No one mourns the wicked.

[syl_thorn]

[Early evening, Wednesday, August 13th, day 444]
[The woods outside town]Woke up'is mornin' when the sky wuz th'deep blue'a th'sea bottom, m'breath stranglin'n m'throat, and a pain'n m'head't threatened t'push m'eyes from'eir sockets. I sat up, chokin' 'n clawin't m'throat, wond'rin' dully if'n m'head wuz gonna burst 'fore I strangled, an'en't wuz

Comments

[glass_beddau]

I will bloody well have my own time and measure and space of breathing, though it's grown rare; so when I set hands to it then for my peace it suits me to make bloody sure there’s no-one laying claim to me, nor to have mind of me to do so.

I did this more often, afore. Now need plan and plead for the time of it, and that truth rubs raw as grit on sweat-worn skin. So draw feathers and stone around myself, and there’s a quiet in the air around me, cloak of mist and dreams, and it soothes.

The cool of wet riverstone, and a stillness.

Take myself out and further, and come the moments I mind where I’m going. Recall another time I did this, mind set in myself and body wrapped in the cochl o caddug and that fool rabbit blind to me ‘til I clear and away stepped on it... Grin at the memory, and take myself over moss and through clearing, listening to the day around me, and nothing gone quiet for my being there, nothing stilled at sound or sight of someone out walking; no place I need be and no-one I need answer to, and I feel the misery

[syl_thorn]

Birds. Keep findin' th'damned thin's. I saw'em scattered 'round th'Carn'val lot, an'I thought I heard someone say we'd lost a few layin' hens, but I di'n't really get th'sense ovvit 'til I wuz out'ere. I see sparrows, blackbirds, crows, robins, even a hawk. Gather 'nough feathers'n talons t'last me a lifetime, but th'whole thin' leaves me witta bad taste'n m'mouth. Somethin' happened 'is morning, an'I still don't think 't wuz nothin' good. T'morrow I go t'Nanshe, see what she thinks.

As'm passin' near t'th'river, I hear some rustlin'. Takes me a minute t'see'er passin' through th'trees, dressed'n workin' browns'n greys. 'er belly's gone flat, an'er's a satchel at'er side. "Glass." I call, raisin' m'hand inna wave. "How ya been?"

[glass_beddau]

Eyeing a particular twist and flare of bramble and take the cloak off and turn it and wrap it up in itself. It's sturdier than I'd right to expect, but the idea of catching it bothers me nonetheless; I wonder if it'd bleed, more'n all else.

"Glass," as I come through the tangle and for a moment thinking of pulling back into feather and mist and gone, but time of quiet's settled me some, and the voice isn't a misery.

"Well enough," call back, thread through and down a lace of trees towards Syl. "You and yours?"

[syl_thorn]

Ferra minute I think she's gonna draw back, but she turns t'me'n calls back, "Well enough. You and yours?"

"Not too bad." Gesture t'wards'er belly. "All come out well, I hope?" Likely so, with Nu watchin' over'er. Ain't known Nu t'lose many babies.

Start walkin' t'wards'er an' stop onna dead woodpecker. "Fuckin' hell." I says, an' sigh. "Y'feel't? 'is mornin'?" Glass ain't got th'sense't Tess has, but she's got a li'l bit ovvan eye t'er. Curious t'see if'n she felt anythin'.

[pirate_mystic]

Head hurts. Felt all night like there's a storm coming. Thought it broke some time before light, crack in the air like thunder with no sound, pressure makin my ears pop an hair go up on my arms, but no storm ever come. Felt dizzy since then, low pain right down in the back of my skull like when I used to drink rum, wake up next mornin feelin turned inside out.

Ain't right. Ain't nothin right. Nothin natural. Time to find Catherine.

