Medusa was not the best at drawing, not even close to it. The only forms of art she succeeded at were crafting and scarifications, like the one on her leg. But as she looked at the lines and shapes she had scribbled on the ground, she realized that they resembled the Russian woman she was so terribly fond of, Ksenija. With a quiet curse and a grumble, she swept dirt and ash over the lines and stomped. It would do her no good for the Narrator to see that, or for her to admit any emotions she wasn't sure of.
The woman sighed and brushed some of the dirt from her feet, turning it from the dull grey and brown to its former muted gold and lustrous glory. ’Your fur shines so beautifully, my sweet,’ the Narrator whispered. ’You deserve better than that… Woman,’ he added. From the start, the Narrator had been opposed to Medusa spending time with anyone other than him or Tijman. The name brought forth a shiver and a small cry of fear from the female’s lips, causing the Narrator to laugh darkly.
They both broke off when she saw a bird in the distance, looking even from so far away to be large and terrifying to Medusa. She was wary of most birds, especially large ones and eagles. A hand rose up to touch the raised and ugly marks where she once had an eye, wanting to blink and flinch but merely stretching the keloids. She followed the bird's path to what appeared to be an owner, a tall man on a horse. She couldn't tell much of his appearance from so far away -- the dusty haze didn't allow for that -- but she could tell that he would almost blend in the the surrounding landscape.
He was approaching her slowly, and Medusa clutched the tattered purple cloak around her tightly, hearing a small rip to tell her that it was in worse shape now than ever, not that it was a difficult thing to achieve. Her stick was clutched so tightly she could feel the bark digging into the pads on her hands, but she didn't let go. He was a stranger, he was a man. He had a huge bird. Everything about him seemed to speak to the small part of Medusa that recognized and embraced terror. He was her fear incarnate.
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