you and me and the devil makes three.

Larkspur D'Angelo · 07-04-2010, 11:56 PM

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They spoke only a little more that he could remember; Larkspur did not speak much to anyone. There was a time for words, as with all things, but the time had either not yet come or passed them and either way it did not matter. She drew up magic from the herbs and other tools he scarcely paid attention to. It might have taken her a few minutes, or an hour, but she created something and they shared it. Then, and only then, did Larkspur call to the beast from the earth. His voice spoke the language of the dead and his spirit shifted into something else. Then he saw it.

He had seen the ini before, in terrible nightmares, when he had been on the verge of unconsciousness from beatings, when the lack of sleep made him dizzy. A low whine escaped him. It was frightening, to look down that portal, but he wanted to see what it was on the other side. Tak was on the other side. Tak who even now whispered and called and spoke through the spiders and the can tah because these were his things and so too was Larkspur. And that pink-red portal, that tunnel that would show him all things, was pulling him in. It was drowning him.

The wolf tumbled and fell and screamed out the language of the dead. It must have carried him for he hit the ground, hard. Peyote, my friends, is a wicked mistress. It turns the body and the mind against one another. Larkspur woke on his belly, writhing in a puddle on the edge of the too-blue lake. He tasted mud and perhaps blood in his mouth, and the sun was high in a cloudy sky. The woman, nearby, was not half so wild. She had used the magic before. She had expected such a thing. Yet her voice was high, frantic--green eyes, she said, she had seen them in her vision. This meant something.

Larkspur did not speak of Tak, or the ini. He told her, instead, about the fire. About his own cleansing. She seemed to understand.

They did not speak much at all, though.

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