[One]
“I can weather your anger, Eilithe-- but not your hatred...”
A large part of this excursion, this little self-reflection, this soul-search was poorly planned. That is to say, that Eilithe Duskbringer had no idea where she was going in the physical world-- only that she had to find a way back to a place that wasn’t here at all, but there.
In the process of getting from here to there, she had now, to worry about the in between. There was no real direction to walk in-- she had a compass and that was not much help without a map which was half filled in. Of course, she was smart not to leave a trail- masked her scent and Shal’Khan’s, she took the trees while the cat prowled the jungle floor. She heard voices, repeating in her head, sometimes they were her own words:
“I love him, the way you love a piece of yourself that-- a rotting piece that leaves you feeling as though you must choose between cutting off part of your body or rotting with him."
She’d loved him enough, still to send Vrede with him out. Far. Far. Far out of range that was comfortable for her. It made her soul ache, to have her shadow so far from her, and the second shadow, Svalte-- well, it only made him more hungry. Neither creature was much of a conversationalist-- Vrede with her unending silence, and Svalte with his constant request for more food.
“You will always have a piece of me.”
“And what of a change, how do you weather change-- an all around shift in what we are?” Eilithe spoke aloud, leaned against a massive trunk, her saber curled at her side. It was perhaps the poorest of forms to answer voices that echoed around her. Yet, Eilithe had decided, three hours ago in the silence, that voices of any sort were welcomed.
“You have been in pain -- for a long time.”
Sweet, Velerodra-- she was a wall that Eilithe hung her pain upon, like a collection of tattered, waterlogged photographs. “No matter what-- that’s where I circle back. Pain. Unhappiness.” She had not slept the night before, there was too much to do, too much to say and her mind was loud. At two hours passed sunrise, an three hours since she had left. Eilithe fell asleep.
Her hand ran over Shal’Khan’s leg and the saber prickled, letting out a growl as he opened one eye. Eilithe felt it too. Spinning her head, she listened before she looked-- a single crunch of undergrowth came, and Eilithe flipped onto all fours to crawl toward the edge of the fat tree branch.
Drip...drip. Dripdripdripdrip
“Cyhiraeth?” She hadn’t noticed the sound her bloody nose made against the stone.
D̶̟͓́̾̂̀̀̕͜o̶̡̰̠͐̉̐̃ͅ ̸̝̮̈́ÿ̵̧͓̺̰̱̜̱ö̷͙̗̰̥͙̥̤̭̠́ū̴̡̡͓̺̗̭̹͔̖̎͗̆͌̇ ̵̈͛̋̏ͅs̵͙̗͛͛̓̏͘͝ē̵͔̩͔͖̖̯̂̀͂e̴͙͛͜ ̸̡͎͂̉̌͌ṃ̵̤͇̺̮̱́̍̏̀͐̿ͅë̷̞̱͎̲̻̦͚́͐̌̓ ̶̭̋̽́͝ͅn̸̡͇̞̠̝͠o̷̫͙̰͕̾̆ŵ̸̹͉̺̖͖͎͇
He stood there dripping blackness, a shadow which was no more the outline of a man than it was a discernible beast. She was frozen-- but this time, this time she was aware. She was awake.
S̵̱̦̣͔̔̆̕l̷͉̰͇͔͂̈́̕ḛ̴̆͠ͅẹ̶͕̈́͆̾̉̎̌̚͝p̵̱̫̖̬̟̉̉̈́̋͊̐̓̎͠,̶͚͎̺̩̅͊̽̈́̐̊̈̀ ̸̰̤͎̌ͅͅÈ̶̢̪̼̆͑͊̕į̷̳̠̼͉̘͂̓̈́͌͂ͅl̷̖͕̮͐͝i̶̝͇̦͎̥̫̠͙̜̎̔ţ̴̫̹́̂́̍̽͂͘͝h̸̨͍̭̙̏̿̋̈́̄̈́̽͋e̷̟̩̟̲͉̒͜͠ ̷̧̧̭̰̦̗̇̑c̵̟̟̤̈o̶̜̹͔̼͚̫̔́̈ͅḿ̷̼͉̠̙̅̋̋ę̵̬̑̿̓̚͜ ̸̻̪͔̖͙͘͝h̵͔̙͙̣̥̯̣͂̒̆́̒̅ỏ̴͇̻͚̫̳̼̯̜̆̂͛m̶͈̺̆̄̈͊̓̓ȅ̴̢̧̛̫̖̣͈̮͓̌͋͊͊͑̀̄
Eilithe breathed in and out tasting the blood that dripped from her nose, and all the voices that she had carried with her commanded her at once.
