Vivian #2
“You aren’t thinking of that male again, are you?” Her voice was compassionate, but stern.
“No.” I’d learned better than to blame myself for his death in front of Ida. She had low tolerance for self-criticism.
The self-loathing was justified, I thought. I promised him I’d be back that night. Then I wasn’t. It was my biggest regret; the guilt ate me alive.
“Good. Because it wasn’t your fault. He was already dead when you got there, dear. There was nothing you could do.”
Except he hadn’t been dead. His eyes were attentive.
He’d tried to communicate. He even swallowed my wrist in his massive grip to stop me as I tried to leave—probably begging me to stay with him so he didn’t die alone.
And I fucking left. I wish I knew what he was trying to say.
My mind circled in endless loops, assuming the worst about his final words.
The unknown left a wound that even my field couldn’t heal.
“It was night and there was a blizzard. You both would’ve died if you’d gone back out.” Ida stared into my soul with her pale green eyes. I wonder if she could see in our connected gaze that there was no convincing me I was blameless.
“You both would’ve died” had been her argument that night too. When I’d frantically asked if she had a sled I could use to move the behemoth of a man, she’d flatly told me she wouldn’t let me go back for him. She said the elements “would have already claimed his soul, if the creatures hadn’t.”
When I tried to leave despite her warnings, she followed.
What was I supposed to fucking do?! Let an elderly woman re-learning how to walk, who I’d come to love as my only friend, follow me on a death mission?! How could I live with that decision when I knew she was right, and the man was probably already long dead? It wasn’t a choice I could make.
“I know,” I conceded. This wasn’t good for either of us to think about.
“You aren’t strong enough to tote a Quadmos, Vivian. Sled or not.”
When dusting snow off the man, I’d noticed he had four arms. A species called Quadmos, Ida told me.
I couldn’t see many features under his heavy winter clothing, but I did note unique tattoos on his skin where I’d cut open his pantleg.
Striped like black ink in water. That hadn’t been enough to assign a name to the dead man; apparently all Quadmos had those markings in their “feral” states.
As I understood it, there were seven species of people on Trebianna, and several of them shifted between forms that were more or less “monster”-y.
For example, Ida looked like a human most of the time, but could turn her hands into pitch black claws, grow fangs, and glow.
And her eyes often shifted to orange orbs like molten lava when she was annoyed with me.
They were doing that now as we revisited the conversation of trips to town and the man I left to die. Both sensitive topics.
“We can discuss winter another time. Let me show you what I brought.” I forced a smile and began pulling items from my bag.
I didn’t want to think about this, and she was getting upset.
“Blackberries.” The berries spilled out, nearly rolling off the counter.
“Water.” I set the water bladder I’d filled for her next to the pile.
I hated that she had to boil her own every day.
I could only carry so much, but I tried to lessen the burden for her when I could.
“Malough.” I pulled out several bundles of the herb she used in both her cooking and her nighttime protective charms.
“You know how to spoil an old lady,” she grinned, popping a berry into her mouth.
“It’s a small price to pay in exchange for the clothing,” I smiled back, grabbing at the linen dress she made for me.
The last time I visited, Ida was working on sewing me a third.
She also gifted me a leather bodice to lace up over the dresses, in an effort to keep my tits semi-contained while I frolicked through the haunted, blue forest. The old-fashioned pantaloons she gave me for underwear were great for preventing my thick thighs from chaffing on these long walks.
She’d made everything herself. Ida was my otherworldly fairy godmother.
“Oh, your dress!” she exclaimed, waving her hands excitedly. “I have some dye samples for you to look at. Tell me which you like best.”
My heart melted. This friendship was well worth facing my fears of being consumed in the woods that day I’d ventured out in search of clothing. Ida was the closest thing to family I’d ever had.
The mountain was a mudslide. I’d only been with Ida for a few hours, but the rain had really kicked up.
Maybe I should’ve just slept at her cabin, but I hated leaving Nurghle alone overnight; I tried to avoid it when I could.
Cyciciah wasn’t always “travel friendly” but today would be fine.
I wasn’t about to let a bunch of mud keep me from my furry friend, courageously holding down the fort in my absence.
The little guy had separation anxiety. We’d been co-dependent since I rescued him from a box in a dumpster as a kitten.
My boots slipped as I trudged up the hill to my field.
I was close. Just a bit further and we’d curl up in my cozy alcove and get a great night’s sleep.
My field had its own little shelter from the rain—of course it did—it contained everything I needed.
Even the blackberries were more than enough for both Nurghle and myself.
They filled me more than any food on Earth ever had, like some magic protein-packed fruit.
My goddess mother’s secretary hadn’t lied; the field provided. It was my perfect home, part of me. No squatter’s rights needed. We were connected—its energy pulsing in my veins. It breathed as I breathed. It nurtured me. It protected me. It did everything my biological parents failed to do.
Just over this hill.
“Uh oh, slippery,” I said to myself as I slid on the wet earth, my arms waving frantically to catch my balance. I took another careful step, but it wasn’t careful enough.
My feet flew out from under me, sending me toppling into the mud and rolling down the hill I’d just fucking climbed.
I banged into what felt like every single bump in the ground, grunting as my ribs and stomach took the blows.
Despite the chaos, I had enough mental wherewithal to protect my head from impact before I slammed into the above-ground roots of a tree.
I peeled my face from the mud and squinted up the hill. I was only about halfway down, thankfully. My legs were exhausted, and I really didn’t want to start from the bottom again.
I was scratched up, bleeding mildly from my arms… and maybe my face? My fingers were tinted red when I touched a sharp sting at my temple. It was fine. I’d heal within a day or so, my demigoddess “powers” taking care of the normal cuts and scrapes of living in the woods.