Open Reluctant witness (Enola)

[Sorla]

70th Spring 517

Rikar flew straight up like a dart from behind the dilapidated house, flapping his wings wildly and cawing. It was followed almost immediately by the flame-haired woman hurtling around the corner, feet pounding the cobbled pavement and slipping awkwardly on the smooth, rounded stones. She glanced behind her for just a splinter of a moment, but it was enough to make her lose her balance as her left foot slid off one of the cobbles. She managed to right herself for a second, but only at the cost of lurching forwards so that her right leg was forced into a stretch. As her foot made contact with the lopsided cobble, her ankle bent sickeningly underneath her and a searing pain shot up her leg. She sank to the ground, clutching her ankle and gritting her teeth, waiting for the initial sharpness to subside. As soon as it had, she looked behind slowly, as if expecting pursuit but almost reluctant to find out if it was coming. The crow had noticed her on the ground and flew down to land on the stones beside her. He pecked at her cloak repeatedly and cawed as if urging her to leave. She tried to stand up but her face immediately twisted in pain and she collapsed again, fighting back a desire to cry out. Her breathing was still coming in gasps from the hard running, and she looked behind her nervously again, but nothing came. She allowed herself a few moments rest and sat rubbing her ankle, which was starting to swell although the pain was no longer blinding, and caressed Rikar's feathers until he stopped cawing.

Sorla looked around. She was in a narrow street lined with shops and houses. It looked just like any other street in Alvadas, except for the fact that it was completely empty, and that the houses were all in various stages of disrepair. The one closest to her had a faded sign of which she could only make out a few letters: ‘W….s…al…..T…..elle….plie..’. The pale blue paint was peeling and cracked, and the window beneath was grimy with what seemed like years of dust. Through the muck she could just about make out what looked like a pile of rope, but beyond that was just shadow. The building across the street looked like it had once been a house; there were still flowers growing in pots outside the door, seemingly oblivious to the decay that had overtaken the rest of the area. There was a greyed rag flapping in the broken window that must have been the remnant of a curtain, the floral pattern still just about visible.

All Sorla wanted was to leave this place as soon as possible. Her heart was still pounding from what she had seen, or thought she’d seen, and even the mere buildings made her skin crawl. They were so melancholy, so desolate. What was worse, the... thing could reappear at any time. But when she tried to stand, the pain in her ankle returned and she it was all she could do to hobble over to an upturned crate abandoned by the side of one of the old, decrepit shops, still panting from the run and from the effort of withstanding the pain, with Rikar hopping about anxiously in front of her.

[Enola]

