 Pavetta drifted in and out of feverish visions, lingering somewhere between foggy consciousness and restless sleep. She dreamed of a pyre in the starry night and flashes of green light mingled with red blood. She woke abruptly, stirred from the depths of her uneasy nightmares by a voice. A fine, mannered voice. Polished sleek like black obsidian. She knew that kind of voice; such fair vocals usually belong to a hoity toity lord with ridiculous silky hair and a pompous, self-righteous attitude. She had met plenty of them during her time with the priestesses on the mountain where they sought to court and woo her. She jerked more upright, muscles tense, preparing for fight or flight. Her injured leg would allow her neither option, realistically, but Pavetta never was one to adhere to realistic expectations. What did this one want? He may say he meant no harm, but velvety, soothing voices often had underlying motives. “Do I look alright to you?” she snapped, unable to keep the venom from straining her voice. What kind of dolt followed a trail of blood and then proceeded to ask if she was alright? And we? She did not hear a second voice nor a second set of hooves; could not see anyone near the golden stallion. “And what do you mean by we? Stay back! Are you rabid?” she asked suspiciously, peering through woven branches, searching for flecks of foam on his golden lips and finding none. She relaxed slightly, but a sudden spasm of pain caused her to seize up again. Despite her instincts to repel him and his silky voice, he did seem genuinely concerned. “Sir,” she said through grit teeth, mustering up her most polite, lady-like voice possible, “I apologize for my poor manners. Surely you’re not rabid and I don’t judge those on a different scale of reality, if you know what I mean.” Merely crazy, hears voices in his head, she thought. I can handle that. “Indeed I am not alright, you are most astute. I require assistance. More specifically, a plant…violet thistles with magenta leaves.” But would the plant with medicinal properties grow here as well? She suddenly remembered she was no longer in the Rift, no longer in the familiar. “I’m not sure if such a plant exists, here…" She grimaced, glancing at her leg and then back at the golden stallion. His wing feathers were ablaze with the dawn’s rays. “Would you and your, er, friend mind terribly? I’m sure you and your, er, companion, have more important things to do than looking for a plant that may or may not exist.” |
@Somnus
