Chapter IV #2
“Uh-oh,” says the human, then babbles some more nonsense. She turns like she’s going to go get another, but Sable shakes her head and waves her hand. She can make do with the spoon.
Sable finishes the food in record time… even the weird gravelly stuff. It has an odd texture, much coarser than any porridge she’s ever tasted, but the flavor is good. She takes the tray and leans over the edge of the bed to place it back on the floor, then scoots up against the headboard.
The human points to her, then to her own back.
Sable considers this for a moment… Is she meaning her wounds?
Sable points at one of the open whip lashes on her forearm with a questioning look.
The woman, Mariam, nods. Sable considers.
She does not want to be vulnerable to this woman…
but she has already been so, while completely unconscious, and she didn’t hurt her then.
The last thing Sable wants is festering wounds.
In the end, she’s vulnerable whether she lets the woman touch her or not, and she has been genuinely helpful so far.
Sable will take the risk. She moves to lie down prone on the bed, exposing her back.
The woman sits on the bed next to her. Sable expects her inner wolf to snarl and snap, and all her muscles tighten, but it actually stays calm and Sable doesn’t move.
Sable feels Mariam’s magic stroking her skin, warm and light.
It sends chills through her, how sweetly Mariam treats her.
It’s strange, and she is not sure what to make of it, but she enjoys it while it lasts.
It’s the kindest touch she’s experienced in her entire life.
Then, Mariam pulls back, taking her warmth with her. The absence is grotesque.
~§~
Mariam squeezes her shoulder on an undamaged patch of skin before leaving her, picking up the tray, and heading back down the hallway to the kitchen.
As she cleans up from breakfast, she snacks on some cheese and crackers, but thoughts swarm in her head.
Just what is she going to do now? She has a woman here who can hardly communicate with her.
And what if someone saw them? Her neighbor has been mowing the lawn this morning, and every sound that reminds Mariam there are other people around who could see what she’s up to and try to involve themselves makes her more and more nervous.
And it’s not just her fellow humans she’s worried about.
What if whoever hurt Sable this badly is after her to finish the job?
Mariam shakes her head. She will do her damnedest to make sure this woman isn’t harmed further. No person should be brutalized like this. It’s against nature.
* * *
Over the next few days, interactions with Sable are mostly mute, with regular changes of her bandaging, as well as Mariam bringing her food three times a day.
They make no progress on the problem of communicating.
Mariam consults all her books for anything on Fae, but the search is fruitless.
She would be more than willing to dip into her savings to get new books, but all she can find related to Fae is on European folklore.
The folklore seems to have some basis in fact, since Sable had that reaction to the metal utensils, confirming that iron really is a problem for Fae, but Mariam has no way of telling what might be true and what is fiction.
Actual information about the Fae realm seems to be kept under heavy lock and key by the Reapers.
Their inability to communicate has led to some…
interesting interactions, at least. Not long after going to bed on the second day Sable was here, Mariam woke from where she was sleeping on the couch to see Sable having wandered out into the living room, staring at the box fan she left running overnight with a most aggrieved look.
When she called Sable’s name, she turned and pointed to her ear, then the fan.
Mariam offered an apologetic look and told her, “It’s hot in here,” and fanned herself to try to get her point across.
That only ended in Sable looking more annoyed and she left back to the bedroom.
Then, yesterday, Mariam was getting a package that needed a signature when she heard Sable growl from the hallway, scaring the living shit out of the mailman who turned and fled.
When Mariam turned around, Sable said… well, something rather aggressively, and seemed to wait for an answer.
At least, until she saw the package in Mariam’s hand and cocked her head at it. It was… an interesting morning.
Tonight, Mariam is lounging in the living room, catching up on some journaling.
As an author, a journaling habit has been useful for keeping her writing skills sharp and storing ideas as they strike her, but in all the chaos, it’s been a week since she’s touched it.
She rubs her eyes and yawns as she writes, recording the previous few days’ events.
A knock at the door interrupts her mid-sentence.
Who could be calling at this hour? It’s past nine at night.
What’s more, the knock is on the front door.
Did Mariam forget to lock the porch door, or…
? Frowning, she puts the journal down and stands.
Another knock comes as she crosses the living room and glances down the hall at the woman in her bed. She’s dead asleep.
Warily, Mariam looks out the peephole… to find no one there. She unlocks the locks and opens the door. She is almost bowled over by the sight of a cloaked figure standing on the porch, exactly where she saw empty air a moment before.
Mariam scans over the figure’s form, from the fraying black hood to the shined combat boots, perfectly centered on her welcome mat.
An eerie, powerful air surrounds this person, like a storm cloud moving in on the horizon, but oddly, after the initial moment of shock, Mariam finds she doesn’t feel afraid of them.
“Hello, Ms. Leaven, may I come in?” comes a melancholic voice. By the pitch it must be a woman, not that Mariam could tell otherwise.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You would know of me as the leader of the Reapers. People call me The Champion.”