Bearclaw Valley neon vivec

agony greeted the prophet in her first waking moments. that, and the memory of the meadow. the man. her second fall from grace.

the spirits were silent in this dark and familiar place. unsettled, she rose. and fell with a hiss from between gritted teeth. when she stood again she was deliberate, favoring one limb.

she searched for him; the one who had brought her here.

@Germanicus

"do not move, witch."

the yellow eyes of the man bored down into her.

"i am going to leave you here a while, but not without medicine and food. you must remain alive, after all."

eyes like twin suns in the dark. her own burned with defiance. must i? voice tired; a croaking and humorless laugh followed her words.

silence. maddening silence.

no spirits to guide her now.

the prophet retreated further into the den and coiled like a watchful viper. curious, that this man should hold her like some forbidden treasure. not a creek wolf in sight or in scent.

he desired her, perhaps. or it was hatred which drove him, a particular breed of desire drenched in red and sharpened to viciousness. almalexia did not know. deaf now to the spirits she followed, the prophet simmered in her ignorance. her eyes never left the man.

he bore with him not poppy, but birch, which could give some relief.

she deserved the pain, he felt. it would teach her that whatever she worshipped did not elevate her so high. agony was a binding tie.

germanicus had known her truth as he lay her against the floor of this den. now he spoke it.

"you are with child."

the ranger thrust a piece of fish he had brought also into the space between he and she and left it there.

"it is wicked heathenry to kill a woman in such a state. i will hold you here until you heal or they are born. then you will face those you have wronged."

my children will be born on sacred land.

her islands. their birthright. almalexia made no move to accept the man's offerings. her gaze was unwavering upon him while the spirits held their silence.

she would not die here, nor by his hand.

for now she would accept nothing from him. it would remain so until the demands of her flesh forced her to bend. the preservation of her heirs stood above all else. even her own pride.

"you are driven by delusion," germanicus rejoined calmly. "while you are here, you will be put to no tests. if you are not quiet, the wolves you wronged will find you. they search for you even now and i will not stop their justice."

he tossed something else to her: a tight-wrapped bundle of oak leaves which contained a small amount of chewed willow bark. "for the pain."

he stared into the wild eyes of the witch. "i do not fear your kind. if you run, i will break your other wrist." the ranger straightened. "heal. reflect."

the prophet turned away, finished with this mortal man and his petty notions of rehabilitation. reflect, he bid her, yet it was through reflection that she had come to divinity that first time, on her beloved islands. in her blessing he saw sickness, unaware of what almalexia might otherwise have become;

righteous ursine fury, blood and bones in a cave of crystals, death, death, death

and in his words she sensed his demand, a desire to become both retribution and salvation to the evil he saw in her. in this he would fail. he did not understand that she had found these things long ago.