Hideaway Strath in death's shadow

Long had the days gone when night begun to swiftly crawl across the sprawling landscape where she now found herself. Hunger clawed from the pits of her stomach as she begun to navigate the unfamiliar territory in lands far beyond her place of birth. La catrina they called her, terrified with what horrors she had committed that ostracized her from all she knew as now all they saw was the cape of death she bore and a face that bore a curse by those they called their gods. The eerie silence that now consumed her was deafened by her beating heart, perhaps death would greet her once more and offer passage to the land of the dead. Mictec snorted at the thought, how could one begin to embrace spirituality when it condemned to her to a life in the dark.
 
She sighed heavily, not really offering much care for where her body moved her like a small drop of dew lazily sliding down a blade of grass. Her last encounter did not fare well in her weakened state against none other than a pig. Mictec gritted her teeth in disgust, a fucking pig almost got me she thought to herself, her tongue still lingering on the sharp, metallic taste of blood over her now scabbing wound on by her right shoulder, causing her to walk with a limp.
 
It was not long until she stumbled into what seemed like a diamond in the rough, where she could feel the moist earth beneath her give way to the river. Gracias Tláloc did Mictec pray as she rushed as fast as her tired body could to hydrate and wash away the taste of failure. The sun over the horizon painted the sky the same orange she saw the day of her birth, the vibrant flower of the cempazuchitl that match her own irises. Soon the shadows would surround her, and to what hid in them may be salvation. Perhaps she would lay her head to rest for the final time until the heard the snap of the twig.

The sound of the twig’s snap was deliberate, a calculated intrusion into the silence. Qvasir’s pale gaze caught the faint movement of the figure at the riverbank, her hurried motions betraying both her desperation and exhaustion. He lingered in the shadows of the foliage, his tall frame a ghostly silhouette against the encroaching night.

You carry yourself you've got nowhere left to go, he observed, his voice calm and low, its stoicism laced with a subtle edge. He stepped forward, his dark coat catching the fading light, his posture non-threatening yet unyielding. The scent of blood reached him as he drew closer, its metallic tang telling him what her gait already had.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her with a measured gaze. The limp, the dried blood on her shoulder, the weariness that clung to her—each detail spoke volumes.

You look worse than most I’ve found out here, he continued, his tone impassive but not unkind. A fight? He gestured toward her wound with a slight nod. Or something else?

Qvasir waited, his presence calm but deliberate, offering neither salvation nor condemnation, only the chance to explain—or remain silent.

Mictec froze at the sound of the voice, muscles rigid and tense already from the snapping twig. Run her instincts told her, something she rarely did in the past but had started to become an unfortunate habit as of late. Submit her instincts screamed at her, but her pride refused to let her tail curled between her legs. Wait said another, the ethereal voice of the only elder she ever respected.

Mictec, though her heart pounded with what little renewed adrenaline her body could produced, kept her expression vacant. Her marigold eyes took in his frame, he was clearly larger than her and could easily overpower her in her current condition. Mierda she murmured, letting herself feel intimidated by another was not a sensation she throughly enjoyed.

Her hind legs relaxed her into a seated position, her chest slightly puffed out to not let her limp betray her fighting spirit, never once taking her eye off of him.

"You know, a compliment would have been more appreciated then pointing out the obvious." A small sense of relief washed over her, that even in her incapacitated state, her tongue ceased to betray her.

"Pero si, I am clearly not from here or else I wouldn't be swearing about puerco, er, pigs I mean. The pigs from my birthplace are nothing like the pigs here."

Qvasir’s ears tilted forward at the sound of her voice, and though her words carried tension, there was a familiarity in their cadence that tugged at something deep within him. The flicker of Spanish, the sharpness of her tongue—it was like hearing an old melody played in a foreign land. He allowed his sharp gaze to soften, only slightly, as he tilted his head to regard her.

Puerco , he echoed, his voice low but steady, as if testing the word on his tongue. A faint smirk played at the edges of his mouth, a rare moment of warmth breaking through his stoic exterior. Sí, I know of the kind. Troublesome creatures.

He let a pause stretch between them, his posture still firm but less guarded now. We speak in tongues, he continued, his tone thoughtful. It’s familiar to me. It speaks of heat, of lands far from here. His pale eyes flicked over her, noting the way she carried herself even in her condition—a proud spirit, unwilling to break.

And yet, here you are, among the cold and unfamiliar, he added, his tone edged with curiosity. What brings you to this place, chica?

