The Briar Patch: Ch. 15 - In Winter's Wake (Pt. 3)

Lockes was no stranger to a Reaper's devious cunning, nor their diabolical schemes.

"We've put this off long enough." The Northern blue spoke after a moment's rest. "We need to talk."

With his usual languor, the Reaper shrugged, leaning back against the living wood of the hollow, "So I've heard."

Few things shocked the Seeker, and fewer things still, shook him as the Bluepine's next words had.

"You've been followed."

There was something uncannily sharp as the Reaper's eyes abruptly zeroed in on them. Calm, clear, and focused. The man tended to come across as lethargic,  and yet there there was a certain keenness to them, a change, and not for the better. It was unsettling, a gleam that the Bluepine little trusted.

His mouth twitched, and Zeal scowled, "What did you see."

A frond unfurled and a patch of green tossed by the Seeker's feet. One that he was acutely aware, not for its distinctive presence, but lack thereof. Almost as if it wasn't there. A quality he was well acquainted with, if not intimately so.

"... this and more. Scentless tracks. The surroundings of which were afflicted by a void where no aether flowed."

Few creatures were capable of draining Life in such a manner. 

Word had reached the Sanctums.

"One of your kind. Or at least what was left in their wake." There was naught more that the Bluepine need say, but the Reaper's silence made their hands itch. 

There could be no greater folly--letting this one live was a mistake. One they would sooner rectify if it weren't for the slumbering Shol in the Reaper's lap. 

If only the pup wasn't in the way. 

Why would they defend this... atrocity? This affront to Nature?

Why.

Their mind chanted in repetition. Why, why, why. 

Was this another of their games? 

"What's wrong? I thought Shols love games?"

Lockes stamped down the trepidation, and to their own chagrin, found that they wanted to believe.

But the stain of a century steeped in blood wont soon be removed.
 
It wasn't the first Time the children of the Verdance entrusted themselves with another, to their downfall. 

Nor had it been the first Time a Reaper would use one of their own to lure out other Shols. Like a moth to the flame. A diabolical ruse that played on their strong kinship, and to which Lockes was helpless to prevent. Many of their brethren they watched leave, called by the pitiful cries, only to join in the chorus, never to return. A pitiful end for a pitiful fate. 

As easily as they breathed, did these foul creatures spin intricate webs of deceit. They were not, under any circumstances, to be trusted.

Their own dark eyes scoured the Reaper for any hint of falsities. 

"... 'tis the work of a Reaper, is it not? This ability to drain all they touch of aether." Lockes gestured impatiently when the other remained mum, "Regardless, equally disconcerting should it be negative, for such a blight is of no creature of the Alps. That much is certain."

"It is as you say." The Seeker mulled it over. Few others possessed aetherical steal so potent as to leave nil, yet with such finesse as to leave the Life itself intact. That aside few had reason to brave venturing this far into Whitedew, inhospitable as the high altitudes were. 

Biting back a sigh, he dragged a hand over his face, "I'm sorry."

The fiddleheads flared around the Northern Blue, and they tensed, unable to repress the chill as they steeled themselves. Nimble feet silently braced against the floor in a subtle, practiced, movement.

Such a thing they had heard before, spoken not for pardon, but in the prelude of heart-wrenching betrayal. Could see the malicious grin slowly spread and overtake the Reaper's features in the grand reveal, that they've no escape. That the Reapers were coming for them, but more importantly, the little Coty still sound asleep.

"It would seem... that our negligence has compromised your safety."

The scrutiny of the dark Shol was nigh tangible.

"Strange though it may be, my safety is the least of my concerns. What of Vye? Are you well enough to travel?"and they were irked by the soft pulls of a Heart they no longer carried. 

Lockes was quick to wave off any further concerns, touching though the sentiment may be. Were they sincere. This and more did Lockes ignore in favor of the gravity of their situation.

It came out far more clipped than they'd intended, and from the Seeker's wince, he'd not missed it, 

Things were getting troublesome fast.

"What are you playing at, Reaper."

