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Shadowheart was sitting on a bedroll, her back against the weathered limestone of the cave. Her legs were pins and needles, but she didn’t want to trouble the owlbear cub sleeping over her lap. It was a cub, but it was as large as a mastiff. It had a musky scent, which was thick, but sweet, like a skunk from very far away. The woman had grown to like the smell.
Looking up through an opening in the ceiling, Shadowheart could see the gibbous moon as it peeked over the edge of the rock like a curious eye.
She ran her finger through the feathers behind the cub's ear. And she marveled at how they were at once spiney and smooth, sharp in one direction and soft in the other—just as so many things in her life had always been.
She wanted more than anything to bring comfort to the cub.
It was an orphan, like her; except, no—she was not an orphan. Her parents were alive. This was something she had just learned, and she still struggled to feel it.
Her parents were alive and safe, and her kidnapper was dead. Shadowheart had seen to the first, and her companions to the rest. But she felt little happiness at any of it. It had all been too much.
She was not an orphan. She had been taken, kidnapped. The owlbear cub had been kidnapped too.
Shadowheart stroked its feathers in the smooth direction. It cooed softly and lazily opened one eye, before falling back asleep. Its stubby tail twitched, its back foot flicked, and it let out some sort of half-chirp, half-trill, as it dreamt of things only owlbears dream.
Or perhaps not. Perhaps it dreamt of its mother. Or perhaps it dreamt of its kidnapper—of Shadowheart.
It had all happened so fast. Shadowheart and her companions had taken shelter in the cave. The owlbear mother was with cub and immediately hostile. It was her instinct to drive them out. It was her duty.
Shadowheart thought of the rage she had seen in the owlbear hen's eyes. They were like the eyes of her father who had tried to protect her; he had taken the form of a wolf, and Shadowheart long remembered his snarling anger. Only recently did she understand it had been fear and sorrow in the creature's eyes. The Mother Superior had confused the girl’s memories, and the girl had come to mistake the kidnappers themselves as her family. Toward the wolf, she had felt only fear.
Shadowheart’s belly sank with heavy guilt. How am I any different than Viconia?
But this is what compelled her to return here. She thought somehow, in this place, she could find some kind of answer. Or at least come to terms with all that had happened and all that was lost.
She wriggled her legs out from under the sleeping cub, and stood up, slowly, shaking her limbs to recover their feeling. Then she took a walk around the limestone cathedral.
The owlbear hen’s carcass had been picked clean weeks ago, but a faint putrid odor still clung to the back of the room like a phantom. It made her uneasy.
Shadowheart came to the small shrine that had shared the cavern with the owlbears, and she looked up at the statue of the Moonmaiden. Her words had been vinegar when they discovered it. Remembering them now left the tang of remorse on her tongue.
Below the statue, across a slim fissure, they had found some relics—among them, a silver idol of Selûne. Shadowheart recalled how she had taken the idol and tossed it into the crevice. The memory carried with it a dark self-loathing.
Self-loathing is a weapon of Shar.
She needed to let go—not to forget, but to accept and make amends. She looked over at the cub snoring away and she looked down into the crevice. She began to remove her armor and pouches. Surely the idol is still down there.
Now freed of any bulk, Shadowheart lay down on her belly and swung her feet over the side of the fissure, feeling the rock for a foothold. She managed to scrabble her way down into the crack, but as she descended, she realized too late that it was deeper than she had imagined, and she found herself clinging precariously to the damp limestone.
Her heart raced with fear. She cursed herself for having rushed all the way to the cave without resting, and for climbing down without adequate preparation: What the fuck is wrong with you? You would never have made such a stupid mistake before—
She did not finish the thought. A thick cloud floated over the top of the cave and eclipsed the light of the moon, and Shadowheart fell.
As she tumbled down the fissure, a jut of jagged stone caught her left knee, which cracked loudly, and a red hot pain shot up her body. She cried out as she fell another few meters before finally stopping, as the fissure narrowed to a hand's breadth. Her right foot slid down into it and turned painfully, sending another shock up her body.
Above, the owlbear cub had awoken, alone, and started to cry.
She groped around at the bottom of the fissure, and only managed to pull some of the loose rocks on top of herself.
The pain was excruciating. She had already been drained from the journey here. And she was stuck.
Shadowheart faded out of consciousness.
When she woke up, she had been laid out on the floor of the cave with a splint on each leg. She hurt like the hells but she had been mostly healed. The owlbear cub snuggled beside her, snoring softly.
She rubbed her eyes and the solid back of a strong man came into view.
“Father...?”
“Now that’s a new one, coming from you, anyway,” laughed Halsin, turning around. “How are you feeling?”
Shadowheart crawled into his lap and hugged his enormous torso. “Oh, Halsin.” She pressed her face into his shirt to hide the tears that had started to flow. “I’m so sorry. Gods, I’m so sorry.”
He placed his thick arms around her and squeezed her gently. “Why? For what? You don’t owe me—”
“Oh, but I do. I’ve done so many horrible things. I have... hurt people. I... You should’ve left me to rot down in that hole. It’s better than what I deserve.”
Halsin motioned to the sleeping cub. “But then he would have been so sad and lonely. He was crying for help, for you. I heard it on the wind.”
“He is though, already, sad. I killed his mother.” At this point, she was unable even to attempt to hide her sobbing. “I kidnapped him and taught him to love me, to depend on me. Gods, Halsin, I’m the fucking same, I'm no different than the Mother Superior.”
“I know there isn’t really anything I can say, but I want to say it anyway. You are a good person.” Knowing she would protest, he squeezed her shoulders to prevent it, and continued: “That is—if you want to be, starting now. You bear the weight of your past, just as we all do. But it does not define you. Everybody changes. You are who you are now, in this moment.”
She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, but the wisdom of a shapeshifter was exactly what she needed. That, and one more thing.
“And here,” he said. “This might help." He handed her a silver statue, the idol of Selûne. “You were clutching it when I found you.”