"I guess I could ask the same of you." Mictec was quick to deflect, not knowing if this stranger would have any interest in a story, nay tragedy, others have said she brought upon herself. It didn't however stop from lids of her eyes to flutter and slight purse of her lips. Shame was the only true combatant to pride, and shame came in the form of a plastic yellow tag pierced to her ear.

"Truth is, I was exiled by my own madre." Anger boiled under her skin, a feeling like many small fire ants were crawling and biting her all over. Disgust made her almost spit out the word, as if it tasted of bile.

"What followed after, well you may have to sweet talk me for that." Before she knew it, a low grumble from her stomach made her role her eyes, the only time she took her eyes off of him. If it wasn't for the white patch on her face, then it would have been easier to hide how truly exhausted she was. But unable to blend with her obsidian pelt, the white patch still remained her curse.

Qvasir tilted his head slightly, his pale gaze flickering with faint amusement at her deflection. Exiled? he said softly, his tone carrying neither pity nor judgment—just a thread of genuine interest. His eyes lingered on the yellow tag in her ear, a strange marker of a life he could only begin to guess at.

Madre,... sounds like quite the story. The faintest trace of a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, a spark of curiosity igniting in his expression. Sweet talk, hmm? I think I could manage that, though I might need more than just words to coax such a tale out of you.

He let the silence hang for a moment, watching as her gaze shifted briefly away, her exhaustion betraying her despite her defiant posture. But first, he added, his tone shifting to something more practical, you look like you need something a bit more tangible than words. Food, perhaps? You won't be getting very far on an empty stomach. He stepped forward slightly, his movements slow and measured, offering no threat but a subtle invitation.

Her bodily functions betraying her, Mictec gave a soft nod. She would have hated to admit when another was right but in this instance, she was already walking the fine line between life and death. She rose up from her seated position, sheer willpower being the only source of energy. Pressure and pain were quick to settle in and the limp becoming more pronounced. But she was one to refuse to show weaknesses and instead spoke through gritted teeth, "Lead the way chamaco." Their playful banter reminded her of more simple times of youth before they begun to fear her.

Since she was in no state to defend herself, she had to trust that this stranger had better intentions then others who have crossed her path. But that did not stop her from walking by his side, wincing softly with her limp.

Mictec had to admit, he was even taller now that the distance between them was smaller. She could feel the heat radiating off of him that offered a sense of comfort, meaning he had adjusted quite well though carrying a tongue of lands familiar. Curiosity peaked her, how did he end up so far away as well? She tried to keep her expressions neutral but could not deny that like her, he harbored something dark.

"I keep calling you stranger in my head but I assume that is not your name. So what do they call you?"

Qvasir walked alongside the shadow-clad woman, his pale eyes occasionally flicking toward her as she kept pace despite her limp. There was a silent resilience in her movement, an unwillingness to yield to pain. It didn’t escape his notice, nor did the haunting air she carried—the skull-like marking and piercing marigold eyes casting her in a stark, almost otherworldly light.

Her question broke the silence, pulling his gaze back to her as she addressed him with a mixture of intrigue and guardedness. He allowed himself a small, faintly amused smile, the expression a fleeting thing that barely touched his face.

Qvasir, he replied evenly, his voice calm but with a certain weight to it, as though the name itself carried its own burden. It’s what they called me where I’m from, though I’ve heard many prefer stranger. His tone hinted at dry humor, but his pale eyes remained steady on hers.

He let the quiet settle between them for a moment before tilting his head slightly, studying her. And you? he asked, though there was no urgency in his tone, only a faint curiosity. What name does the shadow answer to?

"Qvasir." 

She let the name sink into her, saying it slowly as if it was dipped in honey a strange name for a strange man. Mictec took her gaze off of him, curious how such a name so unique did not stem from her language. Suave she said to herself, a smooth talker, a jack of all trades perhaps or something far more sinister. But who was she to judge, she was the one now trespassing into uncharted waters.

"The shadow, that's a new one. Doesn't seem so scary." Mictec offered him a half smile with that, the closest to a compliment she had ever received. Averting her eyes forward though, the smile was quick to fade as a dark hunger clouded her vision. "La catrina, muerte encarnada, demonio, la maldición. You can have you your pick of the litter. They all chose those over my own." She let out a sigh, stopping herself from monologuing to him.

Instead, Mictec turned her gaze back to him, her eyes seemingly glowing the further they treked through the darkening woods. "But I prefer the name my abuela gave me, Mictēcacihuātl, Mictec for easier consumption." The last part she let a small amount of sass give way to humor. But with her eyes no longer facing forward, she missed the emerging root until her right foreleg got caught, sending a ripple of pain through her as she snarled loudly, "Que mierda!"

