a foolhardy mission, to come here. to bring her children here. gentle rain began to course the plateau as erzulie wandered its empty edges, her gaze compelled toward the sea. she hated it, and yet she could not keep her eyes from it, the vast darkened expanse that had overflowed its shores and swallowed that which she held dear.
        there was little hope in her heart for rusalka; each day she considered bringing her brood to the neighboring pack, begging entry into a larger group, if only to save what resources there were. and she was not above paying for such things. in times of calamity, men always turned to the distraction of pleasure.
        a voice.
        the harlot paused, one small paw lifted, trembling above the cold ground.
        rosalyn's voice, pouring over the snowy trees.
        shaking, erzulie closed her eyes, breath coming harder. the sound of a ghost, she decided. not her wife returned, not her —
        the sable fur, the sharp muzzle. erzulie stared in disbelief at nieve's golden frame, followed by the lanky figure of the wayward pirate.
        rosalyn.
        a sob, throat clenched save for a whine; she cast herself into a run and down and down and down!
        the harlot fled into rosalyn's presence, then her embrace, mintglow eyes astream with tears, lips quivering wordlessly; it was all she could do to touch and to stare and to weep the stifled sobs of a desperate relief.

        "li pa enpòtan," erzulie whispered fiercely, leaning into the scarce-bound embrace of her wife. "ou isit la kounye a."
        scarab, reyes, nieve, marisol, clementine — how many would be lost? how many might return?
        she began to weep then, openly, brokenly, as she had not before her little ones before. the dam stemming all that she had felt and forced herself to hold was shattering, pouring from her eyes in hot salt that laced through the fur of the pirate's shoulder.

        at length she became aware of nieve's departure, smirking lowly as she considered the embarassment of the scene that had suddenly unfolded before their daughter. any comment was stifled as erzulie followed rosalyn's expression toward aningan, who stood some paces off.
        he was another male leader of rusalka, and for that alone the harlot did not trust him. but she remained unobtrusive, welcoming in her own way. perhaps he had words to speak.

        what did this boy-king need with them now? erzulie soured a bit beneath aningan's approach, but reminded herself she was being inhospitable to their alpha. she did not know aningan, she supposed; perhaps that was the problem. but he was male, another in a riotous line of them who had taken up the mantle and broken it. rusalka had no head. rusalka needed no head, let alone a half-grown child.
        but she was silent.

        anigan's gentle smile momentarily caught erzulie off guard. she had spent such a great deal of time resenting the boy that she had not noticed how softly he had always treated her. briefly chagrined, the harlot arranged her features into a more amiable expression and nodded as the pale beast padded away.
        they were such bitches, but at least now they could be bitches together.
        "come wid me," the jezebel murmured, sweeping to the side as she prepared to lead her pirate off to the temporary cove. "i hope you enjoy bone marrow," she joked with a wry twist of her lips. "dat is about all rusalka has in dese caches."