A low, reflexive groan heaved beneath Annabeth's slender ribcage before abruptly cutting off in surprise. Where was the pain? It had been so constant, she hardly registered its absence. Eyelids flickered open (how easy that was when they weren't encrusted in salt!) and confusion crinkled her brows. Bright light filtered through layers of thick foliage in what was clearly a hospital, though Anna had never been in one before now. How she got here was a big smudge across her memory. She furrowed her brow and dredged up the image of a soft shawl and soothing presence. Maybe a healer had found her? and yet, she swore she walked the path of lilies alone...
The recollections swirling around her mind required too much energy to maintain so she let them slip away. Instead she focused on the first kind face she had seen in a year. The healer entered the room without fuss and gently tended to Anna, gently instructing her to continue resting to recover her strength. As soon as the equine left, Anna began to do the exact opposite. She hadn't been sick a day in her life and she certainly wasn't going to waste time languishing now! Besides, she wasn't sure just where she was... who knew if she was even safe here.
Stick thin legs unfolded and a familiar determined light rekindled in Anna's eyes. Carefully, slowly, Annabeth made her escape. Though Anna didn't look quite well enough to be out of bed, it was plausible that she was supposed to be out for some light exercise. Sidling around like an emaciated and inept ninja, Anna's heart clenched every time someone looked her way and she would freeze like a foal caught with their nose in a honey pot. Most looked away soon, preoccupied with their own problems. Some lingered and reminded Anna that she was in a strange place. She would summon a shaky smile at them and turn to escape their scrutiny, heart pounding. Desperate escape plans would blossom before being quickly dashed. The mare was hardly capable of standing upright, how in the seven hells could she manage to slip away? The thought was disheartening and she leaned despondent against a wall.
Pent up frustration and fear began to leak into fat tears. Silently she pressed her face against a convenient gap in the wall and let the hard lump in her throat choke off her sobs. The last thing she needed was to make a scene in front of those who might be her new captors. Unless they came close, all they would see is a tired patient resting. Only the close observer would note the crystalline liquid that was beginning to dew from her eyelashes.
ooc: Getting back into the swing of things! Anna's usually not this despondent, just confused and weak and needing a friend or not, my gal can always be broken some more >:)
The first records of our young world
were those of tears and blood
***
Without going so far as to say that she delighted in the suffering of others, the witch doctor reveled in the destruction wrought by the gods' wrath. The opening of the skies came as an answered prayer, a prophecy fulfilled, and if ever a crippled creature could have a spring in its step then the spotted mare certainly qualified. She could heal the wounded - this hospital deep in the swamp provided every amenity she needed and quite a few more that she didn't - but in that moment of revelatory triumph a hundred saved lives could not have equalled her pride.
Vespera was awake, and she found that she was strong.
She drew her people from their hideous and unwieldy tower, dashed the symbols of their decadence into the mud and waters of the swamp, lowering all of Terrastella beneath her relentless rains back to the sacred earth and the healing heart of the Ilati.
This was their moment and their mastery. They would not be hunted by the interloper but entreated, and the witch doctor had not felt so alive in many a moon.
Stalking the halls, she cut a most incongruous figure, her bone implements clacking pleasantly with every lurching step. The victims caught out by the downpour had already begun to arrive, and with great pride she had done her part as the first among Vespera's chosen people.
Out of the corner of her bone mask, a glimpse of a gold-and-black horse caught her eye. She was bony in exactly the opposite way that the witch doctor was bony - on the inside rather than out - and moved almost furtively in her obvious weakness through the hospital corridors. The mousey mare watched, head low and predatory in its curious regard. Why should such a creature slink thus through this holy ground? What had she to hide - or to fear?
A moment of grinding her tusks against the protruding teeth of her mask were enough to make a decision.
Grabbing a container of gruel fashioned from grains, water, and a dusting of herbs and bird eggs in her teeth, the painted healer approached the hungry stranger with shameless intent. She dropped it before the weakened mare, insistent, and fixed her with a look that seemed unnervingly blank through the shadow of the skull mask. Her voice, though, rang with care in spite of its roughness.
"Eat. Make you strong."
She did not question the mare's motives in spite of her suspicion. The hospital was no prison; if the stranger wished to meet a natural death in the face of the rampant storm, then the witch doctor would have been the first to honor her devotion to Vespera's will, but as long as she was here then the witch doctor would treat her. That's what she knew.
***
The Witch Doctor
Its last records will be those of tears and blood also
The wall shuddered against Anna's shoulder much as she wished to do herself were she not surrounded by strangers. Vaguely she realized that this must mean there was some sort of storm raging outside. The thought hardly improved her mood as she was even less likely to survive another tangle with sky's rage. In her mind she saw great, crashing waves that splintered even the biggest of ships with ease. Panic, an old friend of late, throbbed in her chest though she was far from any condition to act on it. The logical thing to do would be to go back to her room and rest like the healer commanded. Already she had pushed herself too far for that idea to even occur to her over-tired mind. Too weak to make any decisions, Anna continued to let the wall support her and hoped that utter stillness made her invisible.
A part of her was almost drifting off to labored sleep, when the clacking sound of something approaching nudged her out of her stupor. Bleary eyes focused on the terrifying form of an equine bearing down on her. RUN. A single hoof raised and scraped against the ground in response to the thought. Self-preservation took too much effort. Anna's eyes misted over with hopelessness as she awaited the arrival of the beast.
A snarling bone mask caked in old and new symbols obscured the equine's face, revealing only a flash of dark red eyes. The source of the clacking was a collection of bones and teeth strung round their neck. Perhaps this equine intended to eat Anna? That would explain the bowl of steaming mash to fatten her up. No cannibal would gain any pleasure from gnawing her emaciated bones. The morbid thought sent a crazed light in Anna's eyes and quiet, hysterical laughter attempted to wheeze from her lungs. Instead she just ended up coughing for the effort and sagged further into the wall.
Anna expected it when the strange mare dropped the bowl in front of her and demanded that she eat. What she didn't expect was the gruff softness in their voice. Blinking in surprise, Anna finally noticed the soft pouch which was slung under the mare's foreleg. An... herbalist...? Anna had never seen the likes of the mare before, but Ma had taught Anna never to question a healer. Even one that looked like she could eat you in two bites...
Obediently, Anna dropped her head and consumed the contents of the bowl. A variety of strange flavors, some bitter and unpleasant, graced her tongue though Anna didn't grimace or complain. Whatever was in the mash, it was warm and nourishing, soothing the panic away. After she licked clean the bowl (Ma taught her never to waste) Anna looked back up at the one who had brought it to her.
"Thank you," Her voice was rough and salt-stained, the first time she'd used it in weeks, "Where do I go to wash the bowl?"
Scooping up the empty vessel, Anna looked expectantly at the herbalist. Ma had not raised an inconsiderate filly, no sir! Come hell or highwater, Anna would let no dish of hers be left for someone else to wash. That was just plain rude. Never mind the fact that she couldn't walk without the support of the wall and would probably take an hour to scrub the single bowl.
