#c'sah

Since hearing his Guiding Light’s voice race along his skin and echo in his heart? Since then, he hasn’t been the same. Returning home meant returning back to the place where all of the hurt seemed to manifest and weigh heavy on his heart like lead anchored to his throat by chains. What needed to be done was done; It had been agreed upon before the man’s life ever saw the light drain from his eyes. In his mind’s eye? He knew what they had done was right and would benefit his broken heart and help repair the chunks of his soul that had been beaten out of him by the man that was supposed to be a mentor to him and instead chose to be a master instead.

But his heart? Oh, it had always been so slow to catch up when it regarded C’ajnee--Kushal--his wonder. Even now, long but not long enough after Kushal’s demise? C’tolemy couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t let go of the idea that he’d failed the man in the end. He had watched his husband-to-be bring his sword to bear with such perfect, haunting precision. He’d seen Kushal’s life essence spray into the air, a fine mist, and could do nothing but stare in horror when his head fell back and life drained from his eyes.

He’d watched Ayanga, one of the two men to hold his heart now, slay the man that held his heart for years before he’d even known any better.

Kushal had been cruel to him in ways that no man should be cruel to another; had beaten him black and blue, starved him, tied him to posts and left him overnight in strange places with hostile environments, tossed him off cliffs and anything else under the sun you could imagine for torture. Each punishment was a testament to his failures; each wound a gaping, terrified apology for miss-stepping. He had scars that riddled his body from years of neglect, abuse and torment. He was traumatized in ways no mortal should ever go through--how he jumped at too-fast noises or cowered when a hand was raised. Refusal to find comfort in homes for fear that the hands that protected him would turn on him in an instant.

Fear that, one day, he would find himself back in the exact same miserable place that he’d escaped years ago.

So why, gods above, did he feel nothing but heartache now that he was free?

This haunting feeling that echoed lies between small, round ears and brushed cold winds between his ribs. This feeling that made him look at his husband-to-be with contempt instead of love, frustration and resentment boiling in the pit of his belly. It was what made him glower at his beloved Dazkar every time the man tried to give him an affectionate touch with those traitorous hands, remembering how a sleep spell would knock him out when he was in the height of his grief. What caused him to avoid his daughter’s loving smile and duck from his son’s reaching fingers. It fostered a wound that was festering and poisoning him from the inside out; trapping him in a never-ending cycle of wanting it all to go away and hating himself for feeling this way.

Mourning, truly grieving wasn’t something he was going to find at home.

The only way to stop this before it tore the only happiness from his heart was to find the closure he was so bitterly denied.

One last talk. That’s all he needed.

This is what drove C’tolemy from home that night--slinking out as he usually did with a handful of items and made his way to his apartment. When the ever-watching Uyagir questioned his movements he excused it as getting to work on a couple of designs for clientele coming soon for tattoos. It would work for now.

This is what had him sitting cross legged in the middle of his humid living room in nothing but a pair of dark cotton shorts, drawing out an elaborate circle that mirrored that of magic and that of a mandala. Each line was straight, each pattern precise and perfect down to the last detail. Sigils. Runes. Ancient tongue put down in the form of symbols hard to translate when not deep into the dark arts as he was. A mix of arcane and hex.

Void and not.

Several items were placed along the points of this circle’s sharpest peaks; thunder crystals, feathers from vultures, fresh black ink, ash from the bodies of the dead and at the apex? One pristine, meticulously cleaned horse skull.

Gracefully, the Seeker sprawled a spray of salt along the rim of his circle--tilted his head back and drew claws from both hands from his inner wrists all the way up to the joints of his fingers. Both hands were held out over the intricate chalk circle drawn around him, purple bolts of lightning aspected aether popping along his wrists and the tips of his fingers.

<”Our bond is blood, none can deny. Go forth and find that which is rightfully mine.”>

A single, aether charged droplet of blood fell from both hands. Plop.

The chalk circle ignited with blinding light, the skull clattered--ash burned and smelled of rotten corpses. Winds and screams of the dead lurched around him and he did naught but let out a single, steady breath. He searched within the wails of the damned, the stench of death doing little to turn even his steely resolve. She had to be here. Somewhere.

Searching… Searching… Searching.

A pull at his chest, a surge of aether and he grit his teeth--shouting in agony how the dead clawed mercilessly at his living soul taking passage through lands uncharted. He should not be this close. He should -never- be this close to a line he already toed too close to before; but he had to know. Had to find her. Had to have his last talk.

Just one. It would be enough.

Sweat was beginning to bead along his brow and slide along golden skin, the exertion of staying this deeply focused and controlling his aether rapidly beginning to take its toll on his exhausted mind. 10 minutes. Twenty. Thirty. How much longer would he search?Just as the danger seemed too high and he was about to break the connection--he felt her. A tendril snapped from his being and latched onto hers, conveying a message to what was familiar and at the same time foreign.

<“Arms of Meed. 7 suns. Twilight.”>

Before that which could destroy him could counter? He snaps the bond, long tail sweeping hard through the chalk circle to upend all of his hard work and shatter the connection. Bloody, frantic hands run along his body, ensuring he is fine before he falls onto his back and puffs out an exhausted, dissatisfied sigh. He was trembling from the effort but there was a deeper shake in his soul that warned him against being so foolish and reckless with himself.

He would keep this bit of information to himself. Everyone would only scold him if they knew what hell he’d just invited upon himself. He’ll simply lie here for a bit more, tend to his injuries and focus on working until his feet eventually carried him back home to sleep.

No one would be the wiser. But...

He had to know. Just one last time.

That makes C’tolemy turn back to face her, arms folded over his chest and a deep set frown creasing his features. <”Do not offer what you cannot give.”>

Hooked.

The older woman tweaks the corner of her lips into a smile, shaking her head. <”It is no hard task for one who ferries along the River, yes? That is the power of a Dead Witch.”> An offer she knows that the one before he would sooner snap his head from his shoulders than refuse. It would land her in a position of control over him to have him owe a favor and, with enough finesse, she could saddle herself with re-training her daughter all over again.

The right way, this time.

C’tolemy stands in silence for a long, long while—warring with himself on whether or not this was a smart decision to make or the stupidest thing he’s ever done in life. If Ayanga and Dunrai ever found out that he’d done something like this, let alone met with C’sah? He’d never hear the end of it—especially knowing that he’d conjured the meeting himself and gone without telling him what was happening behind his back.

But he had to. Just one last time.

Just one.

It would be over, he would be free and this shadow would finally stop chasing him.

<”Be quick about it.”>

C’sah’s smile widens into a gleam of razor sharp fangs of malice and welcoming dread, dropping down in a motion of pure grace to kneel. She pulls a dagger from her belt and spills blood from the palm of her hand, letting it splash down onto the sunburned stone beneath the both of them. The dagger is shoved into the center of that blood splatter, using the tips of her claws to draw runes and sigils surrounding the splatter with her own blood. Satisfied with the circle, she closes her eyes and begins to chant.

Aether pools below their feet, drawn inward from the environment—over the runes and bloody sigils, scrawling over stone and rock until a wide dome of spider-webbed aether was formed around them. The power burst, the world flipped and they both found themselves in a black space—devoid of sunlight and so very, very cold. Where the Land Between Worlds was warm, the fresh scent of rain and the sounds of rainforest surrounded them? Here? There was nothing but cold, quiet and a distinct sense of loneliness.

C’tolemy didn’t budge from his spot, golden eyes focused on C’sah as she worked her ritual. He was trapped from within regardless and no fail-safe to protect him in case she tried something—he had to be careful.

She smiled up at him, reaching out with her bloody hand—over the blade—and made a plucking motion, as if picking something invisible out of the air and setting it down. From that spot, a spark of red aether blooms and bursts until it’s the shape of a man too familiar to have ever been forgotten and too haunting to ever mistake. The specter of red aether shifts a couple of times before he turns his head and peers, unbelieving, at C’tolemy’s startled expression.

<”Dasa?”>

Oh, his voice. Heavenly, a stake through his heart.

C’tolemy snaps his gaze to C’sah and hisses low at her, <”This better be no ploy or so help me—”>

<”It is no ploy.”>

That voice gets C’ajnee spinning, just as shocked to see C’tolemy as he is to see C’sah—kneeling behind him and bleeding. <”Mistress…”> The words are reverental, another stake through C’tolemy’s heart to hear a single word from his awful, ugly mouth that sounds so soft. So wanting. So loving.

Nothing he would ever hear toward himself.

<”C’aziza bid me to summon you from the River, C’ajnee. Your time is limited. I would say what you have to say now while you have the chance.”>

That shakes C’tolemy loose at the core, tilting his chin upward to peer at C’ajnee while the man nods and turns back to stare into his eyes. It is silent.

<”Why did you call me from the River, Dasa? Were you not the one that brought the dark scales with you to murder me?”>

Another stake, the pain from that accusation so sharp that he staggers on his feet and nearly falls before the very man he’s been made to kneel before so many times in the past. A steadying breath, shaking his head.

<”I had—Kushal, please. I had no choice. I couldn’t let you do this, do what you did to me, to anyone else.”>

<”Didn’t I train you better? Is your loyalty nothing? Does your word, your blood before your very Master, mean nothing?”>

<”Kushal—I…”>

There is no answer he can give.

Kushal was right; he’d taken with him the man’s very death, to protect children so they would never suffer the same crime, the same pain, the same torture that he did. It was for a noble cause, a humane thing to do to save those children and bring an end to the reign that Kushal had held over the heads of so many others that hadn’t deserved to go through what they went through—but none of this changed the inevitable of the situation.

He had betrayed his first Master. He had failed an order. He had failed.

C’ajnee glowered at the large man in front of him, causing Tolemy to cower slightly under that stare, gaze cast aside to the floor. He couldn’t say anything and all that seemed to do is anger the spectral Seeker, mumbling someone about how all his time had been wasted and how Dasa had ended up being a good-for-nothing. Another stake in his heart, this time chased with a faint whimper.

Ghosts of words said from Ayanga’s very mouth make it impossible for him to stay quiet forever, everything coming rushing from his mouth before he can stop it.

<”Did you mean what you said? When you…”>

<”Spit it out, Dasa.”>

His mouth had run dry and all he could feel was his entire being hinging on this final moment; this final truth that would either condemn him or set him free. <”Did you mean it when you said that I was unloved by all, save you?”

The red specter seemed to jolt at those words, turning his head away and then back again after seemingly settling something with himself. He opens his mouth to speak—

<”C’ajnee.”>

<”Mistress?”>

<”Your life is already forfeit. There is little pride to hold onto in death.”>

A sharp laugh comes from the specter and he shakes his head, bringing a hand up to rub across his face with a sigh. There was no point in hiding from the one that had summoned him—no point in pretending when he had nothing left to lose, even pride. He was dead. This was a temporary, last reprieve.

A pause.

<”Yes, Dasa. I meant it.”>

A shaking breath, the Seeker across the space from him nearly shattering on the spot.

<”But… But—It’s only because I look like her. Because I’m her child. Because you wanted her instead!”>

Another laugh, C’ajnee simply shaking his head once more and glancing over his shoulder at the concentrating C’sah. <”Your mother never wanted me, Dasa. She was devoted to her duty and I was never going to be the one that came between her and that. I wanted to lift her up, not tear her down.”> Another sigh, looking forward again to peer at C’tolemy. <”At first, genuinely, you were a replacement for C’sah. I wanted to see her likeness in you and build you up to be the perfect copy of her—so I could have the woman of my dreams at last. But you were not C’sah. And I was so angry that you weren’t C’sah that I took out years of rage and desire that I couldn’t sate… onto you. You were willing. You were the perfect outlet.”>

C’tolemy’s mouth simply hangs agape, the truth of these words hitting somewhere inside that he doesn’t know how to cope with. All he can think to do is dumbly murmur out a, <”So what changed?”>

It was C’ajnee’s turn to smile, giving a fairly lame shrug. <”You would smile on our walks at night through the Lochs and I couldn’t help but be gripped with wondering if you’d always smiled at me like I was your universe. The blushes. The smiles. How you’d strain so hard, even in tasks I knew you despised, only if it meant pleasing me. It doesn’t take long for someone to become enamored with such devotion.”>

A bewildered stare and another murmur.

<”Then... Then why?”> The ache in the center of his chest was at a bursting point, threatening to overwhelm every little bit of him that just barely remained. These words would be his undoing. <”Why did you hurt me? Constantly? Why did you beat me within an inch of my life if I would so far as try to reach for you if you thought this of me? Why—Why would you hurt the thing you adore?! Why would you treat me like trash and then tell me you did it because you love me?!”>

C’ajnee grimaced, canting his head to the side. <”I didn’t know how to approach my feelings. Every time you would tell me you loved me I would feel something welling up inside that I wasn’t going to be able to control. If… If I had—If I had acted on it… Gods above know what I would have done to you.”>

The leash on C’tolemy’s control snaps. He can feel the recoil of control being broken in-half. He can feel himself break and all of it come pouring from him before he can stop it. Rage scores through the entirety of C’tolemy’s being; from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes and it comes out in a roar of a retort, furious in what he’d learned. 

