07-19-2016, 04:03 PM
She splashed her face in the sink, let the cold water sink into her skin. The gift hovered just out of reach, like a maddening halo. A taunt she had no answer to. Did she listen to the ardent beat of her heart - banish thought of the cost, the reckless consequences; seek to appease the pain and anger of loss? Or instead heed the slow seep of Laurene's words, hooking into her brain more each minute with the grim shackles of responsibility.
She stared at her reflection, palms braced on either side of the basin. Blueish shadows smudged beneath her pale eyes. Her face was hollow and drawn. Whenever she thought she had a handle on the grief, it washed over anew, tugging at her battlements, seeking control. Maybe the guilt would stay forever. Maybe it should.
She sighed. Let the tension drop from her shoulders.
As she left, a legionnaire she didn't recognise attached himself to her shadow. Bandages capped half his head, blushed faintly with blood above his temple. He offered a ragged smile in the moment she noticed him, and tipped his head in silent greeting. She did not examine how the knot of feeling in her chest stirred, nor admit the wash of disappointment in its wake. She didn't even indulge the irritation that she should still be coddled. Instead she only glanced at his injury.
He should be resting. Probably, so should she.
~~*~~
Hasty shelters had been erected around the embassy grounds to accomodate the swollen numbers. The legionnaire kept his distance. She was content with that, and made no efforts to breach the silence, nor for now to even learn his name. Volunteers sorted food parcels from what supplies they had. Arranged garments and blankets. Efficiency buzzed through the camp despite the hum of desperation, and Natalie found her place as one cog among many in the heat and the dust.
Whilst working she spotted Ekene several times, flitting about like a baby sparrow, expression grim and determined through tear-smudged eyes. He cradled his arm protectively to his chest as he darted on his errands. Despite how bereft last night had been of sleep for either of them, he dredged up more energy than she felt, but it lightened her mood to see him so focused. And perhaps pacified her acceptance of rooting herself here.
When it came, hours later, the recognition brushed as delicately as butterfly wings.
Natalie exused herself, and drifted through the camp seeking its source. Confusion brushed her expression, the whisper of a memory that spoke of kinship and duty. Its meaning eluded her. She moved in a fog, lost in a world in which Jay meant more than he ought and a serpent circled her fingers. Her head throbbed dully. The epiphany taunted as cruelly as the gift did, and then faded with her footsteps. Her pale gaze sharpened. She blinked.
The young woman sat alone, a blanket strewn across her shoulders, head bowed against her knees. Shiny black braids cascaded towards the floor. A ring of desolation surrounded her form, and those sat on its periperal shunned her with turned backs and averted gazes.
Natalie crouched beside her, placing a palm against her bare arm to rouse her attention. The woman's skin seared her hand with heat. And suddenly she understood.
"Natalie!"
Ekene skidded his way over, eyes wide, teeth gritted. With his good hand he prised her touch away. He glanced up, stricken. "Her brothers left her here. Her husband did not want her."
His voice hushed, serious and urgent. "She's bad luck. Come away."
"She's just unwell."
More than that, of course, but Natalie choose her words carefully. Her palm was moist with sweat, and the heat of fever almost shimmered from the girl. She recognised what it meant, but was uncertain what to make of the discovery, or why it had called her here. There was little she could do. She was probably the safest she could be, here; they burned witches and worse in some of the villages.
Ekene's expression pinched. He did not think she understood. "Bad luck,"
he repeated insistently. Fear ghosted his wide gaze; he clearly didn't want to speak the word of what the woman was, the root of that ill luck, and the reason she had been abandoned.
Perhaps he had never questioned how they'd escaped the explosion at the hospital.
And perhaps that was for the best.
Suddenly the woman lifted her head. Black eyes slick like river stones. Her brow sheened, her cheeks flush. She began to speak in her own language. Natalie understood only a handful of words, but the miserable intonation was stark. The fear fever-sharp.
Ekene sprung back. Natalie leaned forward, intent. "You can survive this,"
she whispered. If understanding ghosted the young woman's expression in reply, Natalie missed it. Instead the girl clamped her hands over her face, muscles rigid. A thin trickle of vomit slipped through her fingers. Natalie recoiled, then reluctantly accepted the burden. "Ekene. Fetch towels and water."
