Seeking Salvation

Challenging Fate

She was falling and she was well aware of it. It was what she had wanted- no. It was what she HAD to do. She couldn't wait for them. Not for another timid talk from them that she was still wounded and her leg hadn't fully healed, and they'd use it as an excuse to not give over the controls of the ship. There was no time. Even now as she fell through the clouds towards the ground, the White Woman knew she was short on time.

How did she know? She didn't recall. But it felt like- it was...foretold. As if she had seen this whole thing before and was remembering this part right now.

I can change it. A small voice had said in the dark recesses of her, WE can change it. But we have to do it now. We can't wait.

And so she jumped from the ship without hesitation and thought.

She had spent every moment taking care of the Yautja. Every wound of their bodies she healed. Every wound of their hearts, she mended. Every pain of their mind, she had eased. They were as much a part of her as she was of them; it was a fact she could find no origin for but she knew it to be true.

In the haze of her memories and her mind which blurred in a blank state, she knew there was strength there. Even watching them from afar she knew.

The yautja were determined hunters and chased prey on the verge of recklessness. Some for the thrill, some for the hunt, some for the knowledge. They were so deeply rooted within themselves and their own beliefs that they never questioned for a moment if she was some sort of evil being. They knew her for what she was; someone who only wanted the good. She had done what she could for them as they lay dying those unhonorable deaths. It was so little and it was never constant but they were so grateful and appreciative.

She had never expected them to find her and thought of the two little houses they made for her to be their way of saying 'thanks'. Never had she ever thought that they would find her in that abandoned ship. Not once. None of them had before, why should they? She thought her "home" was invisible and perfect.

A perfect safehouse. A perfect tomb.

The night she wounded her leg and limped off, she smiled over the tribunes they left for her. They were mindless trinkets to everyone else, maybe trophies to some of them- but to her, they were stories. Each one she could tell how it came to be and smiled, listening to everyone, eating the food they left for her.

She had done her part. Her story was done.

It was time for her to admit defeat and accept the death that was creeping closer.

She had propped herself up against the wall to welcome the Black Warrior. Her wound was clean but too much blood had been lost. Her head twisted her vision from blood loss and she had difficulty standing right without collapsing. She had thought it time that her life ended. And she was content, staring at the small pile of tribunes in the corner with the occasional glance at the lantern she had stolen away from the new homes made for her to the one home she made for herself.

It would be her last night. She didn't want to spend it alone- and through the fire was not another being, it was...comforting? Perhaps.

And then she heard them.

She heard the unspoken words that they had come for her. With good intentions and with the desire to help. And they shut the doors but she could see through the thick layers of dust and grime as they lifted the other door out of the way. Perhaps, today was not the day, she had thought. They picked her up and carried her off but she wanted them to bring the tribunes.