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The sun draws low on the horizon; she knows that it is time to gather her things and call it a day. A basket full of fish, she wraps her weary fingers around the middle of her rod, carefully winding the string securely. A good haul, for certain; she will be able to feed herself, her daughter, and make a few coins as well. Her thoughts flashing to the little one at home, her lips curl into a smile as she lugs the basket up by the handle, feet urging her homeward bound once again. A familiar path that she had walked so many times before. Today, however...something is different. The colors hazy with the summer heat, perhaps? No, that isn't it. Strange footsteps etched into the dirt? No, that isn't it either. Concern crossing her face, she realizes what it is...a small whimpering sound emitting from amongst the trees at her side. Curiously, she glances over the brush, at first seeing nothing...and then a flash of red - hair peeking above the greenery. She hesitates...places her basket down, and moves closer. As she draws upon the brush, the whimpering suddenly stops. She halts a moment before urging herself onward. One step...two step...three steps... Standing before the bushes, she rises to the tips of her toes, leaning over, straining to see the soul that hides behind them. Lips parting, hand reaching... A hand grabs hers, and downward she tumbles... It takes a moment to regain her bearings, disoriented from the fall; rubbing her head, she raises her gaze to the woman before her. Wrapped in snug dark fabric, her curly red hair a shock of fire against the brush, a black mask covering her mouth - her eyes...her eyes are wild, a mixture of terror and fury. She lay, resting upon one elbow, other hand grasping at her side, breath ragged and raspy. The fisher-woman deflates, seemingly void of all the air in her body, her face fixes with worry and fear; she thrusts one hand towards the woman, who jumps with a start at the intrusion. "No..." her parched voice stammers, lips moving but no further words emerge. Arm shaking, she collapses, exhausted. Her eyes on the crimson fingers at the dark woman's side, she tears some fabric from her skirt. Reaching out with a shaking hand, she hushes the woman, tugging the bloody hand away... realizing how severe the wound actually is. Her brow knits with worry as she presses the fabric to it. The fisher-woman can feel the jerking of her chest, her breaths becoming more and more laboured. She shakes her head - what do I do?! Panic grasping her, she realizes that she is watching this woman die, right before her eyes. Red hair shaking, the woman coughs, a garnet streak drips down her cheek. Her eyes soften, now full of sorrow, lips quivering, a faint voice can be heard: "I don't have much t-time...tell her that I'm s-s-sorry...I h-have...f-failed..." Another cough, more drops of blood. The fisher-woman brushes her other hand over the woman's forehead, pushing her hair away from her face. "Who?" she asks, tears welling in her eyes, still holding pressure on the wound. She can feel chest yet rising and falling, but slowing...slowing... Her raspy voice, forced and ailing, "My...m-my daughter...tell her...her mother is s-sorry that...she's not c-coming...h-h-home again." Cough, cough. Groan. A whimper. Her voice but a whisper, now. "The g-guild...the guild will...know how to find...h-her. Tell...tell them...'B-banshee...has...f-f-fallen.' " A final moaning breath leaves her lips, and her body goes limp beneath the fisher-woman's careful hands. Her daughter...she thinks of her own child at home, and of never returning to her... Her tears flow freely as she realizes the weight of the moment. She sits, in mourning, for some time; the sun but a memory of the day, the moon rising, and sorrow in her heart. The words echo through her mind. "Banshee has fallen." A promise to an unknown guild. She wipes her eyes, and rises to her feet, wandering off to make good on her word. Yvie | |