The TwiceBorn

On Wild Nights, Who Can Call You Home?

"But not all dark places need light. I have to remember that."--Winterson

"Fuck this rain." Alora thought as she wrapped a fold of Loki's wet mane in her hand to help balance her in the saddle.  Opening the cellar door and walking across the tavern without falling on her face had been more than she thought herself capable of.

Then the search for Loki.  She didn't remember riding back into town, much less where she'd left him.  Panic had begun to set in as she'd walked around town and peered around corners. 

For a brief moment, she'd thought she was going to have to go to the Livery and check to see if she'd possibly left him there, something she felt she would have remembered. And if he wasn't there? Well.  The great Twiceborn would have had to ask for help in finding her horse.

The thought hadn't sat well on her already churning stomach.  But she'd gotten lucky.  As lucky as someone like her could get, she supposed.  As she'd stumbled along through the muck she'd noticed a small lean-to that appeared to be malevolently glaring at her.

Closer inspection showed her a still saddled and bridled Loki, his black eyes hostile, as he'd pressed himself against an old broken down wagon which had blocked a majority of the blowing rain. She'd been very surprised when she hadn't received a quick nip when she'd gathered up his reins.  

Wait until he realized that he'd be carrying her and Islinn both, when she was finished with Yzebel.

Thunder growled its way across the sky and a quick flash of lightning caused her to involuntarily jump from the brightness.  The headache she'd had ever since climbing up out of the cellar throbbed like a new bruise across her temples and she was already soaked through and thoroughly miserable.

She pulled Loki up on the edge of town and gazed off across the grasslands.  She didn't want to go any farther; it was as simple as that. 

Used up. 

Those two words fit her to a tee. The strange fullness she'd felt when she'd finished with Alain had centered itself in her mind and she felt incapable of understanding all the mental jousting that would occur when she rode back into the hags' camp.

She leaned forward and laid herself along Loki's neck, not minding the feel of his coarse wet mane or the smell of wet horse.

She was so very tired.

 And he stood in the wind and rain, perhaps sensing how truly weary she was. She dropped the reins and rubbed both her hands down along his neck, scratching him just the way he liked to be scratched and was rewarded with a deep rumble as he arched his neck. She'd been forgiven. 

Slowly she sat up and looked across the grasslands again.  Wind whipped the grass this way and that and the clouds were very low and sullen with a promise of more to come.  She suddenly turned and looked back towards the tavern. 

Why not just go back? See Islinn. Dry off, get warm.  Maybe some food.  And sleep.   

It was tempting.  Very tempting. She looked towards the treeline again.  Loki, sensing her hesitation, started tossing his head and pawing at the muck beneath his hooves.

Alora closed her eyes and saw Yzebel's contemptuous face and all-knowing eyes. Reluctantly, she admitted to herself she needed to see it all through. She needed to show the old crone that she wasn't going to be dealing with the same girl she'd seen at the Sabbat.  The drunk girl.  The girl down on her knees in front of Abigor.

"Let's get this done,old man."  Alora murmured as she turned Loki towards the grasslands.

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