<”You COWARD!”>

C’ajnee recoils, refusing to look at the man in-front of him.

<”You are nothing but a spineless, dickless coward! I cannot believe you put me through all of what you did because you didn’t know how to deal with your goddamn emotions! Because you were afraid of what you’d do to me!”>

C’ajnee puffs out his chest, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the shouting.

<”You should be grateful I—”>

<”It was not a mercy that you didn’t show your love! You don’t GET to tell me that I should be grateful that you tied me to a post and let men fuck me senseless in the rain, let them do whatever came into their fucked up little heads! That I should be grateful you tossed me off ledges and left my broken body in valleys, only to starve me when I didn’t climb back up! That I should be grateful for every single night I spent in waking terror of what you’d do to me the next time I made a mistake!”>

<”I could have been so much more cruel to you, Dasa! It was MERCY that I spared you my love or you might not even be alive right now!”>

<”I HAVEN’T BEEN LIVING SINCE YOU TOOK ME IN!”>

That scream ends on a pitiful sob, C’tolemy’s bottom lip quivering in the aftermath of his emotional wave. <”I have spent every day, every hour, every minute chasing something I was never going to get because of you! I have been a slave to emotions that have gripped me from the inside for YEARS because you treated me like I wasn’t even a person! I have been living as a pathetic, scared dog running alleyway to alleyway looking for it’s Master that doesn’t even care it’s missing! Surya be damned, do you know what I’ve done to my HUSBANDS BECAUSE OF YOU?! AND THIS IS WHAT YOU TELL ME?!”>

<”Dasa—”>

<”You don’t get to call me that anymore.”>

<”Dasa, I just—”>

<”YOU DON’T GET TO CALL ME THAT ANYMORE! I’m not your slave. I’m not your pet. I’m not your property. I’m not your dog. I’m not ANYTHING that belongs to you! Not anymore!”>

C’ajnee takes a step forward and he’s met with a fierce, furious roar from deep within C’tolemy’s chest—the fear that used to grip this man long since melted away by the kind hearts of the men who love him and his own growing sense of self-worth. C’ajnee flinches backward, ears pressed down and his expression a mix of frustration and desperation.

<”Dasa… I did all of this because I love you. Please—please believe that.”>

C’tolemy sneers bitterly, tail lashing wildly at the darkness behind him. <”You don’t have the right to love me.”> And with those words, he reaches for his belt and lobs a throwing dagger directly at the summoning circle—channeling aether through the blade to burst upon contact with the blood soaked stone. Sparks ignite and the stone cracks, shattering the summoning circle before C’ajnee can be properly sent back into the River where he belongs. Where the wretched man will linger now? It’s anyone’s guess.

C’sah had managed to protect her face right as the aether explosion went off, bearing mild burns and scrapes once the dust had settled and the aether dome around them had dissipated. She grunted, working old bones to stand and brush at her arms.

<”Are you satisfied, C’tolemy?”>

He snarls hotly at the woman—where she matches him back with her own set of snarling and snapping. The encounter abruptly ends when he huffs out a breath and turns to leave.

<”I never should have come here.”>

The older woman can only chuckle, waving a hand to his retreating back and calls out cheerfully.

<”Arms of Meed. 7 suns. Twilight. I await your answer — You owe me that at the very least.”>

She is given naught but a grunt and the sound of scrabbling stone as C’tolemy vaults over the space and onto the cliff hiding the Arms of Meed from sight. One last glance over his shoulder and he disappears off the lip, needing to do something—anything to bleed off this aggression.

C’sah merely stands where she is and smiles. Anything for just one last time.

Traveling to Ala Gannha was routine for him these days, a well woven spell to teleport him to the aetheryte waiting in the center of the tribe. He waved to the fellow Shadewalkers, kin to him to be awake in the middle of the night while the Daywalkers slept easy. His duties were done in order, as they always had been; check the ration piles, send out scouting parties, send out hunting parties, meet with the Council and the Chieftess in discussion of coming Holi, train the warrior ton that needed his aid and see to the newborn cubs. He had always been enthusiastic with his involvement in the tribe and no was no different. Once his duties had been completed—his golden eyes found the twinkling night sky, moon overhead and nodded. It was time.

