The TwiceBorn

The Inviolate Voice Of A Dark Heart

 "Here is Belladonna, The Lady of the Rocks, the lady of situations."--T.S. Eliot

 The storm hit just as Alora was able to make out the dim lights of Naldura in the distance.  The thunderheads walked and talked as the swollen sky finally burst open and she found herself immediately drenched to the bone.  She tightened the reins on Loki to slow him to a walk. 

The road had quickly turned to muck and she didn't want him slipping and sliding about.  Islinn reined in the stag, who squealed and crow-hopped in protest.  For a few heart-stopping moments, Alora thought the girl was going to hit the ground but Islinn grabbed some extra mane and locked her calves tight on the stag’s slick sides. 

“I don’t want to risk them slipping in the mud.” Alora called out above the sound of the pounding rain.  Islinn nodded and grimly settled in as water began to run off her hair and into her eyes.

Alora wasn't faring much better.  Loki hated rain and he couldn't just endure; he had to make his discomfort known.  He dropped his head and plodded along, his eyes almost squinted shut against the onslaught.  Ill-tempered, he swished his tail malevolently and caught Alora’s bare skin above her gauntlet.

“Stop it!” She growled and slapped his neck.  Loki responded by whipping his tail harder. 

He stopped at one point and shook himself like a giant dog, a trick that always gave Alora an uneasy feeling as everything inside of her and mounted on the saddle shook along with him.  Plus, he always dropped his head when he shook and Alora had a quick moment of hoping that the saddle was cinched tight enough and she wouldn't go sliding down his neck. 

Knowing the high annoyance factor associated with the shaking, Loki made up his mind to stop every few feet and try to rid himself of all the water he was accumulating. After the fourth stop-and-shake, Alora seriously considered getting off and just walking in.  One look at the mud squelching around Loki’s hooves convinced her otherwise. She was being driven beyond her endurance and she had never been so glad to ride into a drag-tail town as she was when she rode into Naldura.

The town was small compared to Leomedon and dotted with a few forlorn-looking shops that stood bleakly in the misty rain.  The same hangdog smell of poverty and desperation hung over the little village as it did most of the places Alora rode through.  She’d never been to Naldura but she could have found her way about with her eyes closed. 

A few peasants eyed her curiously as they hurried towards the warmth of their own hearths and Alora noticed none of them stopped to offer up any prayers to Brede.  “Wet clothes must trump piety in the devout.” She thought as she watched them, rain dripping off her chin.  Of course there was always the off chance that they didn't know who she was. 

Through the downpour of steady rain, a soft yellow glow extended outward from a small wooden structure.  The double doors had been propped open and Alora smelled the aroma of horse over the wet scent of rain and mud.  Not pausing outside the building, she rode in through the double doors and breathed in the welcoming scent of horse and the forged metal of freshly molded bits.  She dismounted as the stable keeper, a cadaverous little man, looked up from the bit he was inspecting and stared at her through mud brown eyes.

 “You don’t ride in like that. Scares the otherns.”  He stated, and hiked up his soiled breeches with one grimy hand.  “You holes are in the wrong place anyway.  Winnie’s got a spot for you over at her place.  Didn't say some would be ridin in though.”

Alora stared at the man, silent.  He acted as though he’d been expecting her but she had no clue as to what he was talking about.  The man stared back.  A clicking noise emanated from his mouth as he sucked on his teeth.