Emberwood red woe

she is wakening.
golden wings and a terrible mouth of fire.
she is coming
he grabbed, clutched for it; he dug in the leaf-litter; he 
it was gone
gone
gone.
the amulet.
the portion of his soul, going down a witch's throat; he drew a ragged circle with thin stick around himself and huddled in it, whispering the glen-tongue which came only at such times as these, a tormented man dipping toward madness once more.

With her travels amounting to little so far, Sulukinak was growing restless.

She found her way to the cliffside again - a different one, one which afforded a vision of the maplewood from afar. Maybe she hoped to see the hunters again.

Larch and aspen stood tall and pale, transitioning through shades of sunlight and fire. Sulukinak nosed through a pile, having detected curious scents, but gave it up soon enough.

Onward she would go; but if this proved a dead-end, she would seek her fortune south.

shadows, shadows.
they ate each other and birthed a longer shape of cold darkness.
lestan only heard the crying of his amulet, snapping head in the cardinal directions as he lamented and wailed in those old, old words.
a monster scraping in the dark mud of lore; the mayfair slowly collapsing in on himself.

sensing movement in the foliage, sulukinak lunged. the leaves crunched and fluttered around her, and she became like a spear thrusting in to the body of the forest; but when she finished, only debris fell away from her. there was the rank scent of vermin as well as something like food, and yet nothing to show for it.

flustered, she gives up.

at first she high-steps through the green, and stops when she comes across a bramble patch; some has been picked clean and as she goes to investigate, freezes. a bundle of brown fur lays in a heap not too far from the patch.

she can make out legs, a torso — a head tucked under, a body folded up like a spider after being swatted. the shadow creeps back a half-step and breathes deep, searching for illness, or life — and can only tell this is a man, and not one she knows.

"go away!"
he was frenzied; his mouth was smeared with dirt; his pelt was ragged;
his eyes rolled wildly;
his claws cut and cut in the earth; "away! away! the golden bird comes! the doe of fire comes, to cleanse, to wash, to wash; she's stolen it; stolen it!"

she stands tall and pulls back, away from the man as he spirals; wheeling limbs, wagging maw. words that sound like an ill-omen.

who was coming?

burning doe; she thinks of doe woman!

sulukinak takes one deep draught of the air, pulling away from the man's space quickly, watching him but not yet running. was he sick? was he possessed? maybe there was no difference.

she opens her mouth to question, but closes it, and slips back among the safety of the shadows. unnerved, disoriented by the encounter.

lestan did not see her retreat; he had gone back to his gibbering and his rasping voice.
he had gone back to ground; to fire; to ash; to nothing;
and there lestan remained for an endless time, waking to his dirt-stained self and a headache crushing his skull.
as long as the witch walked, he would not be free.