As soon as she finished burying the shovel, she headed further into the woods, counting her steps with a tapping claw. Her path meandered between trees, criss-crossing over itself several times. The chittering whispers of the forest followed close behind.

The makeshift coffin was buried under a bramble of fallen fir limbs, which she stacked neatly, then stacked neatly a second time, when the first stack's untidiness unnerved her. She opened the lid and climbed in, carefully tucked her tail around her ankles, and pulled the lid closed again.

She lay still for several moments, making sure no light from outside could squirm through the slats. If the sun could not pierce her defences, then no eye could. She wriggled around, observing the other side, and was pleased.

From inside her bag, she brought out an already-dimming gaethzen stone, and placed it in the corner above her head. A crumpled notebook, a stick of charcoal, and a scratched mirror were brought out, arranged just so. She turned onto her stomach and opened her mouth wide, sketching what she saw.

When she was finished, she next brought out a small carving knife and a chunk of ivory, and began to shape it with confident strokes, pausing now and then to compare it to her drawing. The tips of her ears brushed the lid of the coffin as they perked up with inner pride at her work.

Nearing the end, her fingers began to tremble, shedding ivory flakes from her fur. Muffled voices spoke somewhere above, and she grew still, straining to understand. All at once the coffin shifted, raising up from the ground. She held her breath, making no move but to loop her fingers through the rope handle of the lid, holding it closed. The voices quieted, but the coffin continued to bump and rock, lulling her with a lurching sway. She waited until it was set down again, and waited some more.

Pff. And then again, pff. Dirt plopping onto the lid, she guessed, and used the noise to mask her sounds as she carved quicker, finishing the last ridge. The noise was a dull trickle by the time she finished and packed her artisanal supplies away. She flipped onto her back, and with carving knife clenched in her teeth, pushed against the lid with a savage growl.

The lid flew off with no resistance. She leapt from the coffin, whirling around, claws bared, her bristling tail slashing the air.

There was no one.

The forest was quiet, almost serene, with late afternoon sunlight dappling through the trees, pouring thick streams of dusty honey onto the crinkly floor. Beside the coffin, her stack of fir limbs remained undisturbed.

She spat out the knife, took a deep breath, and retrieved the lid before crawling back inside. She was not looking forward to this next part. But it was necessary.

---

She took another pinch of eghmok moss as she settled into the plush carriage seat, and then threw the rest out the window once the carriage was moving at a steady pace. Better to resist the temptation, let things settle naturally.

She'd tried to look presentable. She had dragged a brush through her mane a few times, until the handle had snapped. She'd procured a new skirt of plain, thick, grey wool, and a modest lilac blouse of cotton. She'd put on a nice straw hat with a ribbon, even. She rather thought that she looked plain and respectable, even with the eye-patch.

But she should have gone with the gaudy mage's robe, she thought. It would have hidden the fact that she forgot shoes.

The carriage trundled along. She tried to keep her eye from the windows, from the shadows chasing after. They couldn't be there if she didn't see them. Her teeth clicked as the carriage bounced over a rough patch in the road, and she winced, gasping a little at the pain, and leaned her head back into the seat.

Arthe Dale flew by.

More woods.

Kaerna was a short stop, the carriage slowly easing through the gates.

The wheels rattled over a wooden bridge, and Misenseor Abbey loomed off to the right, and was gone. The air began to stink of sulphur and ash, but the carriage didn't stop at the Caravansary, and only picked up speed passing the road to Dirge. Her eye drooped, and she failed to notice exactly how they passed through the mountains. The sun was over the horizon by the time they rounded the Greater Fist, and the roar of insects in the nearby swamp nearly lulled her back to sleep before the carriage came to a halt at the ferry.

The door opened, the driver holding his webbed fingers out. She took them gingerly, allowing him to help her down the wobbly steps, and they exchanged pleasantries that were none-too pleasant with the ache in her jaw flaring up again.

