Blackwater Islands just nod if you can hear me

happy to take whatever whumps

After leaving Mou, she fled.

Fled from wherever the healers' quarters were to the sea, gritting her teeth, loping as fast as she could to the sea.

In actuality, she could not move quickly, hampered by her crippled leg. But she tried. She hoped, prayed, Mou could follow. And the healer, Bridget.

But Sheogorath drove her forward.

This is not the place—

She galloped toward the ocean, teeth gritted—

Close—

But Mou—

And a clap, sharp, bright, like a bolt of lightning in her head—

a shadow traced the steps of the revenant as she fled. the prophet, with cold eyes and wild fur, come to judge the fallen spirit.

the spirit ran, hindered by the twisted manifestation of whatever curse had been put upon her. she would not escape, not if the druids willed it otherwise. but the listener made no move to stop her.

if you wish to leave, you may have an escort. the druids did not make prisoners of those cursed by the unnamed god. if she would not stay with harka, the woman had no worth here.

the listener would drive her from the holy islands herself.

Her skull was fit to burst, but she turned and stared down the girl, the sea so close that she felt the chill of its spray upon her pelt.

I don't need your escort, she spat, one eye blazing, the other a dark, twilight hollow—

The girl's eyes were mirrors of her own. She didn't suppose she'd ever get answers. Gods knew how they were related; could be Damien, her damned mother,

Ramsay

The thought sent her stomach lurching, but she fought against it, kept her mind to the task at hand.

The sea carried me here; it can carry me back, too.

She once again swiveled and stepped toward the waves at a trot.

Then jumped.