the jodai's wild dog.

The nonsense of it all renders him speechless--the healer had said she could not travel but it was clear she could not stay here--not amongst a pack of scavengers, all but waiting to pick her bones.

He's swift in his work now--if the jodai is shrieking at him, he ignores it--and bending down, he gently lifts and guides Eset to his back, and with one glance to Qiao, he begins to lope toward the den of vipers. Muat-riya is not far, he tells her--and while he knows the moment Eset is safely delivered to the palace walls he will be swept away by guards, it is past the point of consideration.

Minutes passed agonizingly slow as she wept in blood. Hard, relentless, Zaahira drove fury into her ears, and then crowning words into Akavir, ripping at his face needlessly, callously!

“Stop!” she shrieks, her soul crying out, a scream jailed inside burning lungs. This was not sympathy, it was not love or kindness. This was unforgivable. Zaahira did care- about herself. About defiling a sinless wolf for being a man.

And Eset, the crime of being a woman.

“Run, Akavir,” she retches, “please. Run.” But her voice will not be heard over the snarls. Then it was the shadow stranger who seized an opportunity to charge, and Eset is at once too weakened to do anything other than lob  a fierce glare while Akavir heads him off. The medicine coy looks on wordlessly. Eset understood she would die here, but she would suffer a thousand times over what whip weals she bared to have back what was stolen this day.

Screams faded to droning, light to dark, and the last she remembered her heart was pulsing madly as Akavir lifted her upon his back.