Redsand Canyon the woman who danced to the music of her own demons

AW (set in paradise falls, dated before the BWP)

The light of the moon and stars bathed the nymph in silver where she stretched upon the warm rocks of the burbling oasis, a vague grimace upon her delicate features as she gnawed the vibrant marigolds to a paste. 

She smeared the ointment on what wounds she could reach, rolling in what was left to medicate those she couldn't - mixing it with crushed garlic upon her stony perch. 

The scabbed wounds resembled dark tattoos upon her flesh in the indigo of early night, curling intricately across pale flesh and fur to portray a graphic story. 

Other remedies lay nearby, for afterwards, chamomile for shock and dock leaves for her blistered paws.

swings in here

night was renard’s preferred time to walk the borders. they wouldn’t own up in a straight conversation to loathing the sunlight and loathing the heat, but they were more than happy to do it privately. they patrolled as much in day as night of course – keeping on their toes, keeping their routine from becoming too predictable.

still. so little shadow, so much sun. the north had long stretches of winter, where there was no light at all and every shadow could hold them; and they found themselves missing it here, even near midnight, when they could move quiet and unseen without hugging what little shadow the canyon walls provided.

as usual, it wasn’t a stranger that stopped them. it was another one of donovan’s recruits.

renard stopped before they were too close, drawing their eyes over the flowers and herbs. donovan had a strange fondness for white wolfdogs – healers, though, were something the saints would certainly need, if he kept drawing fury like he was.

she smelled like the saints, but she wasn’t familiar. not an attendee of the execution, at any rate. they slid closer, looking curiously over her – scratched and bruised and bitten, heavily scarred.

was donovan taking prisoners now? as though the mess he'd already made wasn't enough.

Feeling eyes upon her tattered skin, the botanist dared a peek upwards to lock gazes with the halfling. 

She slid backwards against the stone vaguely, downy underbelly flashing just so in submission as her gaze lowered alongside pale butterfly auds. A raspberry tongue flickered across scarred chops and her paw batted ever so slightly in his direction. I didn't see you there but I'm friendly. 

A soft chirrup escaped her as she straightened, not quite lifting her head completely lest she make herself seem larger. Welcome!

it was a little more fun to provoke a response in actual words, but renard continued to live in hope that someone other than the spy was capable of critical thought, so maybe it wouldn’t come to that. in her body language was, at least, enough of an indication; the flash of her underbelly in submission, a chirp of greeting.

fine. communicating in gestures only was – well, they could probably manage if they cared, but wasn’t that the problem. no point, not yet. renard returned a smile that was as friendly as their smiles ever got, not that that meant much.

they prowled a half-circle around her before they came to a halt, gesturing with their muzzle at the scabbed wounds layered beneath her fur. an impressive amount of damage to bear for someone as small as she was.

“was that donovan?” they asked. “or someone else?”

She sensed his irritation, despite the polite smile which she returned hesitantly, and her ears pinned ever so slightly in response. 

The ice of her gaze hardened vaguely, uncertain about this Saint. Donovan and Derg, safe, known. Renard was still in question - the fae as judgemental as he though for her own reasons. She was observing him in turn, testing the waters. 

She tensed as he circled her but made no move, save for her eyes roving back to watch his movements from her peripherals. However, his question caused her to turn towards him with a look of surprise. 

Despite his claims, the Grandmaster did not seem a monster - not to her, not anymore. She swore at times, even now, she caught a glimpse of the conflicted youth - a hurt boy who would not be proud of the things he'd done, the man he might've become. But as quickly as it came it was replaced with the beast he'd been forced to become, one she still couldn't fear. How could she? Even as a monster, he was perhaps the kindest person she'd ever met, the only man who had ever treated her with tenderness. 

"No", she mouthed as she shook her head in denial, wide eyes searching his face for some hint. It was obvious he didn't share her biased opinion. 

She cocked her head at him, curiosity visible on her open features. "Why?"

by donovan's own admission he was a kidnapper. by renard's own observation he had some sort of thing for collecting white wolves. and for the sake of their own interests and halfhearted planning, it would have been something new to work with, if she was here against her own free will. you didn't need to fight to be useful, much as they were fond of it. poison was just as good.

but if anything she was confused, and there was no reason renard could think to feign it. well, there was a reason, but that required more cunning than donovan had ever come close to displaying.

it also required her to be an excellent actor, which was more plausible. still unlikely, but best to be careful.

"we don't have a good reputation." renard smiled. "we're not so forgiving to trespassers. thought one of the other saints might have done that." donovan was just the most likely candidate. there was nobody else here they knew to take prisoners, and renard wasn't overly fond of the idea themselves, just because they knew he'd do it for nothing other than fun.

it was a little hypocritical for them to judge someone over fun. but donovan had also proved extrordinarily reluctant thus far to execute anyone who wasn't directly trying to kill him, and if you were taking prisoners, that was practically a requirement.