Chapter Text
She comes in from the Mere when the moon is at its thinnest, steps soft over bog and beaten dirt path alike. She leaves no tracks behind to betray her, not even to the sharp eyes of the creature’s guardian. That one is a worry, but she is of the Circle and he is but a ranger. She’ll go where she is sent, even if it is to this squalid little village crouched at the edge of the water.
She knows her duty.
The windows in the cabin have long been dark – the guardian snuffs the candles early in this season, closes the shutters tightly to ward off the chill. He is a light sleeper, watchful. As he should be, the Elders say, given the nature of his ward… If the creature had gone to the care of another, they would have moved against it already. But Daeghun is known to the Circle – he is trusted enough to do what must be done, if the situation deteriorates.
And in the meantime, the Circle sends her to check on the state of things.
She was told to watch only from a distance, to never approach the cabin itself, or the strange creature within. She’s borne the stated limits of her task for several seasons now, without complaint. She has always known her place in the Circle, no matter how Vashne may needle at her. That night he’d made mock of it, comparing her to the docile beasts of the farmyard. Naevan had censured him, of course – but the insult still stings.
Perhaps that’s why she chooses to break the boundaries of her vigil: to prove she is no domesticated beast, meekly obeying any order given? Stubborn pride or foolish curiosity, it makes no difference: the door, like many others in the village, bears no lock or latch to bar her passage. Silent as fog rolling in off the marsh, she slips within.
It is dark inside the cabin, dark enough that she is forced to shift her eyes to those of an owl. It's a delicate change, but one she’s long since mastered. Once her eyes have adjusted, she looks about the shadowed room, swiftly catching sight of her quarry.
The creature – the child – is standing up in its – his – crib, one chubby hand wrapped around the rail, the other outstretched towards the floor. He looks right at her, despite the thick shadows and coos softly. The fingers of his outstretched hand flex in a grabbing motion and the coo lilts up into an insistent croon. In the narrow bed alongside the crib, the guardian shifts a little in his sleep, frowning.
She cannot be caught here – if the boy begins to cry, the guardian will awaken and all will be lost. Swiftly, she darts forward and scoops up the object he was reaching for – a toy carved out of some kind of heavy wood – and holds it out to him at arm's length. The boy lets go of the crib and grabs for it, his fingers batting at her own as he takes hold of his prize. He loses his balance in the process, falling back onto his rump with a soft chuckle.
She steps a little closer, staring down at him as he cradles the toy close, crooning softly to himself. He seems like any other child she’s seen – hardly worth the wary tone the Elders adopt whenever they speak of him…
And then he looks up at her, his eyes enormous in his narrow face, and he smiles. She can feel his joy, his contentment, like sunlight on her skin. It’s… overwhelming. She can’t look away – she can barely even force her lungs to draw breath. Transfixed, she watches as her own hand lifts, moving steadily towards the boy’s upturned face.
But before she can touch him, his attention shifts back to his reclaimed toy. He begins turning the carved wooden cat over and over in his tiny hands, humming a soft almost-song to himself.
Shaking, she unlatches the door and slips away into the night. She will return, as she must now – and on each visit she will stray a little closer, linger a little longer… Naevan had known his business after all. She really should have listened.