[Glimpse, Skin Walker] Death and the Flame

The first day was already unbearable. Their minds was filled with anger, resentment. Finn, the cop, had ruined their chances with his idiocy and his anger. Riley had it under control, they could have avoided this. It was that anger that gave them the energy to help in the first leg of the journey. They tried to trick themself into a false hope. If they moved faster, the journey would be over soon. It was just a matter of will. But that determination was aimless without the guidance of Firebringer.

As the sun grew low, the Bright one provided their light. Illuminating the rock faces, and steep paths, stretching the shadows long into the night. The moth wished that their light provided some semblance of warmth, but it brought no such comfort.

When they could go no further and a fire was set, Riley sat huddled, and uncharacteristically quiet. They weren't supposed to be here. They wanted a drink, the lights, a dance floor. Not rocks, and bitter company, and the howl of coyotes.
They sat near Linden, pressed against the ogres side. Their wound from the lighting stung, and now their flesh was tender from the sun. They had been so hot how could they now be so cold?

Their eyes fell on to the Ifrit, their guide and watched her from across the fire camp.


𝓣𝓸 𝓫𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓫𝓾𝓻𝓷.
    𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓼𝓴𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓸 𝓬𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓹𝓮𝓮𝓵.
        𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓼𝓮, 𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼.
            𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮


Riley was pulled awake. Like a needle had pierced their skull and lassoed them from the ground. It was sharp and painful. The world was blurry, impossibly dark. Their breath was cold, but what feeling of physical pain they felt was nothing compared to the madness that screamed within their rotting mind.

Tearing anguish, crushing grief. Why had they been called back to this. Their flesh had peeled and rotted, nothing more peeling bark upon their bones and ribband muscles.

She stood there. Crowned in glory, cloaked in finery of dead flesh. The coyote heads about her naked frame, reached to the sky, a halo of silent hollows. She was powerful, she had use of them, a purpose, a rage.



Riley gasped with fear, pulled from their slumber by the firm hand of Linden.
“It’s time to go”


𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵.
      𝓘𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓮𝓭.
          𝓗𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻, 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭
             𝓓𝓮𝓿𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓻𝓮.




What anger they had had bled away in the night. Their hope was low but they followed through the heat and the dust. Their skin peeled from the wrathful kiss of the sun, their wounds burned from the salt of the desert. Their normally graceful steps turned sluggish as they trekked in the shadow of Linden, in an attempt to find any safety from the sun. The anger from the day before was gone, and as the hours waned, what hope there could be was crushed by the weight of the pain.

Their eyes locked on to Firebringer watching their guide across the campfire. How was this the woman they met at Samhian? She had been a bundle of anxiety, easily toyed with, teased and shaken with playful words. How was this the elemental at the bar who gushed about Gremlins?

That woman did not sit there, but in her place was a unyielding flame. Determined, resourceful, strong, beautiful in her brilliance. Why had they not seen it before?


𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰.
    𝓣𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓭
        𝓣𝓸 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼.
            𝓒𝓸𝓬𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮.

The nightmares only grew as the nights passed. Each like the night before, bound to lifeless rotting forms. The could only see glimpses of what they once were, bird, deer, hound, man. Each night their mind rose, bathed in the ecstasy of her power. Each night bound by rage and desperation. There was freedom in it, to have the choice ripped from you, to be given a singular task. Hope, determination, the want to live, the strength to survive, none of that was needed. They were removed like shackles, and replaced with the freedom of singular purpose.



The days had begun to bleed together for the Darkling. Their mouth so dry, words turned to dust in their throat. Their skin reeked, their wounds angry. Their feet blistered and torn. If they had the mind they would weep, weep that they may never be able to dance again. Perhaps then it was a blessing that all thought was gone.


Only one thing remained, an instinct built into the Bright Ones very bones. Follow the Flame, chase the light. Let her guide you. That's all you need, follow her.
Then when their eyes could not stay open, when their feet could not walk, and their knees buckled. When they couldn't follow the flame, they fell into darkness.



𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓹𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓼.
        𝓘𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓹 𝓸𝓯 𝓻𝓮𝓫𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱.
            𝓕𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓲𝓽’𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓬𝓸𝓸𝓷, 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮.
                𝓢𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼. 𝓑𝓮 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮, 𝓑𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵

𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝔀𝓪𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼.

                𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱.