WitchBite

Of Wolves And Witches

 We'd planned to move on Victoria in the morning. The sky heaved with it's darkened greys, swelling with the threat of rain, as the sun did its best to signal the dawn with pale spears of light just barely peeking through the clouds.

I had yet to sleep, but thankfully I was kept busy rather than left alone to the maddening even tide that lapped at the shoreline of my mind. I had been weaving magic in to blades. Anointing them with water soaked in the light of the full moon, and calling the elements to bless their edges.

My fingers had grown numb from the minute craftwork of forging protective charms and totems. It held the austere, primal, and unequivocal taste of nostalgia. Like my blood and my bones had done this generations before.

It harked to times immemorial where Kings and Emperors would seek the council of wise men and women. Of sages and oracles. Shamans and Witches, to bless their armies and their futures. I was apart of that lineage now. Folding whatever magic I could into the task at hand, and while the stakes at hand were no where near as egregious as entire continents at war, it felt like the earth would crack beneath a leviathan, and swallow us whole.

Blood of my blood

Black on black

The weapons simultaneously felt shockingly light in my hand, and yet I'd never felt anything heavier. They were blades. I was unsure whether to call them actual swords or not, but these ones were designed to flick out and snap together in a moments notice. For ease of use and ease of concealment I suppose.

The new member, Lyra, stretched pleasingly on the foot of the bed. The leather of her jacket squeaking as her arms lifted above her head and she let out a contented sigh. She apparently had found Bethany when she went for a walk but two days before, claiming that she was from the Wolf pack back home. Bethany immediately hated her, which means I immediately agreed to allow her to join.

Lyra was maybe an inch or two taller than Bethany. She was stocky, and her choice of clothing did nothing to hide the musculature that lay beneath. Her hair was a cedar brown, and hung in a tangled mess of braids and curls. A musk of leather, cigarettes and whisky followed wherever she went like the phantom of an after thought. Like the late night scent of the final call at a pub in the height of summer. It was oddly comforting.

She said that she had come at the request of two. One, was on behalf of the wolfpack in general. They wanted answers, and we were apparently taking too long. The second, was on behalf of Jace. He begged that Victoria be brought back unharmed and alive, and Lyra was supposedly a sucker for her little brother. Although she had a good mind to rip Victoria in half for what she's done, her heart bleeds for Jace, and that is enough for her to take action. The problem with messing with a Wolf is that if you mess with one, you mess with all of them.

"I'm not wearing that." Bethany protested, scrunching her delicate nose at the necklace of charms I'd made for her.

"It'll protect you from some of the stuff Victoria might try. We can't be too careful."

"I don't care. Are those animal bones? That's disgusting." She proclaimed turning her nose up at it in a child-like manner. I could only give an exasperated sigh in response. Simon had accepted his gratefully, a warm smile on his face as he slipped it over his neck and fiddled with the various totems gently as to not break them.

Lyra had also accepted them, looping the rope around the necklace she was already wearing so that it hung half way down her torso rather than round her neck. I could hear her weight shifting on the bed as she walked over to me and Bethany. A confident swagger in each of her steps that commanded a playful attention.