Witch's Marsh duelo

AW! Mature tag is because he's grieving - set for 4/12 night

he tore out of the lowlands and up, up, up across greenland valleys.

a flame burning at two ends.

yesterday, soto buried his captain.

*  *  *

that fucking witch.

*  *  *

traitor moon, soto thinks as he climbs down into a spit of marshland. for all its luminance, he knew it was a thousand miles away.

how many more must he bury?

*  *  *

again comes that clawing, sickening feeling.

when juarez had been alive, he knew what to do to keep his brother's mind busy. he knew the early signs before soto did. without fail, here comes big brother juarez with a new task. an errand out of the countryside -- always conveniently coinciding with the moment soto felt the ugliness within him stirring.

i'm going to fucking flip --

but no juarez today.

no green.

a madman's laugh leaves soto, his belly constricting as he thinks of khusobek. oh, he longs to feel that blade wedged against his throat again.

somewhere in this wilderness, he won't find what he's looking for -- but he'll find somebody.

and that will have to do.

can be a cameo!

he could smell death. without that ability a vulture would go hungry—and he could smell it now, the same way he could often taste blood in the air before a wolf's nose could detect it in the soil.

he coasted above the marsh; it was evening, so the chance that he might see his heron friend was slim, and he did not choose to look. he would not be here long. if he spent too much time simply existing in an area qapnuk would attract too much attention—from crows, mostly. idiots, crows.

a dark shape moves across the earth, catching the beady black eye of the vulture.

a shadow passing causes soto to look up; against the brief glare he sees unfurled wings lit by starlight.

not enough interruption to jolt him from his new dark errand, soto navigates a small spit splitting between glacier stones and continues north.