Of course it is Calliope that saved her.
As far as Shrike had known, whatever ill fate had carried them to Novus had stripped them each of their magic; she knew the bear no longer slumbered in her bones, knew the earth whispered to her no more. All her veins were empty of anything but blood.
But the moment that lightning struck she knew it could be nothing but the magic of the black unicorn.
There was thunder and frenzy and then there was nothing but light, light like there hadn’t been since the very birth of the world. It was peaceful in the way a supernova was peaceful, and she thought she could perhaps live in that moment where she could see nothing and hear nothing and feel nothing -
and then the bird let her go, and she fell.
There was a moment where it all came flooding back, the pain and the noise of it, a cacophony. Thunder rumbled near enough overhead to shake her bones even as she plunged downward, but there was not enough time to wonder if she would die (again, another mercy at the hands of Calliope) before she hit the cold froth of the lake with a great splash.
It was cold enough to act like its own kind of shock, and Shrike fought to the surface with her head ringing, and when she first found air she sucked in greedily before catching her bearings. Somewhere behind her the thunderbird was starting to sink, feathers dragging ripples in the water, but the paint thought nothing of it or its brethren when she saw the dark shape collapsed not far up the shore.
Like a drowned thing come to life she surged from the waters of the lake, her wounds forgotten even as they bled dark trails in her wake. The storm, too was forgotten (for what lightning, what thunder, could match the rage and promise she had already seen?), and she did not spare a glance for anything but the black unicorn except to check the sky was clear above her.
And then she was standing above her lion-heart, wondering if this is what it had been like when Calliope looked down at her own broken body. Gently, tenderly, Shrike lowered her muzzle to touch it to the blood at the unicorn’s eyes, her nostrils, her mouth. It bloomed new markings on her lips and nose, darker even than her own, and she prayed for that valiant heart to keep beating. Oh, that she could lend it some of the fierce and fervent beating of her own!
And Shrike realized then that she could never be so brave or merciful as Calliope; there was no cell in her that could strike a killing blow against her shield sister. Not as long as her breath still whispered from her lips, not as long as her body was unbroken, however bloody.
“Live,” she whispered, and her voice was rough and almost savage in the unicorn’s ear. Before she could say more, a shriek made her lift her head, and she flattened her ears and tilted her head to the dark and roiling sky, defying the birds to swoop down on the two of them and blood and water coursed from her hide.
Let them come. Shrike had faith in no gods, only the strength of Calliope’s will.
don't do much these days
keep the wolves at bay
keep the wolves at bay
@Raymond @Calliope @Pavetta
