Endless Collisions ⚜ McCall

{EC} 26. The Washer Woman

bean nighe
/'pɛˈɲi.ə/pronounced 'ben-nee-yeh'similar: the washer woman

If you pass by her politely, she will tell you the identity of the damned.

But, beware. If she is interrupted from her grim task she will strike your legs with her wet linen and you will lose the use of them altogether.

⚜ • t h i r d p e r s o n p . o . v . • ⚜

There was a rushing sound that filled the ears of all living creatures residing in the forest. Burbling and plopping noises spring through the air as water streamed over the rocks and stumps. The sky was overcast with dark clouds which was similar to the mist that cascades over the grassy floors.

The lady was drenched, water dripping from her hair and clothes due to the heavy showers that fell from the sky as she made her trek to the river. The wind that was blowing against her wet skin was bitterly frigid, but it didn't seem to faze her. There were thorns that pricked her bare feet while walking through the preserve, but that also didn't seem to faze her- even as a few pierced deep enough to draw blood.

Once finding a suitable spot, she quietly descended down to the river bank, slowly pulling the shirt from her shoulder and into the water. Her arms began moving in a consistent motion as she tried to rid the shirt of the crimson blood that had stained the fabric. As she continued this deed, she started to quietly recite a nursery rhyme.

"A wise old owl lived in an oak. The more he saw the less he spoke.." The lady said quietly as she momentarily help up the blood-doused shirt. "The less he spoke the more he heard." She continued as she submerged the shirt again, beginning to squash it.

"Why can't we all be like that wise old bird?"

The sound of twigs and dried leaves cracking sounded through the air as footsteps trampled over them. However, the lady was not alarmed and continued to complete her objective.
There were two pairs of footsteps that were heading for the woman and as the owners of those footsteps laid their eyes on the lady at the river bank, they halted. They stared at each other questioningly and as one of them made a move, the other halted them.

"It's in the middle of the night... I don't think she's aware of what she's doing." He analyzed as he placed a hand on the arm of his female companion. "Have you ever heard the folklore of the washer woman?" He questioned lowly, looking over to his companion.

"I mean, yeah. It's just another name for bean nighe." The lady responded, a puzzled look written over her face. "They wash the clothes of the person who's about to die." She recalled her version of the folklore, swallowing thickly after. "But she doesn't predict deaths. She never has. Why would we think she's predicting someone's death now?"

The man then averted his gaze away from his female companion, knowing that what his female companion said wasn't true. He looked over at the lady who was in a trance-like state, deeply exhaling.

"Because she predicted Flora's."

After shaking off his initial shock, Derek began walking towards his little sister. In a haste, Braeden stopped him like he did to her before.

"What are you doing?" She questioned in a harsh whisper.

"The folklore says that you must approach her discreetly. Once you caress her, she's going to reveal the identity of who is going to die." Derek reiterated the folklore, looking down at Braeden. "But, I just need to break her out of that trance so that we can bring her back to the loft. If I go about this the wrong way, I wouldn't be so lucky fighting against a nighe witch with the strength of a wolf and the anger of a Hale."