"I heard them talking,"
he whispered. "They'll take her away. Please leave her, Natalie."
The fingers of his good hand wound into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her away.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Abruptly the ground vibrated. The legionnaire straightened, alert. As the shells began to fall, chaos erupted.
She stared at her reflection, palms braced on either side of the basin. Blueish shadows smudged beneath her pale eyes. Her face was hollow and drawn. Whenever she thought she had a handle on the grief, it washed over anew, tugging at her battlements, seeking control. Maybe the guilt would stay forever. Maybe it should.
She sighed. Let the tension drop from her shoulders.
As she left, a legionnaire she didn't recognise attached himself to her shadow. Bandages capped half his head, blushed faintly with blood above his temple. He offered a ragged smile in the moment she noticed him, and tipped his head in silent greeting. She did not examine how the knot of feeling in her chest stirred, nor admit the wash of disappointment in its wake. She didn't even indulge the irritation that she should still be coddled. Instead she only glanced at his injury.
He should be resting. Probably, so should she.
~~*~~
Hasty shelters had been erected around the embassy grounds to accomodate the swollen numbers. The legionnaire kept his distance. She was content with that, and made no efforts to breach the silence, nor for now to even learn his name. Volunteers sorted food parcels from what supplies they had. Arranged garments and blankets. Efficiency buzzed through the camp despite the hum of desperation, and Natalie found her place as one cog among many in the heat and the dust.
Whilst working she spotted Ekene several times, flitting about like a baby sparrow, expression grim and determined through tear-smudged eyes. He cradled his arm protectively to his chest as he darted on his errands. Despite how bereft last night had been of sleep for either of them, he dredged up more energy than she felt, but it lightened her mood to see him so focused. And perhaps pacified her acceptance of rooting herself here.
When it came, hours later, the recognition brushed as delicately as butterfly wings.
Natalie exused herself, and drifted through the camp seeking its source. Confusion brushed her expression, the whisper of a memory that spoke of kinship and duty. Its meaning eluded her. She moved in a fog, lost in a world in which Jay meant more than he ought and a serpent circled her fingers. Her head throbbed dully. The epiphany taunted as cruelly as the gift did, and then faded with her footsteps. Her pale gaze sharpened. She blinked.
The young woman sat alone, a blanket strewn across her shoulders, head bowed against her knees. Shiny black braids cascaded towards the floor. A ring of desolation surrounded her form, and those sat on its periperal shunned her with turned backs and averted gazes.
Natalie crouched beside her, placing a palm against her bare arm to rouse her attention. The woman's skin seared her hand with heat. And suddenly she understood.
"Natalie!"
Ekene skidded his way over, eyes wide, teeth gritted. With his good hand he prised her touch away. He glanced up, stricken. "Her brothers left her here. Her husband did not want her."
His voice hushed, serious and urgent. "She's bad luck. Come away."
"She's just unwell."
More than that, of course, but Natalie choose her words carefully. Her palm was moist with sweat, and the heat of fever almost shimmered from the girl. She recognised what it meant, but was uncertain what to make of the discovery, or why it had called her here. There was little she could do. She was probably the safest she could be, here; they burned witches and worse in some of the villages.
Ekene's expression pinched. He did not think she understood. "Bad luck,"
he repeated insistently. Fear ghosted his wide gaze; he clearly didn't want to speak the word of what the woman was, the root of that ill luck, and the reason she had been abandoned.
Perhaps he had never questioned how they'd escaped the explosion at the hospital.
And perhaps that was for the best.
Suddenly the woman lifted her head. Black eyes slick like river stones. Her brow sheened, her cheeks flush. She began to speak in her own language. Natalie understood only a handful of words, but the miserable intonation was stark. The fear fever-sharp.
Ekene sprung back. Natalie leaned forward, intent. "You can survive this,"
she whispered. If understanding ghosted the young woman's expression in reply, Natalie missed it. Instead the girl clamped her hands over her face, muscles rigid. A thin trickle of vomit slipped through her fingers. Natalie recoiled, then reluctantly accepted the burden. "Ekene. Fetch towels and water."
"I heard them talking,"
he whispered. "They'll take her away. Please leave her, Natalie."
The fingers of his good hand wound into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her away.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Abruptly the ground vibrated. The legionnaire straightened, alert. As the shells began to fall, chaos erupted.