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Form
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Location
 Salsola |
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Date: July 18 Time: Evening Words: 1028 | |
This post is psychobabblz
The sable woman had begun the sedentary stages of her pregnancy, now too large to move about comfortably. The sweltering heat of summer made her squirm and writhe even in the coolness of her ruins, and she was very nearly glad for Molcaxitl's presence. The woman had attended Eris's every need dutifully. It was perhaps for that reason that the sable coyote had begun considering the girl's commentary -- it had been weeks and weeks ago, but the coyote had forgotten to inquire upon it until this very moment.
The fire smoldered, well-stocked by Molca's constant trips to fetch more sticks and other kindling from around the ruins. The meat she cooked had been caught by Larkspur, and the sable woman again reflected her luck in finding one such as Molcaxitl. What the woman had said -- was it true? Her chartreuse eyes regarded the tawny, thin coyote doubtfully, and she reached forward to brush a bit of leafy debris from the other woman's hair, speaking as she did so.
You said Momoztli delivered you to me. You believe this? the coyote said. Molcaxi had stiffened at the touch, as if she were unaccustomed to it -- and indeed, Eris had not deigned to touch the other woman in such a manner. However, in her mood and condition, irritable as she was, there was motherly joy in her yet, and Eris found herself more affectionate than she might have been otherwise. Speak your mind, the older coyote said, Her voice, meek and quiet, was barely audible to The Auxiliary.
Yes, the woman said, nodding her head ever so slightly. I could no' lie to mi meestress, Axi added, sounding very nearly afraid. Her vermillion eyes flickered toward Eris, and the coal woman glowered back at the slave, though a faintly amused smile had begun to tug at her lips. No one had ever accused her of being a kindly slave owner, but her pleasure was less derived from their outright physical pain than their discomfort, humiliation. Molca's emotions were little more than playthings to her, and yet she would vehemently defend that she had not been cruel to the coyote.
Momoztli deliver me to you. Over land, over water. I come here and maybe free -- but you find me, you know, the woman continued her hand reaching to her muzzle and the metal embedded into it on the word know. The slim coyote hand lingered there, and Eris listened, her shadow-hued head tilted to one side, eyes glittering curiosity. Molca drew the spit from the fire and slid the meat off of the thin stick and onto the flattened bowl. Momoztli makes me, for you, the coyote said quietly, offering forth the still-steaming meat.
The hybrid took it, stirring it with one long claw. Her chartreuse eyes flickered back up to Molca, however, and she seemed more interested in the slave than her food. Molca hadn't received such attention since first arriving on that shore so many months ago, and it made her nervous. It was fate indeed that she was here with Eris in this Salsola, and it was her divine intent to serve, but these thoughts did nothing to quell her fear. She was in the face of power, after all -- one that held her life in its very hands. One squeeze from those coal-black fingers could end it all.
It was not death that the woman feared, but what the sable-shaded hybrid might do with her soul. Eris was not a follower of Momoztli -- this was plain to see. What purpose the deity had in delivering Molca to the sable-hued woman, the slave could not begin to guess. She was servant to darkness greater than Molca could hope to fight, and she was not even here to fight, but to serve and facilitate. Though she did not comprehend her fate, Axi also knew it was not her place to question it.
Maybe you aren't quite so stupid as I thought, the coyote said, seeming pleased at last. Molcaxi was surprised by the sable woman's pleasure and her comment both, and appeared the part of confusion -- her ears drooped and her brows knotted, shoulders slumping with the weight questions she was not permitted to ask. Momoztli may be a lie, but there is power in simpler beliefs than him, the coyote purred, her tail shifting behind her as she leaned her against the rocks and begain to eat.
No comprende, Molca said, the caution apparent in a wince that followed as soon as the words left her mouth. She had spoken in entirely the wrong language, she was so nervous. Her tawny ears folded nearly flat against her skull, but the sable-hued woman did not seem to notice her faux pas. You say Momoztli, I say magic, others say fate, still others blame gods older than Momoztli himself. Does it matter? No. You're here, and you're mine, the woman said, her words muffled by the chunks of food between her jaws. The method of magic to bring you to me does not matter, the hybrid said.
Molcaxi realized, with a start, that the sable hybrid was agreeing with her, in a matter. Her red-orange eyes widened in full shock, and the slave could not help but gape at her master, all mannerisms forgotten in one horrible moment. Those ivory teeth reflected against Eris's coal fur, and Molca remembered herself just as quickly, her gaze snapping to the grass floor of the woman's home. Gracias, for letting me serve you, the slave murmured quietly, but the sable woman took no note of the comment, if she had even heard it.
A strange state of contentment had befallen the slave. Salvia was downright kind to Molca, and now her mistress gave credence to the idea that fate or the gods had conspired to bring her here to this land. It was more than Molcaxi might have lived for in Eterne, and she stole one furtive glance toward The Auxiliary as she moved to clear away and cleanse the cooking tools.
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