Instead, they replied tersely, "I'm not playing you. T'was not of my design."

"Prove it."

And Zeal could not rip his eyes away from the dark pools that seemed to swallow his very soul. 

The only thing he could do was steel himself, "Not now."

The Bluepine's fists clenched.

"You'll just have to trust my word."

"Words mean nothing." 

Aye. The children of the Verdance spoke beyond words. Such things as words were perceived as pretentious. Communicating with that which meant something, and nothing. That which carried no meaning.

What a farce.

There was a sharp hiss and Zeal bit out, "Not all of us are gifted, Shol." he looked to want to say more but caught himself.

Now wasn't the Time nor place.

"I can prove nothing. True loyalty lies in the faithful of trying Times--such Times we've yet to encounter. The only thing I can offer is my word, so you can settle for that or not at all." his hand gripped the handle of his sword.

"We're not fighting, we're talking."

But Lockes didn't back down, yet something was off in their aggression. "Tell me. What makes you any different than the ones who came before you. Do you think any of the cards you've shown haven't been played before? Get real, Reaper."

Zeal stared hard.

Violence is the language of the Reapers. You should know that by now..."

"I--" Zeal grit his teeth, breaking his stare at the flaring fronds. A thin glossy sheen of poison oozed out, coating the tendrils, while a noxious pollen on the underside threatened to envelop them in a dense miasma cloud.

Lockes was making no attempt to conceal their hostility, yet despite the bared teeth and aggressive stance, they lacked a certain edge to their bite. As if the fire was missing from their fight.

"Zeal! Stop it!"

Actions spoke louder than words. Words were a joke. Full of meaning yet meaningless all the same.

"...trust me. Put it away."

This was folly. Without the Nighthawk, he did not favor his chances of coming out unscathed if he were to engage the Alpione Shol in the heart of their Ring, however wilted it may be.

These Shols were going to be the end of him.

Zeal sighed, straightening up and sheathing the obsidian blade. The imbued runes drawn by his aethor faded as he withdrew, willing the familiar back to its inert state. 

Fully released, the thrum of energy diffused and he reluctantly set his weapon between them, sliding it towards the Bluepine. 

And slowly, the Bluepine drew back. Fronds lowering and retracting their toxins, as their stance visibly relaxed. 

The Alpione Shol spoke not a word, and though the weary smile the severed Shol offered was empty, they were for the Time being, placated. 

"Aye." they whispered. And Zeal needn't hear it to know what thoughts weighed on them so. "Let it be mutual then."

Guarded though they still were, Lockes straightened up and knelt down to pick up the Nighthawk with ginger hands, the startling ease by which they did so somewhat astonishing to the Seeker, for the blade bore no small weight and the Bluepine's slender form did not lend to such feats.

Though it posed no real threat now what with his wounds fully mended, Zeal was nonetheless relieved that the sinister wooden pike he'd feigned ignorance to, was also lowered. 

It had been perched subtly above, poised to strike. Doubtlessly would've, had Lockes deemed him party to whatever now roamed the Alps and threatened the young Coty they so treasured. 

They cleared their throat, and Zeal was acutely aware of the odd normality by which they busied themselves, stirring at the porridge in the hearth that they kept ever ample for their guests. "I'll ask that you fill me in. For now there are other matters."

A warm bowl of wild grain was pushed into his free hand. Gentle, yet firm.

Eat.

And he did.

"What are we up against and how were you found? We may yet salvage this."

Zeal stared over the rim of the wooden bowl, less than thrilled to play storyteller. Reluctant though he was to be the bearer of bad news, it was as Lockes said. There are other matters to attend to.

He only hoped their Alpione host wouldn't shoulder him with the blame. Gently as to not rouse their youngest company, Zeal set the Bræmbel Shol down, tucking him in the downy moss. Bones popped as he stretched himself out, steeling himself for the cold. Beckoning to the Bluepine, who though cast him a skeptic look, followed him to the Hollow entrance.

"Are you familiar with Kharst?"