Qvasir stopped as Mictec stumbled, his sharp gaze sweeping over her with a mix of assessment and concern. It was clear she was in no condition to be moving, let alone hunting. Her earlier pride, palpable in the way she carried herself, had been undercut by her weakened state.

Mictec, he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with deliberate ease, allowing it to settle between them. His tone was measured, neither mocking nor indulgent, but there was something steady in it—grounded, like the earth beneath their paws.

You’re in no shape for this, he observed, his pale gaze catching the strain in her movements. His voice was calm but left little room for argument. Stay here. I’ll find something for you.

He didn’t wait for her response, turning his lean frame toward the shadows of the woods. As he moved, the faint sound of his footsteps blended with the growing quiet of the forest. His pace was unhurried but purposeful, his every movement suggesting that he had no intention of leaving her stranded—or starving.

There was no use in following after him, her body dictated. She was forced to lay down, pain subsiding but only at a snail's pace. Utter defeat threatened to pierce her ironclad will, how had she let herself reach such a state. This was no will of the gods, no curse casted upon her, no it was as if she had been unknowingly wishing for death.

Mictec was alone now that Qvasir had melted into the forest. This time the rumbling inside her was not from her stomach as a low growl escaped her lips. "Is this what you want, to tease me?" She spoke to her gods, gods who were not viewed in a saintly light, gods whose tales of sacrifice crafted such a beast as herself. Tears slowly welled in her eyes, the yellow tags pressure becoming more annoying as she laid her head on the earthy ground.

There is no good, there is no evil, there is only balance.

Mictec swore she could hear the ethereal voice of her abuela whispering in her ears. Mictec often though she understood what abuela had meant whenever she went off on her spiritual tirade but perhaps this time was different. 

Mictec shut her eyes and focused on steadying her breathing. Slowly, she felt as if she was being absorbed by the ground below her, her own heart beat matching that of the earth. With each inhale she let herself pick up on all the strange scents around her, how some had started to become familiar like the moist soil after a rain. The breeze itself was not as cold now as she was slowly beginning to adjust to the climate.

Balance, death and life, it begun to dawn on Mictec. The closer one comes to death, the more revelations became clear. This was not her swan song, this was her rebirth.

Qvasir returned silently, the weight of the small pronghorn heavy on his jaws, though it was nothing compared to the quiet determination in his stride. His approach was steady, deliberate, not wanting to startle Mictec in her vulnerable state. Her figure lay still against the ground, her breath slow and deliberate, and he allowed himself a moment to observe her before stepping closer.

He dropped the pronghorn near her, its still form evidence of a clean kill. His golden eyes met hers, unwavering, though softer than before. You’ll need this, he said simply, his voice a steady calm that carried no room for argument.

Qvasir’s gaze swept over her again, noting the faint glimmer of tears that clung to her dark fur, the way her body seemed to sink into the earth as if drawn to it. He didn’t press for an explanation, didn’t demand words—he simply nodded once, a quiet affirmation, before stepping back to give her space.

You take your time, he murmured, standing nearby as a silent guardian. But eat. Balance isn’t found on an empty stomach. His words carried a dry edge, but there was no jest in his intent.

He turned his head, scanning the horizon, keeping watch as she gathered her strength. A small gesture, but one that carried an unspoken promise: she was not alone in her rebirth.

The smell of a fresh kill made her mouth salivate as her eyes fluttered open with an intense hunger. Pain evaporated once her hunger drive kicked into full gear, jaw wide open ready to devour. Yet she hesitated. In her youth she would always roll her eyes whenever forced to say blessings she thought had no purpose, a string of words that seemed meaningless, seemed performative. But her hesitation now made her question if she truly was ignorant towards the traditions or just had no respect for her parents leadership of the pack.

"Nimitstlatlaz ne tequihua."

Mictec words normally sharp or not spoken at all, came delicate, like a breeze not strong enough to blow the seeds off a dandelion. She felt a small sense of pride that manifested in a small smile as she looked up at him.

"Gracias."

That first bite, the rich flavor of blood that was not her own flooded her body, carnal and intoxicating that a soft moan came out of her unexpectedly. She was halfway through the delicacy, when she stopped and looked at him and ask the question that had been brewing in her mind, one that she noted the more time she was near him, detecting the faint scents of others on his fur.

"Why help me? Besides knowing my name, I'm a stranger in your territory as your scent implies you are or rather were part of a pack."

Qvasir observed her for a moment, the faint flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as her words came soft yet deliberate, surprising in their vulnerability. He dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment, his voice calm and low. De nada, he replied, the Spanish phrase rolling effortlessly from his tongue.

Her question hung in the air, heavy with curiosity and veiled suspicion. He leaned back, his posture composed but carrying a quiet edge of detachment.

Was, he corrected simply, the single word a sharp cut, though not unkind. His gaze lingered on her, unflinching yet distant, as though weighing whether to say more. He let the silence stretch just long enough to feel the weight of his truth before he added, I walk alone.

There was no further explanation, no unraveling of the tangled threads that had brought him to this point. He was a man of few words, and this was all he chose to give. With a faint nod, he turned his attention to the horizon, his posture signaling that their exchange was complete—at least for now.

Mictec laughed, a sound so foreign even to herself but she couldn't help it. Hysterics or borderline insanity from being so close at death's door made her have no reason to filter such emotion.

"You're funny you know, wanting to know about me but this works both ways. You have to give in order receive."

Hunger had begun to subside but she knew she could not tear apart what remained. Extended periods of time without consumption broken by eating to rapidly would cause her trouble later. She had seen famine firsthand and saw it's consequence. Curiosity made her nuzzle the remainder of the meal towards him, a gesture towards extending an olive branch.

"My abuelo is like you, not much for talking about the deep stuff."

And here she was being uncharacteristically chatty, the way she would tease her abuelo to get a smile that he only gave for her. So her tone changed, her expression contemplative.

"I hope you don't continue this life of solitude."

Qvasir regarded her, his amber eyes steady as he considered her words. The remnants of the meal nudged toward him were met with a faint, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. He didn’t reach for it, though; instead, he tilted his head slightly, watching her with a curious, calculating air.

What other choice do I have? he asked, his voice low and even, carrying a hint of resignation. His gaze flickered briefly to the horizon before settling back on her. Not all of us are meant for the comfort of packs, of companionship. Some paths are walked alone because they must be.

There was no bitterness in his tone, only the weight of hard-earned truth. Yet, as he studied her expression—the glimmer of something hopeful in her eyes—his resolve softened, if only for a moment.

But, he added, his voice quieter now, perhaps not always.

He didn’t elaborate, shifting his weight and giving her a faint, almost reluctant smile. For now, that was as much as he was willing to share.

Humor aside, seriousness scrawled across her face as she took a seat. With food in her stomach her body seemed to have awakened, eagerly absorbing all nutrients for distribution. Her heart was not pounding as fast, returning to its methodical pace. The cold carried by the wind no longer seemed to bother her as night had waged war on the sky above, beginning to cast shadows as dark as her own obsidian pelt.

"What little life I have lived others dictated for me. They never understood me and yet I was expected to lead them though they had not one ounce of respect for me. Then they made the choice that I must follow a path separate from them."

And there it was, as clear as it was the night she was born,  a revelation, a fulfillment of her abuela's wishes.

"If where you have been does not reward you, then make a place that deserves you."

Like a wildfire bursting out of a dead forest, her marigold eyes lit up. Suenos of a life she thought she could never have seemed suddenly possible.

"And so I will." When she spoke, there was determination that was captivating that begun to lace between her words. There was a moment of silence as she brought her eyes to meet his, her gaze catching that small moment where he allowed himself to be expressive.

"You should come too."

Qvasir's gaze lingered on her, thoughtful and steady, as he absorbed her words. Mictec’s sudden fire, the way her determination lit up her expression—it was a force that demanded acknowledgment, respect. He found himself admiring her resolve, the way she spoke of building a place that deserved her.

It reminded him of something he once yearned for.

After a beat, he nodded, his tone even but carrying a hint of something deeper, almost begrudging amusement at himself for considering her offer. I’ll take you up on that, he said simply, as though it were an obvious choice.

There was a pause, not heavy but reflective. His gaze flicked briefly to the horizon, then back to her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Let’s see if you can make good on those words, Mictec.

It was the closest thing to a challenge he would give her—an unspoken agreement that he would follow, at least for now.

"La primera alma," she said softly with an equally soft smile. Mictec lifted herself off the ground as the chill begun to set in, dusk had passed, the final rays of the sun had been snuffed out. The dark often gave her a sense of comfort that she wore like a veil.

"I have veered far from where I had been spending most nights but always find myself returning to it. Hate to admit to being spiritual but I cannot deny there is a pull to it." A flood of memories returned to her, information she thought was useless now seemed more crucial than ever. She wondered what role he would fit best in, his build indicated Cuāuhpilli but his skills indicated Ocēlōtl.

Picking up the remainder of the meal to not let it go to waste, she nodded with her head to indicate for him to follow in death's shadow.

I think this could be a good fade to black moment! I have another thread started on the location if you want to jump there or start a new one c: