Victoria watched Fallon leave the cavern, and then watched the entrance for several minutes after that. As the scarred and muscular body of Fallen stepped away from her, Victoria felt her heartbeat quicken. It rose steadily, silently, and she wrung her hands to distract from the mounting tension within her. When the flaxen hair finally disappeared into the golden light Victoria let out a single, strangled gasp.
Almost a sob, but she held her tears deep inside and forced the sadness down. She would see Fallon again, they'd promised. It was still difficult to watch her leave.
She remained within, trapped by the dimming sun, and straightened up at the deep and serene howl of her lover. She knew it was her, she was absolutely certain, and the frightful chill that it sent down her spine was tempered by an adoration. Yes, it was the sound of danger, but it was also the sound of
her. The other wolves she did not regard as kindly, but felt secure in the knowledge that Fallon's howl had been the loudest, and the strongest.
The sounds echoed and faded into the night, and with time the open air was available to Victoria once again.
She emerged from the tree when the sky was a pale, purplish blue. A gentle breeze blew her matted hair in a flurry of tiny snowflakes. Her skin did not react to the cold. She walked with purpose, the
empty woods focusing her on the task ahead as chilled blades of grass crackled under her bare feet, and retrieved her sword from the empty field. The bodies of the huntress and the villager Victoria had flung at her were still there, and the flies had found them. With a wrinkled nose Victoria left them where they were.
Her clothing was beyond salvage, and lay in pieces about the forest floor. No matter, she would find something soon enough. She crackled her neck from side to side, shook out her arms, and then with a small
fwip she shrunk down several times and took to the skies as a black, leathery-winged bat.
The forest burst into brilliant monochrome. Hundreds of ultrasonic clicks escaped from her tiny throat each second, and massive ears received their echoes to paint a flashing series of pictures to illustrate the world. She could detect every needle of the pines, every insect in the air, and each blade of grass in her path.
And she was
fast. Perhaps slow compared to a charging direwolf, but bat-travel was far more efficient than going by foot. That, and the fact that whatever dark powers fueled this ability had seen fit to bring her tools along for the ride. The silver rapier would still be in her hand when she shifted back later, and had she been wearing any clothing they would likewise be unaltered.
She flew for a long time. She could not see the stars nor the moon with her voice, but she could tell by the ache in her wings and the burning in her chest. After several hours, and untold miles, she began to see wagon tracks in the dirt.
She followed them. Tracks would lead to people, and people would have clothing and, hopefully, some way for her to bathe. She had considered finding a river along the way, but opted not to. A filthy, naked woman would be easier to explain, and would garner more sympathy, than a freshly washed one.
The tracks lead to a wider trail, and then to a dirt road. The scent of wood fires and livestock hit her nose, and sure enough a small house became visible.
Victoria swooped low in the brush and burst back into her humanoid form, cursing as she landed on brambles that cut at her icy skin. The house looked to be by itself. Victoria could see smoke rising from the treetops beyond but this one building seemed to be outside the village itself. It was perfect.
She watched for a while, seeing if anyone was inside, but there was no movement. Only the smoke from the chimney told of inhabitants, but they must be asleep. Plan B, then.
She stowed her sword in the dense bushes and approached the door. She took a deep breath, prepared herself mentally, and then pounded on the heavy wood.
"Help!" she wailed as pitifully as she could,
"Please, help me! Open the door!" she continued to pound on it until she heard latches open at the door creaked open just wide enough to reveal a very short, very old woman. She peered at Victoria, eyeing her up and down in obvious surprise, before opening the door fully.
"Oh, my poor dear! Come in at once or you'll catch your death of cold."
Victoria did enter, having been granted permission, and continued her act by falling to her knees in front of the old woman as she shut and locked the door.
"Thank you, thank you," she said in a shaking voice.
The home was very simple. A wood fireplace with a rocking chair, a small table, a few chests and cabinets along the walls, and a single bed. The fire illuminated the single room, and Victoria could not help but wonder how the woman could live like this. She didn't have time to think on it, though, because she was ushered to the bed and promptly given a blanket to wrap herself with.
"What has happened, child?" the kind woman asked. Her eyes were dark and glassy, shining pearls within a face ravaged by time and hardship. The wrinkles told a story, though, and they followed the patterns of smiles as much as they did frowns.
Victoria recited the script she had put together in the previous hours.
"Men, in the woods... bandits I think. They attacked our home. They.... they killed my husband and then they.... they..." she buried her head in the old woman's shoulder and sobbed in earnest... but not even Victoria was this good of an actor. It was as though her feigned misery had opened the floodgates to her true feelings, and she let loose all of the tears and cries that parting from Fallon had given her.
The woman's face turned down in grave sympathy.
"You needn't say it, my dear," she rested a light and frail hand on her shoulder, patting her back until the quakes subsided.
"They tried to take me with them, but I ran away and hid from them. I've been running for hours."
"You're safe now," the crone cooed in a gravelly but oddly soothing voice.
"They wouldn't dare come to Plithom, not with my Damian running the militia. I'll fetch him first thing in the morning, but first let me draw you a bath."
Victoria was elated to hear this, but feigned refusal, "Oh no, I couldn't ask that of y-you," she stammered pitifully.
"Nonsense. You rest now, I'll wake you when it's ready."
And Victoria did rest, or pretended to, as the old woman began warming water over the fire.