The Seeker gave the guard most familiar with his ‘routine’ vanishings from the tribe a tip of his chin and the woman nodded, pretending abruptly like he was never there as he escaped from view and into the night. Traveling across the desert sand was easy and welcome—the familiar sting of chilled air in bone enough to keep his nerves from going awry.

This was worth it. All he had to do was remind himself.

. . .

The final slap of skin on stone and a grunt of effort ended with this bulky man on his knees but successfully having climbed the cliff-face hiding the beauty known as the Arms of Meed; a suspended platform floating in the middle of a lake with a tree having grown in the middle of it. Home to the heart of despondent Fists of Rhalgr and a hiding place for the Coeurl when none were supposed to find them.

Waiting for him in the center of the largest platform was C’sah; his birth mother by blood and the very same woman that had abandoned him and gave over his training to a monster in more than just name. Deep golden eyes shone with equal parts pride and plain disgust as she watched her dau—son, vault over the edge of the cliff and onto the edge of the platform. He was beautiful as she was, agile like she was, smart like she was—but he had the blood of Ankobia in him and that is what made her turn her nose up in disgust.

<“C’aziza.”>

<“I will not stand here and be insulted.”> C’sah draws in a sharp breath, brows furrowing—of all of the ungrateful... <“I have little time or patience for your games. C’tolemy, nothing more, nothing less.”>

The older woman exhales slowly, patting down the flames of her growing temper and nods. <“My apologies, C’tolemy. You called me to discu—”>

<”Why do you want me to be the next Dead Witch?”>

C’sah bristles again, taking a longer moment to truly tamper down that building plume of aggression skittering along the base of her spine. Not only was her daughter ugly as sin, while beautiful at the same time, she had lost all of her manners during her grieving from C’ajnee. That just won’t do, she had invested so much time and energy into training this woman to be the perfect replacement for Dead Witch and she’d be damned if she’d let her own experiment ruin it.

<”You are the only one that can handle the immense power that comes with this burden. It is not an easy burden to bear to see, hear, taste, smell and feel the dead—but you can do it. You walk closer to death—more so than I. You’d be a better Witch than I ever was.”>

<”And if I do not want to be this?”>

<”It will find its way to the next person that can carry the weight. And then the next and the next and the next. The easiest way to control who uses such power is to pass it on with our children—so the ones before can teach them what they need to know to wield this responsibly.”> The older woman gestures to the entirety of the Seeker before her. <”You already taste death intimately. It would not be too far of a reach to taste it all.”>

C’tolemy grimaces, the prospect of holding more power doing nothing to convince him to want this. Power was never the goal, never a desire—he wants peace. He wants understanding. He wants a family and just enough strength to protect what he has. Nothing more, nothing less. C’sah sees the grimace, her small ears pressing back into her hair.

<”Do not tell me you want for little?”>

He merely shrugs, <”I will not be found wanting. I have all I need. That which I want is nothing you offer.”>

Anger bursts like a crag in her heart, aggravation tinging the tone in which she speaks as she glares at the man in front of her. <”Don’t tell me the tribe has filled your head with nonsense about how wanting will do nothing but bring you tragedy!? That is nothing but brainwashing to keep you from wanting goals! A life! What you deserve! What you were BORN to do!”>

Tired golden eyes rest on his mother, giving her a crooked edge of a smile. <”It was the tribe that dug the grave and Kushal that filled it. If you want to blame anyone, blame the man you gave me to.”>

C’sah bit at her bottom lip, curling her claws inward to seat into the meat of her palm. <”C’ajnee was supposed to train you.”>

<”Kushal did exactly as you asked him to. He trained me every single day to toss aside every single want I could have had in my body, mind and soul. I was trained to listen to commands. Trained to be good. Trained to be the best. The perfect hunting hound—a wolf in the night. I don’t care about my well being. I don’t care about my future. I don’t care about anything but obeying orders to their fullest and protecting what is mine.”>

Everything about that statement had done nothing but make her elated beyond normal measures—all of it, until that final bit of his sentence. That made her stare at him in confusion, tilting her head.

