Raven is still kneeling, head bent, eyes black and oddly unfocused.
He hears Coyote, though, and it is this that prompts him to look up.
It isn't gratitude that flashes across his face.
Nor is it welcome.
Instead there is something of wariness in it, but whether it is directed toward the vast storm of the Dark, or to the woman who approaches, perhaps even Raven himself is unsure.
He isn't glad to see her? For shame. Coyote is grinning as she approaches, though it isn't a very nice one. Her halo of heat extends to accommodate him, but not Blodwen.
"Did you win, Bird?" she calls over the wind. Raven feels much nicer than the Dark pressing against her skull. She comes closer.
Raven stays crouched a moment more, head tilted. Perhaps he is watching Blodwen. Perhaps he is watching something else.
But at length he, too, stands and moves closer, black eyes fixed on what used to be the White Rider of the Dark.
There is another moment or two of silence--silence broken only by that same quiet gasping--and then Raven nudges Blodwen's calf with the toe of his boot.
She is still kneeling, head bowed and hands clenched tightly in the green grass. At his touch, however, she jerks away, nearly falling-- and then scrambles to her feet, taking a shaky step back away from the two of them.
"What -- what have you--"
The voice is the same, soft and light and musical, but with nothing of chill to it, even in her fright and anger. Blue eyes are welling with tears.
"-- what have you done to me?"
Everything is warm around them -- especially because of Coyote's fire, perhaps. It is a beautiful summer evening, really.
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It's not a pleasant surprise.
The amount of power in the air is terrifying, magical and physical storms making her senses scream.
But she has a job to do. Coyote leans into the wind and pushes forward. Heat ripples the air around her, evaporating rain as it falls.
Raven's power is a beacon through the muddle. And as Coyote closes in, she can see a crumpled form dressed in white.
The howl that follows is full of malevolent glee.
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He hears Coyote, though, and it is this that prompts him to look up.
It isn't gratitude that flashes across his face.
Nor is it welcome.
Instead there is something of wariness in it, but whether it is directed toward the vast storm of the Dark, or to the woman who approaches, perhaps even Raven himself is unsure.
Perhaps.
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"Did you win, Bird?" she calls over the wind. Raven feels much nicer than the Dark pressing against her skull. She comes closer.
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It does not work very well.
Coordination is tricky, on occasion.
"It is possible to call it that, I think."
He glances up at the fierce tangle of the Dark.
"It is what comes after that is difficult."
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In the wake of the searing, blindingly pure white Light, it takes some time for vision to be restored.
Everything is quiet, save for the soft ragged sounds of someone quietly gasping, as though for air -- or to stifle sobs.
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The sun is setting. But the Dark is gone. Ah, irony.
She laughs. Looking down at Blodwen, it lengthens to another howl. This one is triumphant.
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But at length he, too, stands and moves closer, black eyes fixed on what used to be the White Rider of the Dark.
There is another moment or two of silence--silence broken only by that same quiet gasping--and then Raven nudges Blodwen's calf with the toe of his boot.
"All debts are paid now, I think."
Perhaps this is meant to be a comfort.
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"What -- what have you--"
The voice is the same, soft and light and musical, but with nothing of chill to it, even in her fright and anger. Blue eyes are welling with tears.
"-- what have you done to me?"
Everything is warm around them -- especially because of Coyote's fire, perhaps. It is a beautiful summer evening, really.
For some.
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