Handmaiden of the Circle
Neglected by Nessmuk
. . .
The rest was tiresome. The pack members averted their eyes at his passing, lowered their heads, and did everything to not catch his gaze. Their whispers followed him like a hushed chorus. Death had done him some favor by legacy alone. His dreadful reputation preceded him. Ten had been spared "by chance" the carnage wrought. Nessmuk found them too many for it to be mere coincidence. How had they evaded his wrath? His suspicion fell on Fuhǭ but did her the honor of never breaching the topic. She had earned a shred of attention in the fact that she had not attempted to flee and take the remaining with her. He allowed her to instate the Circle; to bring forth names to fill the points of the ritual star. Nessmuk gave her this opportunity to show her worthiness before he showed her his teeth.
. . .
In the dead of the night, he left Spire, left Home. Fuhǭ watched him go with a lowered head, half-bowed as he followed Embla's trail with quiet steps and veiled teeth.
. . .
A figure was awaiting him at the steps that led to the Sacred Space; the same figure that had been the only witness to his departure. Nessmuk paused, eyes narrowed upon Fuhǭ. She did not meet his gaze, head lowered and eyes respectfully averted. Nessmuk wanted to tear her throat out. The Lich made no effort to speak.
"It is done, then?" Fuhǭ asked his blood-soaked paws.
Nessmuk did not answer for a moment, torn between truth and violence.
"Embla is no more ... She yet lives." Voice like the ice breaking apart in the sea, like the bones of the whales crashing on the shore. (Not Despair, not anguish, not craving.) The Lich did not linger, not caring whether or not the handmaiden spoke again.
The wolf did not, however, miss the way her eyes darted to his in shock - the shudder that traced her spine - the horrid anticipation and thought of - how? Why? (Why hadn't he killed Her?) He heard the restless shuffle of Fuhǭ's wings and Heard something else - the sound of the Fleeing. When the handmaiden made to follow, Nessmuk rounded on her - ears pressed flat to his skull and teeth rippling over his teeth in an ugly, grotesque snarl. Fuhǭ flattened. Repulsed (pleased), Nessmuk walked away.
. . .
Out in the snows, the wolves of Bonestrewn hunted; the scouts scoured every corner of the glacier and they existed together in Stasis. Nessmuk was not ignorant to their Knowing. Fuhǭ observed him as closely as time would allow. With intent to obstruct her, he sent her away. He gave her Embla's Purpose and sent her with Silki to tread far from Him. Although the handmaiden was not Foolish enough to Ask, it was written there in the glass of her eyes (Why hadn't he killed her?)
. . .
(Fuhǭ with a cut that severed the leading edges of her wings, a reminder from the Lich after attempting to Ask of Him.)
. . .
P-Please," ʟúðɪɴ begged, squirming beneath his hold; gasping for breaths that would Not Come.
"Who are you? Why are you here?" Another voice broke through the din of their (one-sided) struggle. Nessmuk did not bother to glance at her. Fuhǭ. Fuhǭ. (He might ring her neck this time.)
. . .
"Why are you here?"
Pertly the little ivory maiden stepped forward, head held a little too high as she announced her lot in life. "I am Fuho, the Handmaiden of Bonestrewn," words met with a cold, hard gaze. "I... I'm responsible for fulfilling all of the Lich's needs." Letting that settle between them. "Nessm-" She hadn't the chance to finish that before Essala had her pinned, her paw against supple neck. Pressing. Hard.
Watching. As Fuho wretched and writhed beneath her in desperate attempt to escape. "I didn't ask who; I asked why?"
Releasing Fuho's throat was no sweet release as the shadow-wolf found her maw with lips curled back and teeth bared inches, just inches now from Fuho's face. Daring her to move.
"I came of my own will. I wanted- I wanted to know, who you could possibly be... that he let you live."
. . .
Days had passed since Nessmuk had last beheld the handmaiden.
When the handmaiden did appear, her once-pristine white fur was stained black. Her scent (sharp with Essala's - wrong, mingling) was tainted, wrong. For she smelled of Pain. The expression on her face confirmed this - twisted in private agony. The Lich tilted his head, his eyes shadowing, as Fuhǭ tread nearer. She bowed, cowering at his feet - trembling with her wings pinned tight to her sides. Her eyes glanced up to meet his and averted, tail sweeping soft the ground ... yet she did not Speak.
She could not Speak.
"Was the price of Knowing too great, Fuhǭ?"
