Role

Chapter 24

Her wet nose pressed against the flagstones of the Fortress, the cooshee
inhaled deeply. It was becoming habit now; the constant search for Her scent.
It grew fainter by the day, but mere weeks could not disperse the presence
that had been within the Fortress for centuries. The cooshee's tail swept
the stones, signally the briefest of successes. The Watcher's voice boomed
a welcome; her ears perked up hopefully, the tail wag intensifying. But as
always, a hope soon dashed. And just like that, the scent dissipated again.

Stretching her legs in earth-devouring strides, the green and brown dog
bolted from the Fortress, through the mountains, through cities, roads, to
the desert and into the caves. She was more than ever a creature of habit;
with none to take her for walks, she found herself visiting those same
places, her search continuing. She collected valerian roots like they were
going out of of style and hoarded them - all but one handful, which she kept
separate. The last roots Drissa had left behind.

Her teeth and claws rendered every Talshidar thief she could find, over and
over. It was, perhaps, the first inkling that something was wrong. The act
was empty, her mind vacant as she slew them. As the roots appeared, a quick
look over her shoulder crushed her; no one followed her, no one to pick them
up and tuck them away. No one at all. But she kept at it. The cooshee was
certain that Drissa would need them, when she returned.

And when her pads blistered from pacing and running, she flew to the dark,
lonesome forests of the north, just out of reach of the dire wolves. As she
stood on the path, it was like she was no longer alone. Drissa's smile cut
through like the morning sun. She spun around, frantic, searching. Then the
scent hit her, as strong as ever. And then her laughter. Gods, her laughter.

Surely, Aurew had gone insane. She stayed awake for days there, waiting for
some sign. Merelith came to share the sorrow as the shadows lurched and
danced. Aurew slipped into an agonizing slumber. At first, the dream was
beyond joyful; Drissa was there, smiling, speaking in muffled, muted tones.
Words Aurew could not make out. Then it turned from joy to nightmare; Drissa
embraced her, only to pull away with a jolt, a gaping, bloody wound to her
abdomen, the bloodied dagger in Aurew's hand. Drissa collapses in a lifeless
heap, with Aurew's own Audune lapping up the blood.

And then the sensation of falling... a sensation that did not recede, even
after Aurew woke, nor the years that followed.