She presented her papers to the proper authorities, and waited, swaying with the cedar, for the ferry to arrive. There it was, a dim little light bobbing on the river, growing brighter as it came closer to shore. Two officials whispered behind her, heads tilted nearly together, rustling her papers.

"Ma'am? Here you go. Safe journeys."

She gave them a thin smile as she accepted her papers back and folded them into her skirt pocket, after first shaking off the glistening sheen of moisture that had accumulated. The officials smiled back, and she turned her gaze down, away from their teeth, like angler fish.

She didn't shudder. That was the important part.

The ferry came, and she boarded silently, passing over the necessary lirums, neck fur bristling at the slight contact with the man's scales. How she missed S'Kra Mur. She fidgeted silently, rubbing her skirt folds until she couldn't remember the feel of him anymore.

The dark blue of the sky simmered to a thick black, peppered with blinding points of light staring down at her. Nights like this, she hated the night. The water splished quietly compared to all the animals conducting their Revelfae symphonies on either shore. Her ears flicked back, honed to delicate perfection, drawing the ferryman's actions in her mind's eye. She kept her gaze on the docks up ahead.

She didn't wait for the ferry to reach it, leaping off seconds before, nearly missing the dock by a claw's width. She ran, tugging her hat down over her face, then jogged, then stumbled into a walking pace as the warm glow of street lamps welcomed her into the city. She had time, now. She would take it.

Just a lone, one-eyed Prydaen woman, casually strolling through Riverhaven in the dead of night, without a care in the world... No one dared approach her, and she took a wide berth around any who might have crossed her path, especially that one stinky cat that loved everyone.

She passed through the west gate with a subtle nod to the guards, and headed down the path toward Gwenalian Shore. She ignored the lake, fixated on the troublesome path. The whispers grew louder, water splashing as long, dark shapes pulled themselves out from it, crunching through the pebbles behind her. She growled quietly to herself, her pace quickening just a bit, following the path as it wound away from the lake into the trees once again.

Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the cottage door, knuckles raised to knock. She shivered, lowered her arm, and turned and sat, staring up at the stars until morning, with only the hissing, slithering words for company. Their fingers brushed against her shoulders, groping her cheeks, claws prying at her lips. She closed her eye, clamped her ears flat against her head, and hunched over. Eventually, the sky began to lighten.

Through the fog of murmurs, she heard the delicate tinkle of dishes, and a glow softened the little round window in the door. She stood and knocked.

All sound stopped.

She waited, tapping her claws against her thigh as she counted out the seconds. She knocked again.

Hushed voices, real ones. She frowned, tail flicking.

A face appeared in the window, narrow, slitted amber eyes, and the shadows of tall, pointed ears.

The door opened a smidge.

"H-hello? Can I help you?"

"Yes," she said, her voice hoarse. She lifted her hat, pointed to her eye-patch. The amber eyes flitted back and forth, studying her face.

"Sorry, no empath here."

"Aleksandrrra."

The door almost shut. Then it creaked open all the way.

She smiled, ears perking. Aleksandra was exactly as she remembered, a perfect figure, plump in all the appreciative places, with short, glossy black fur, though most of it hidden by a frilly pink nightgown.

"What's your name?"

"Milla."

Aleksandra's tail poofed dramatically.

"Milla..."

As Aleksandra's eyes appraised her, her own gaze drifted to the shadowed interior of the cottage. The bedroom door was open, a hunched figure cradling a small blade half hidden behind the bed. Two brightly-coloured tailbands leaned against each other on the dresser. And yet, she felt no sadness. Perhaps... perhaps even joy, for these two souls to have found company in each other.

Aleksandra stepped out, shutting the door behind her, after giving a nod to the figure in the bedroom. She wrapped her arms around Milla, purring quietly into the crook of her neck. Milla returned the hug, her tail joining in, squeezing until her arms ached. They pulled back, staring at each other closely, whiskers ruffling together.

"I thought--" Aleksandra began. Milla shook her head.

"So did I."

They sat down on the steps, suddenly too awkward to touch or glance at the other.

"I thought you rrran. Like we planned. Changed yourrr name, yourrr face."

"I went... I went to an inn. For a few days. I like your new stripes."

"Me too."

"What happened to your face?"

"I had a disagrrreement. Its nothing. I looked everrrywherrre forrr you. I neverrr thought to look back."

"I looked, too. I didn't know who for. No one had heard of your accent. I thought maybe you changed it, too."

"What's her name?"

"Erinpura."

"Cute. You bonded?"

"No."

Milla just nodded.

Aleksandra leaned against her. The silence stretched on as the sun cleared the horizon. Dishes continued to tinkle inside, the smell of tea wafting out of the kitchen window.

"Aleks... I'm sorrry. What I did--"

"Hush. I know it wasn't you. It was never you."

"It was."

"I don't care."

"Just tell me?"

"I forgive you."

Milla bit back a sob, leaned back against her, drying her eye on her nightgown. Aleksandra stroked her ears, fixing up the tufts of fur that always rumpled the wrong way.

"Would you like to come inside?"

"No. I need you to do something forrr me."

"Anything."

"Take me back therrre? To the..." She choked, shutting her eye tight as she gulped back a sudden flood of nausea. Aleksandra ran her claws through her tangled mane, nodding.

"It's that bad?"

"Yes..."

"Alright. Would you like breakfast?"

"No... not hungrrry."

"I am. I'll get dressed, too."

Milla turned her head away as Aleksandra leaned in, her lips just brushing her bruised cheek.

"Silly."

"Sorrry."

"It's okay."

Aleksandra rose and opened the door, vanishing inside. A moment later there was a short, sharp squeal, and the faint tinge of blood on the air. Not long after, the door opened again, and Aleksandra strode out, heavy boots thudding on the wooden steps. Milla's ears drooped to see her more fully clothed, but she soon forgot all about that as they made their way back to Riverhaven.

The lake was calm. Aleksandra's fingers entwined tightly with hers, squeezing every few steps, and not a whisper was heard, nor rustle felt from anything that wasn't obviously some waterfowl nesting in the bushes. They talked very little, about nothing important, catching up on the little things.

Milla grew more and more despondent as they neared their destination, a large two-storied building, looking like a cross between a hospital and a prison. She held back a yawn, squinting as the sun rose above the rooftops. They stopped just across the street from it, letting the bustle of busy residents flow around them.

"Milla?"

"Mm..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, please."

"You'll behave? No fighting them this time? You'll listen to the empaths, take your medicine?"

"I will. I prrromise."

"Alright. Milla? Can I..."

Milla sighed.

"Just a hug is fine."

"I'll take it."

Her eye burned with unshed tears. Her entire head felt thick, numb, like a hollow watermelon barely attached to her neck. She breathed Aleksandra's scent in, and allowed a short purr to rumble in her throat. Aleksandra fiddled with the tangles of Milla's mane one last time, then set her hat back between her ears.

"I'll visit. I'll be there, when you get out."

"Thank you..."

"Ready?"

Milla nodded, and they started across the street.

Her vision began to blur. Her stomach turned over and over, gurgling angrily at not having anything to expel. Her legs shook, her fur bristled. They sat down... There was a desk. An elf, all smiles and dimples and long, sharp teeth, gills flaring under his chin. The stench of cleanliness poured from every surface, dripping from the walls and ceiling like molasses, suffocating. Gravity couldn't make up its mind anymore.

They were walking now. She held onto Aleskandra's arm with both of her own, staggering, drooling, sobbing. Then it was gone. No more Aleksandra.

The room was small, soft green walls, a single table. Her hat was on it. Her eye-patch. Her fake cambrinth eyeball. Blouse. Skirt. Bloomers. Papers. A Be'ort Tear rose. A lockpick. Two lockpicks, three, four, five. Six. Now they were in a box, and the box was taken away, and the room was empty again. She was sitting on the table, opening her mouth, letting their fingers probe and prod, tugging at every inch of her. Her mane was cut short, the remaining tangles brushed out. Two more lockpicks were taken away. She was holding a thin white tunic, and then it was covering her body.

They were walking again. Climbing stairs. A twisting hallway, rattling doors. She knelt, threw up nothing until her throat burned. A door opened, closed, and she was lying in bed.

Bars in the window, shadows slinking across the floor, then the wall, then darkness. The door opened, light. A small wooden tray on the bed beside her, a dead rat lying across it. She devoured it, and the gurgling in her gut quieted down.

The tray was gone. A chamber-pot was by the door. Then it was gone. The blackness turned to a deep, melancholy blue.

She could breathe now, her mind clear enough to proceed. Her tongue played over her teeth and gums, pushing carefully. It had healed, but not entirely. She reached a few fingers in and wormed the chunk of ivory out, felt at the raw and swollen gums with her tongue. It would heal, they'd see to it. A lot more would bleed first.

She turned the fake ivory teeth over, claws prying at the lockpick carefully hidden inside the hollow underside. She hid it with the straw in the mattress, for now. It would need a better hiding place soon. She slipped the prosthetic back into her aching mouth, set it until it clicked with the rest of her teeth.

She stood and stretched, then sat back down and focused her mind, meditating on every trick she'd learned, fingers twitching, heartbeat slowing, the world growing more detailed around her.

"Don't you worrry any more, Aleksandrrra. I'm back. I'm going to get you out of herrre."

---

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!

so good!! thank you for sharing!

Aw, thank you!

Part 2 is a little different.

*From The Personal Journal of Horace P. Applescott*

I dreamt of a coyote, distant, sauntering closer. That's all it was. A very unsettling dream, and so noted for posterity. A patient was brought in today, oddly familiar. I went through the files. Milla, she was called back then. Lasika, now. Brought in by the dogs, after taking out the orderlies we sent to her home on behalf of her house-mate. One of them lost an arm. She threw herself down in the examination room and gouged her eye out on the edge of the table. She refused to let empaths tend to her for weeks in our care. She seems more stable this time around. She changed her markings, but I know its her. The accent. Initial examination has revealed several prosthetics, teeth and an eye. Patient is clearly distraught. I've sent her to observation before doing a more thorough examination when she has calmed.

She's fascinating. Her meditation techniques are more advanced than those we teach here. I watched for ten roisaen and I swear she vanished before my eyes. I had to open the door and check she was still there. Guards stationed nearby, of course. It's worrisome, that level of disassociation. I cannot imagine how powerful her out of body experience must have been. The subtle twitches of fingers, the tensing of muscles, almost imperceptible. She is readying herself. She is a dangerous one.

I had a chat with her today. She is acutely aware of her disease of the mind, and very willing to receive treatment. This is good. She believes everyone has been replaced by merelew, and held an anlas-long conversation with someone who did not exist. It seemed to be about the weather. She informed me she had been incarcerated several times by the Zoluren government for her beliefs. I released her into the courtyard. She remained still, standing in the spot I left her, but her ears never stopped moving about. No one interacted with her until dusk, when the orderlies came to take her back to her room.

More observation in the courtyard today. This time she fixated upon another Prydaen woman, a patient we have had here for some twenty years now. She seemed focused and intent, whispering things to the other woman. They were forced apart several times. Lucia is not coherent in any sense of the word, and did not respond to the interaction, as is usual. This upset Lasika greatly, to the point of tears and yelling, then she was taken back to her room. The first surgery begins tomorrow.

Patient was uncooperative and needed sedation by the orderlies. I thank young Drinsco for his moon mage training, he put her to sleep quite easily. We used more restraints than usual, and I and the surgeon began our work probing her mind. There was more hair to remove first. It got in my nose. She awoke halfway through, and appeared to be in pain. Gods know I was. I restored our brains after our procedure revealed the main sources of her sickness to me. Her eye remains uncooperative. The sense of self holds sway over this injury. It would not be wise to heal it without further study. Part of her jawbone and her teeth were in a state, and ripening with infection. I re-grew her teeth on that side of her jaw, and blunted them all afterwards. We have added the prosthetic to her belongings.

Patient is slow to recover. Her meditations falter. She hounds the other woman still, shouting things, whispering things, pulling her across the courtyard. I've ordered them left alone to see how this plays out. This may have been a mistake. They're gone now. Several gates are unlocked, apparently they walked out the front door. The moon mages are unable to locate them. I've sent for the dogs. The dogs always bring them back.

I dreamt of the coyote again. It hounded me through the streets. My nerves, I am certain, but the feeling lingers. It has been a little over a day, but the dogs succeeded. Lasika is in acute trauma, Lucia has been returned to her room and her routines. They were dressed in ball gowns. No lasting physical harm on either. Lasika has been searched thoroughly a second time, but nothing was found. Our security informs me they found a discarded lockpick not far from the hospital, in the gutter. The dogs tracked it down. This failing is on me, I should have sensed the prosthetic teeth was a smuggling trick upon her initial examination. I was too kind to her initial shock.

The second surgery has progressed well. I've removed several key portions of the patient's brain, and smoothed over the scarring. After several anlaen, she has been deemed functioning. Her motor skills are deteriorated, as is to be expected. I will re-grow what is necessary. She is partially paralyzed on her left side, unable to blink or move her extremities. Her right side can hold a spoon. She ate well. She does not recognize Lucia in the courtyard tonight.

The third surgery has been adequate. Motor functions largely restored, although there is some trembling and slurring of words. She continues to wake during surgeries, while the doctor's scalpels are inside of her. It is disturbing, but I find myself fascinated and giddy to wonder what she makes of it. I try to smile at her as much as I can. She is quite beautiful. I must behave, but I am in love. I am married, Horace! No, a different kind of love. Familial.

A week since her last surgery, she suddenly darted across the courtyard and lifted Lucia over her shoulders. She has become downright feral. She accosted a guard, and beat him into unconsciousness with his own club. She made it to the front doors, which were thankfully barred this early in the morning. The entire hospital is on lock down again. I hear dogs in the halls... but the growl is unfamiliar to me. We required emergency surgery on the patient. Until we can recover from the mess, she remains in a vegetative state. I worry we cut too deeply.

I cannot sleep. The damn beast stalks me. I hear it behind me all day long, that mournful howl. I understand now. I took the two Prydaen women into surgery alone. I restored them fully as I was able, though I am reeling from the shock. I have never cut a patient myself. I am quite giddy. I am excited to see what will happen now. They are progressing nicely. Walking around. They recognize each other. They whisper. They whisper to the others. To me. I can see them too. Lucia was right. I must do as she asks now.

It has been three andu since my last nap. I am energized as ever. Lasika is the chosen one! I made mistakes I cannot fix with her, but she will service until he is ready to use her. I'm letting her out early. I've made Drinsco hypnotize her, she won't remember our talks. I had to make some adjustments to Drinsco after the fact. He is in the courtyard now, drooling on himself. It happens to so many enterprising young moon mages, doesn't it? That's what we're here for.

Lasika and Lucia have been discharged. I feel so tired. My eyes are so weary, I cannot make sense of my earlier entries in her file. I swear I see the words, but the sound they make in my mind is a vast roar of nothing. It is just exhaustion setting in. It will make sense when I've rested. I am simply grateful again to have been able to be of so much help to the suffering of this world. I must tend to my next patient, who only the other day was my most trusted assistant.