Word Count → 3+ :: Shattered Coast, Optime, Dusk
Restlessness had overtaken her soul. Since the woman's meeting with Ezekiel, his betrayal had eaten away at her, and it was a relief to escape the claustrophobic confines of the old Hotel and allow her mind more room to roam.
The cool late-afternoon air was sweet to her lungs, and she rode without purpose, allowing the gentle quiet and the serendipity of the land to sooth her aching scars. Although the Infernian man had not raised a finger to her, he had torn her insides asunder, re-opening old wounds that had been left since the time of his father. She thought of Gabriel often, but it was without the certainty of slow-simmering love with which she had once thought of him. The man had given her many things - Pleasure, life, children - But so too had he and his blood stolen from her. The Pagan witch was not one to easily forget, nor forgive, such misdoings.
It was near dusk when the call reached her ears. A cold shiver rippled down the woman's back, for she knew that voice - The siren's voice, that treacherous bitch who had lured her kind-hearted son into a depraved madness. Cold hatred and hot excitement coursed through her veins. Was Caillen with her? Her rounded steed went stiff-legged at its mistress' conflicting instructions, and the Apothecary forced herself into a calmer position. She rode confidently now, without tack - The lack of a saddle meant that she had no extra pouches, only the healing satchel that remained almost constantly slung over one shoulder. Her healer's dagger was within it, and the colliewoman retrieved the blunt item, glancing at its cold weight in her palm.
The light shined on the blade, a flicker of dancing silver. Emerald eyes, so prone to beautiful depth, hardened and became shallow as ivory fingers clenched about the wooden handle. Then, with a sharp cluck and a squeeze of her heels, the bay was turned towards the sound of the call.
She came to the sight warily. Nana sensed the woman's anxiety, and snorted, slowing from a rumbling canter back to a steady walk. With the dagger concealed in a fist of the mare's ebony mane, Alaine sat straighter, her posture alert. "Talitha," Narrowed pupils darted about the growing shadows, seeking the form of the other woman. She considered dismounting, but felt safer by far on the horse's broad back, and so remained there.
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