[catherineknight]

I felt it this morning, oh, how I felt it. Like God had call for the air to condense and then beaten it like a drum. Except I do not think that it was God's hand behind it, not at all. When I stepped out of the abbey this morning, there were birds lying dead beneath the trees, and the brothers and sisters looked alarmed. The horses in the stables were frothing; a few had kicked their way free of their stalls and were running loose in the corral. Hirondelle was still there, standing stock still and trembling. I soothed her, and fed her, and dressed in my leather jerkin. When I passed by the weapons storage, I asked for my rifle. The Brother asked why I wanted it. I told him that I was going hunting. He said perhaps I would bring home supper, and I said that perhaps I would

[pirate_mystic]

It ain't that I want to hurt anyone. Lady knows I don't. But sometimes you just got to, to keep other people safe. The town. Children, like that Parsons baby. Always swore I'd be a soldier no more, do the works of peace, but how c'n I sit back an let others do evil when I can stop it?

Still, it ain't an easy thing. I got my weapons, an Catherine got hers, an I got a sick feelin right down in my gut still. Least we're away from town, no one else to get in the way. Doin the right thing, I know it. Walking soft, like hunting. Hear a voice up ahead an go still.

[catherineknight]

I know that Reed is reluctant, but she is the first person that I have met in this town who seems to understand what is at stake here, and who is willing to act. And in this case we know, we know that this woman is a witch, that she is acting against God. From asking around town, I have learned she is even helping women end their pregnancies. She is killing babes in the womb and outside it, and clearly the town authorities are willing to let her do it. How can we let this stand?

Reed is in the lead, she is more accustomed to this sort of battle than I, and when she freezes I do similar. Voices, yes, voices. There is someone up ahead. Thank you, God, for guiding us.

[glass_beddau]

The gunshot knots my gut like bunched wire. Ought've done something sooner, ought've thought of something, ought've...

They're slowing, and Syl's not dead, but the blood... Feeling damn sour I ever had courteous word to say to Sir Catherine, can at least set that out. Draw up behind her, a dozen paces back and wish I knew more of how soon their guns were like to need reloading. Still. Take aim--

Rather thrown by the swarm of flies, and it puts my aim off a bit. And then I'm bloody clearing out, as can't swear to how well the other's seeing; toss the second rock in her direction, hoping it'll be enough to at least have her head down, and off after Syl again.

[pirate_mystic]

Think first I just gone and tripped, an then somethin hits me cross the face an somethin else's grabbin onto my arms, prickly an leaf-wet. Freeze up for a moment just cos of the unnaturalness of it all, things that should be still comin to life, an then I'm fightin to get my work knife out. Noise round Catherine like round somethin dead, but I can't look to see. Start slashin at the branches, cuttin myself free.

[catherineknight]

The root rips its way from the ground like the rend of flesh, and it winds around Reed's ankle like a serpent. It is so sudden that I freeze, just for a moment, but it's long enough for the witch to hurl a bag of powder into my face. I cough and choke on the foul-smelling dust, and before I can catch my breath I'm surrounded by a buzzing, stinging cloud. Wasps dig their stingers into the skin of my face, flies batter their way into my eyes, my nose, my ears. I shriek in pain and surprise, wrapping my arms around my head, and over the humming of wings I hear the crashing sound of the witch escaping

[syl_thorn]

Christ all-fucking-mighty, too damned close. Dunno how long they'll be kept busy, nor how much mojo I got left in me. Run wit' m'right hand clamped tight over m'bleedin' shoulder; least th'blood seems t'be clottin', so guess I don't gotta worry 'bout bleedin' t'death.

Full dark now, an'I can't hear th'curses 'n yells no more. M'side's pulled tight inna stitch, an' m'shoulder feels fulla th'same wasps I sent't th'blonde, Lean 'gainst a big tree t'get m'bearin's. Felt like I wuz gettin' t'know'ese woods pretty well, but th'woods when't's dark 'n ye're bein' hunted are a diff'rent animal from th'day, an'I really ain't so sure where th'fuck I am