<”What is yours?”>

C’tolemy’s crooked smile shifts to a small smile, the look of madness in his eyes taking over as he falls into emotions too strong to hold back. <”That’s right. What is mine. People. Things. Hopes and dreams. Emotions. What belongs to me, what I’ve taken in blood and sweat and tears and clawed onto with a shredded heart and little sense—What is mine.”>

No. This wasn’t how this was supposed to be. C’aziza was supposed to have zero ambition, no survival instincts outside of orders given and complete, utter surrender to those that gave her orders. There was to be no want but the want to please. No wants. No dreams. No hopes. No desire to fight back or rebel. Nothing but a rigid, mindless dog.

C’ajnee had failed her.

Clicking her tongue, she spreads her hands out before him. <”You can continue to protect what is yours. I want none of it.”>

That jostles a laugh from deep inside of his chest, unhinged and shuddering. <”You lie just like Kushal did. He must have gotten it from you. You have nothing I want, Witch. You’ve proved that to me.”>

He turns on his heel and prepares to vault back over the broken bridge to the cliff-face.

<”Wait!”>

A pause.

<”What if… What if I can give you back what you lost?”>

Just one last time.

<”What… What if I can give you C’ajnee?”>

Such is the fate of a woman tied intimately close with the tribe of her birth, having spun threads that tangle with every ankle that moves across the sands of home. A guard here or there may find themselves deeply entangled with the business of the Syndicate. And all of fair the Syndicate in favor for the blood on their blade? C’sah is the Mistress of the Siren’s call. The heartbeat above Nameless.

Delicate fingertips run graceful sweeps over the fur of the slumbering Coeurl at her side, fierce golden eyes that burn like hot coals running over the form of the man that stands before her. Nameless dips forward in a bow. C’sah gives it a dismissive wave of a hand.

<”Come, tell me you have learned, Nameless.”>

Nameless flashes a small smile, lifts a hand and plucks the mask from his face to hook easily onto his belt. The Keeper glances around the witch’s hovel; beholden to the potions, greenery and shrouds that keep it abash of sunlight--fit only for a NightWalker. He sits when the woman issues a sharp glare in his direction, smoothing out his robes and then crossing his palms over his lap.

<”C’tolemy has--”>

<”C’aziza,”> She corrects, without looking up from the scroll in her lap.

<”C’aziza has authorized the sentencing of C’ajnee in just a few sun’s time. If you want to save your successor, now would be the time to act.”>

The older woman drags her hardened gaze from the scroll over to the perfect smile Nameless shows, gleaming the cold sweat along his throat and feeling cruel satisfaction about it. Her lips curl into a wicked smile and the man visibly flinches away from it.

<”Come now, Nameless,” She croons, further swaying the man into more discomfort. <”You know I always come fit to help my successor, yes? I did not teach C’ajnee all he knows so that Aziza could one day overtake him, did I?”>

<”That you did not, Mistress.”>

C’sah leans back against the slumber Coeurl, folding her arms beneath her chest.

<”It seems I have no other options than to make my presence known once more to my daughter. The shock will send her back into obeying and further from free thought--You will use the distraction to free C’ajnee from his cell and ferry him to safety. We need to nurse him before he can confront Aziza properly. I will not have my work undone.”>

Nameless nods, ears flicking.

<”What of the--”>

<”The dark scales? Pay them no mind. They have not returned to the village since Holi--and good for it. If a measurable distance is kept then there will be no need to handle them. Should I be forced to intervene, I will. It is as simple as that.”>

Nameless grimaces at the idea but gives a sharp bow of his head, rising without another word. Before he has a chance to turn completely, he notices the movement of C’sah’s hand in his direction.

<”Watch closely, Nameless. It will take but a sentence to undo all the progress you believe Aziza has made. I did not train her like a beast all of these years for nothing.”>

The man creens a small smile, the glow of pale blue eyes vanishing within the cloak of darkness and the shift of a mask.

<”Under your order, Mistress.”>

Palaver concluded, Nameless makes a hasty retreat.

C’sah waits a fairly long time after Nameless makes his exit to turn her gaze away from the space he previously occupied, gleaming out over her smallest hovel with half-lidded eyes. The petting of her slumbering companion has yet to wane, the rhythmic strokes doing much to soothe the wild thing’s wrath. Her thoughts roll to the last time she saw her precious, ugly daughter’s face--how she remembers the tears and trembling and the fear in her eyes. How she remembers. That cruel smile returns and she lets her lids drift closed, relaxing into the warmth of fur and the barely hinged wild of a maneater.