Enola was heading home from work, her pack heavy with her herbs from another day of cutting and processing the plants to make them more usable. It wasn't exciting work, but her master had always preached the need to be seen as both benevolent and necessary in the community. It was another layer of protection, just in case things went wrong, which they always inevitably did. Enola turned a corner and found herself staring into an abandoned neighborhood. She strolled through it slowly, not recognizing the area. Her eyes constantly scanning the streets as she stayed close to the building's wall. She'd seen many things in Alvadas, but never an area that looked so desolate. What had happened here? She considered ignoring it, but she knew she couldn't. Ever since she'd started noticing that her master had returned, but was staying hidden from her, she followed her master's code to the letter. That meant investigating the unknown, because the more you knew, the safer you would be. She reached the door of the first building and peered inside. It was slanted, hanging from a single hinge. She slipped her py-pole from where it was held by the straps of her pack, holding it in both hands defensively. Peering around the edge of the door, Enola saw wreckage covered in a layer of dust. She moved in slowly, taking careful, cautious steps, sticking to the door, then the shadows of the wall as best she could. Moving carefully around the edges of the room, she tried to figure out what happened here. Furniture was overturned, a table sat at unnatural angle, two of its legs snapped. There were large brown stains all over the room. There were deep cuts in the furniture, as if from a sword that had missed its mark. Enola moved into the backroom, only to freeze at what she saw was staring back at her. A large, silver cat sat within a baby's crib, fur ruffled as it looked at the Pycon. It hissed at Enola, followed by a deep throaty mew. Enola hated cats, a hate that came from her master as well. She said cats always had a habit of being in the way at the most unpredictable times. And they were mean to just be mean. Cruel creatures. The cat leapt easily from the crib, revealing a small pile of bones behind. Enola wondered if that were the child the crib belonged to, or a creature the cat had been eating. It began circling around the edges of the room, in a round about manner toward Enola. The Pycon woman slowly began backing up, keeping her pole out in front of her. The cat followed her into the room, and with a surge of speed, ran at Enola from the front. It raised a paw faster than Enola could stab with her pole, raking claws across the woman's face. Enola skipped back, a bit caught off guard, making herself smaller. The cat came again, and this time Enola thrust her pole out toward it. The cat dodged it easily and moved around her side, swiping again, only to get a claw stuck in the cloth of Enola's pack. It immediately began shaking its paw vigorously, shaking the pycon incidentally as well, trying to loosen its paw. Enola swiped the pole back toward the cat, smacking it hard on the shaking leg. The elastic pole bounced, and Enola dropped it, not having expected such a recoil. The cat shirked away, managing to pull her paw free. She came again, going for a bite this time. Enola dove forward under the cat, further separating her from her weapon. She didn't attack, but rather tried to put some distance between her and the cat as she stood and ran. The cat chased. Enola shrugged her pack free from her shoulders, and stopped, turning and swinging it. It struck the cat in the nose, but with nothing heavy in it, did little more than momentarily distract it. Enola seized the opening and stomped hard on the cat's paw, eliciting a loud, pained shriek. Enola was then tossed about heavily as the cat ran through her, tackling her over, before streaking out into the street. Safe once more, Enola once more shouldered her pack, and picked up her pole. Taking another look around, all she could assume was that whoever had lived her had been attacked. She stepped back into the street to see someone else was there. It was a woman, in the street, clutching at what seemed to be an injured ankle. Enola looked up and down the street once more, only seeing this injured woman. Walking out toward her, to help her, she paused. There was a single copper miza in the road, shiny, not dusted and old like everything else here. And along the edges of it were indentations she knew well. Her master used to bite her coins a lot when planning things. There was no way it was a coincidence at having appeared there. Clearly her master was pleased with her investigating this area, and was still watching over her. Enola left the coin be, and moved toward the woman, py-pole still in one hand. She waved with the other, "Hello there! Are you okay? Do you need help?" Soon she was at the injured woman's side, looking up at her, knowing her master would approve of helping others, if only to ingratiate herself to them, so they could be more useful later.

[Sorla]

The throbbing pain in her ankle was gradually beginning to subside. Sorla didn't want to push her luck and hurt it again, but she also wanted to be out of this place as quickly as possible. Rikar had calmed down a bit, but was still jumpy and refused to venture far away from her. She reached out a hand to pet him, more out of habit than anything else. Her mind was elsewhere, gripped by the sights that had seared themselves onto her eyes just a few chimes ago. The fear that they might come back battled with the pain in her leg, and the fear was winning. Soon, she would leave.

Just as she had decided that she could wait no longer, a small voice rang out from below her. Sorla was so startled she fell off the crate, and desperately started scrabbling to get away from whoever it was. She was still jumpy from the recent fright. It took her a blink or two for her brain to catch up with her ears, and realize that the voice had been offering help. She turned to face the stranger, still lying on the ground beside the crate, and saw... no one. 'Hello?' she said, and then berated herself for stupidity. The shock must have addled her brain, otherwise how had she ended up lying in the dirt talking to thin air? She braced herself, taking most of her weight onto her arms, and heaved herself back onto the crate again, trying to put as little pressure on her foot as possible. As she did so, she saw what the crate had previously been shielding from view. It was a little statue of a young woman in a cloak, about half a foot tall, and it was moving. To be precise, it - or she - was tilting her head to one side and looking at her. Sorla suddenly felt very ashamed. What kind of coward was she, hiding behind junk to get away from a tiny doll? She cleared her throat.

'Sorry about that, I thought I was alone. I'm quite glad I'm not, actually. Yes, I'm okay, I think, just a sprained ankle.' She was not sure she was okay, and the blood was pulsing painfully through her rapidly swelling bruise, but she had already humiliated herself once and she wasn't about to willingly admit weakness to this strange little statue. Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation hit her. She was injured, lost and alone in the middle of some desolate abandoned town, potentially about to be attacked by the beings she had seen before, and she was worrying about embarrassing herself in front of a doll. She began to laugh uncontrollably, feeling the tension that gripped her loosen as she threw her head back and cackled. After a while the fit subsided enough for her to talk again. Wiping the tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes, she looked at the statue. 'By the way, I wouldn't go round there if I were you,' she said, pointing to the corner that had given her the sprained ankle. 'Anyway, who are you?'