𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑: mavi @kllersfrnzys
𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: the forest
REAGAN SOUGHT THE SOLITUDE OF THE FOREST, each day hoping it might regain the allure it once held. She hunted alone—not just for the solitude but so the others wouldn’t see how she flinched at rustling leaves or squinted suspiciously at shadows in the underbrush. So they couldn't witness her undoing.
Figaro’s ears pricked at the snap of a distant branch, and Reagan’s head jerked to attention. Not my imagination. Without hesitation, she nudged the horse into a brisk trot, slowing only when they neared the source of the sound. There were still several hours of daylight left, if the sun’s position was any guide. It couldn’t be...
The weight of her amulet pressed firmly against her collarbone. She would be fine. But then, hadn’t Nikolai thought the same?
Her shoulders relaxed when she recognized the silhouette ahead, driving off thoughts of her predecessor — of her.
Still, she kept the black horse at bay, opting to watch. She’d seen the woman in the woods before, a passing blur in the treeline. Sheriff business, she always dismissed. Now, however, she took the time to observe the way she poured over the terrain. As if there was something beyond the greenery, a secret written in the brush. *There is,* came the dour thought.
Even so, Reagan held the black horse back, choosing to observe. She’d seen the woman in the woods before, a passing blur among the tree line. Sheriff business, she had always dismissed. But now, she took the time to study the way the woman combed the terrain, as if there was something beyond in the greenery, a secret written in the brush. There is, came the dour thought.
“Do you always do that?” she asked at last, nudging Figaro forward toward the sheriff, who—from Reagan's vantage point—appeared to be reading a particularly enthralling section of tree bark. “If you’re looking for a sign back to town, you’re about ten years too early. That’s on my to-do list for when I start going senile.”
THE TOWN VERY RARELY PROVIDED QUIET moments Mavi could fade into ⸻ we need fences for the barns, the food is scarce, the settlement, my neighbors, leaky roofs, sheriff sheriff sheriff SHERIFF ⸻ She blinks, blood-cutting tight grip on the strap of her worn bag. It is not their fault, Mavi knows despite the bitter taste of resentment on her tongue. There is something wrong with this town ⸻ in the very soil and earth, you can feel it; palm to dirt, the ground buzzes with something poisonous and heavy, dormant ⸻ clawing to get out. People are scared, it is only natural to be. But their dread renders her incapable of feeling anything but braveness and foolish heroics. She is not granted the vulnerability of fear ⸻ if the Sheriff falls, what will hold this place together?
She doesn't have much space to investigate the images in the corner of her eyes ⸻ soldiers with blood leaking from their gaping mouths, settlers staring at her with empty eyesockets and open raw hands. They want and they reach and Mavi cannot answer, can't calm the rapidly beating rhythm of her heart. The air in her lungs is filled with the scent of rot, and there's nothing she can do ⸻ only choke and hope the next inhale won't be glass shards and thick smoke. So she takes any possibility offered to her with eagerness on her step, like a child on Christmas morning ⸻ fills her bag with supplies, places her amulet around her neck like a rope, and grips a crumpled old notebook before wandering into the forest.
No one looks for her here. No one needs her here. With the crows cawing and the wolves howling, Mavi is allowed to just be; curious, terrified, mad. She follows blood trails and presses her nose to tree barks, furiously scratches her nearly-over pencil against yellowed paper, trips over branches and leaves. She hears children singing in the distance, shadows looming where her eyes can't see, tries to understand why this particular tree is oozing blood. It must be a sign. It has to be something ⸻ for there is no body hanging from old branches. She needs to know, needs to ⸻
"Wha-" Mavi is easy to startle, a fact she shamefully has to admit. There is no hiding the goosebumps breaking on her skin, the tremble of her body, a sharp turn of head and parted lips gasping. Reagan. Of course. "Hi, Figaro," she breathes out, pressing her palm against the tree harder. "Don't you see it? The trees⸻" bloodied hand holds itself open in front of the hunter, frantic movements following quick words ⸻"are bleeding. All over us, they are ⸻ Whispering. Can't you hear?"
She turns wide eyes back to the tree, where ⸻ Nothing is found. Mavi blinks, and blinks again, hand clean except for dirt and moss. No no no no no ⸻ Trembling hand moves up to tap against her chest, throat bulbing around the barbed wire she suddenly feels herself chewing and swallowing. When did it become hard to breathe?
"I ⸻" In, and out, in and out. Tap tap tap tap. "What are you doing here, Reagan?" It is her terrority, Mavi knows. The hunting grounds of the town own Artemis. "Don't you have some deer to hunt? Fishes to ⸻ Fish? Or do you make a habit of stalking me?"
