Unfamiliar Self [Book Three]

Chapter Fifty-Nine | Reunited

A heavy pain weighed down Ninovan. With each dull, labored beat of her heart, the hole in her chest throbbed.Each step a struggle on her now lame leg. There wasn't much left to keep her going. The weathered stone path guided her way; the long, beaten stick she found kept her up and helped her limping gait. But she was old again. Small again. She used the furs she shed of minutes ago to wrap around her frail form and keep the cold at bay as the sun disappeared behind the tall pines.

A pathetic sight. She thought to herself. A pathetic, sad sight indeed.

But it was in sight. The sagging, partially collapsed, and completely claimed by nature manorhouse was just over the horizon. The windows of the house were cracked and grimy, the wooden walls wrapped up in thousands of vines. The stones of the path leading to the front doors were mostly concealed by grass and earth. Weeds and flowers grew up tall and tangled on either side. Ninovan had hoped to be able to smell old smells and remember old feelings, but now all she could smell was her own blood.

Are you still in there? She asked in her own mind, her pale yellow eyes trained on the doors. Perhaps it was the distance and the growing shadows, but they appeared open slightly. Inviting. Are you still waiting for somewhere in the dark?

The nightmares were plaguing. Even in her waking mind she could hear the screams. She knew from the beginning it was the Hunter taunting her, tormenting her, and trying to goad her out of hiding. All it really served to do was keep her trapped. Mind and body ensnared by fear.

"You said you'd take care of it, didn't you?" Ninovan asked aloud, despite the pain it caused her throat and lungs. She was so close now, maybe he could hear her. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting, but I'm here. I can save you now."

A throb of pain. A hacking cough. More blood joined the stains down the front of her furs and flesh. Blood trickled and spilled and splotched the grass and stone beneath her feet. Ninovan had always been afraid of death. She had seen many times how hard life fought to stay living. She heard the voices of animals that cried out and shuddered in terror in their final moments. Many did so between her own teeth and claws. Begged with wide eyes. Pleaded with gurgled moans.

Maybe it was because she was not altogether an animal herself. Maybe it was something the body of a human did when it reached its final moments, when the end was inevitable. Even as each step bled more life out of her, Ninovan did not feel fear. It was almost funny, in a dark sort of way. So many years spent hiding for fear of pain and death, nearly her entire lifespent in caves, trees, and abandoned cabins and now, hardly even a month out of hiding, all her fears were realized. And, yet, no fear.

No, all Ninovan felt was rage.

"I'll be damned," the old witch growled, more blood spilling out from between her cracked lips. "I'll be damned if I give in before I see you again."

A sudden, rumbling of the earth nearly knocked Ninovan to the ground as she reached the half-collapsed porch of Wildwood manor. The shaking made some of the trees sway and sent loose pieces of wood breaking free from the decrepit building. The old witch fell to one knee, gripping hard on the makeshift staff to keep herself from falling. She knew right away what this meant and forced herself up with a rattled cry of pain and anger.