[m] Ez nem a székhely szerinti

Foxglove Monroe · 01-25-2012, 12:44 PM

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1,503 words

The scream that tore through her pale lips with a sharp pang followed her from the world of the sleeping to the conscious life, waking her from her disturbed slumber with a start. Foxglove sat up rapidly, clutching her knees to her chest and hugging them there tightly as if she might fall apart if she did not hold herself together physically. She could see the moonlight streaming into her hut and she knew that Szellem was watching her, but she did not speak to him. It was enough of a comfort to know that he was still there with her to guide her. The nightmare had frightened her, drowning her in a sea of blood in her sleep and bringing her to fear for her bird spirit.

The image of the mutilated bodies of her father, the Miracles King, and the other rescuers was burned into the back of her eyelids. No matter how tightly she squeezed her eyes closed, she could not force the images away. She could still smell the rich iron of the blood as it spattered the cabin, red staining her once wistful vision. There were horrors in her dream that she had never seen, but they had been a reality, a possibility for those that had risked everything to save her. If things had not gone the way they had… Foxglove knew that her dream predicted what could have been. She would have been responsible for the deaths of so many. There had been so much bloodshed caused by the war, and she was no longer able to pretend it did not exist.

She turned, wretched, feeling the tightening and the spasming of her abdominal muscles. The young scout did not have anything to bring back up, having gone a few days without eating, but the pain of it was real and she could taste the acidic bile as it rose into the back of her throat. Her vision swam and she swayed feeling herself become light headed. The gypsy hybrid took a deep, calming breath, trying to will the room to stop spinning. All she could see was the cabin she had been locked away in and the bodies of her father and the others who had rescued her. Nothing bad had happened to them then, but she could not push away the images.

It was too much for her to handle. She pushed herself roughly off the cot, refusing to allow herself even just a minute to steady herself, a heavy blackness coating her vision because of how fast she stood. Szellem fluttered above her head, making small, soothing bird noises. He worried greatly for his charge, feeling that her spirit had been tarnished irreparably by the war and her time as a prisoner. The three small kittens she had adopted in Halifax were mewling loudly, crying for attention and perhaps food, or maybe out of fear of the crazed manner in which the hybrid canine was behaving. Jade eyes turned to look at the small bodies briefly, but Foxglove moved on quickly, lighting the candle she kept in her hut so she could see what she was doing.

First she gathered all of her clothing, her dresses and skirts and scarves. It was not a neat bundle, but rather a bunched up mess of cloth in a variety of different colors. Some of the scarves she draped over her neck, but the rest were forced into an old, faded cloth bag. Next came the bits of jewelry she had and the small collection of things she owned, though nothing special to her. On top of these items, she placed the two daggers she had found in Halifax, one for herself and one for her sister. Now she knew what she was doing.

Foxglove placed that bag by the entrance of her hut after ensuring that it was closed as tightly as it could be, and then she found her other bag, made of softer, more insulated leather. Pulling the blanket off her cot, she arranged it inside the bag and then she turned to the small kittens that she had rescued. There was no reason to leave them behind, after all, so she picked them up one by one and placed them in the second bag where they would not only be kept safe, but they would be kept warm. Travelling on horseback in winter at the speed she intended to go would not be safe for them unless she made the effort to keep them warm. She did not want to lose them.

When she had finished packing, she surveyed her now empty hut. It had been bare before, as she had never truly settled in the way she would have if this were to be her home. She had intended to stay here, but now it was not a possibility. This was simply not somewhere that she felt she could stay for any longer than she already had, and truly, she wondered why she had not left already after the injustices she had been forced to endure throughout Maska’s tyranny and Dawali’s betrayal. Though she liked the new councilwoman just fine, she couldn’t stay. It was just not the place she wanted to be anymore, and with Liliana gone, she had not reason to stay.

It had been easy for her to go about the small hut and pack her things, to gather everything that she owned into her bags and to prepare herself to leave. It was even easier, still, to think of the future, when the tribe would be left behind her. The difficult part came when she turned her face up to study the bird spirit that was still fluttering above her. She lifted her hands, cupping them so that he could land in them, and then lowered him so that they were face to face, canine and bird spirit. Perhaps this was why she had not left the tribe yet; she had been unwilling to leave Szellem behind. Now, she still loathed the idea, but she simply could not stay any longer.

“I must go now,” she said softly, sadly.

“I know,” the bird spirit replied. Small, dark eyes were filled with emotion in ways that Foxglove had never witnessed before, and it made her wish she could change her mind.

“I am sorry,” came the quiet voice again, her tones wispy, her throat raw with emotion.

“Do not be, for I will come,” the bird replied.

The answer startled her, for she had not expected him to leave the tribe with her. Rather, she had expected him to fade from existence, to find another soul to guide in the ways of the tribe. The hybrid smiled softly, looking with adoration at the spirit she held in her cupped hands. It had not been the expected response, but it was not unwelcome. “I thought you would stay here,” she said, feeling the emotion swell in her chest. She had been so afraid of losing him, and now that she had accepted that she would and had been proven wrong, it was almost too much to handle.

“I have no wish to leave you,” the spirit said soothingly, “and you did not ask it of me. For that, I will come with you and will continue to guide you. As a friend,” he clarified, for they would no longer live in the tribe and so he could not consider himself a proper spirit guide of AniWaya. Still, he did not wish to leave the gypsy girl. He was fond of her, and her him. “Come. Let us go to Valeria and gather her. It is still dark and we can be well on our way by the time the rest of the tribe wakes.” Foxglove nodded, knowing this to be the best course of action. She did not want to have to explain to anyone why she was leaving or where she was going, and she doubted that they would much care, anyway. She had no place in this tribe now.

Releasing the spirit from her shaking hands, Foxglove moved forward, blowing out the burned wick of the candle before she picked up her two bags, being careful not to jostle the leather bag too much for fear of hurting her feline friends. The walk to the stables was not long, but she was nervous, jumping at every miniscule sound. It was not as if she were committing a crime, but then, the Utinas had been persecuted for leaving for their own safety. She was quiet as she took Valeria out of her stall and climbed atop the horse, making no noise as she secured her bags and kicked her heels, urging the horse onward.

As they passed over the borders for what she assumed would be the last time, the Monroe hybrid did not look back. Instead, she looked forward, thinking of what the future would hold for her now that she was away from the tribe’s clutches.

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