witches' daemons can travel alone

[dark_light]

With an alethiometer and a reader at her disposal, Isabella is never still. She barely sleeps, catching brief naps only when Path falls into a doze and she's pulled after him. The rest of her time is spent placating Metis with enough apprenticey tasks that she doesn't get kicked out, working on plans to take over the world, and working off the resultant uncontrollable excitement with Kas (in the nude, and Petaal dividing her time between Path and the non-daemons).

Metis goes on a long trip, and apprenticey tasks are no longer called for. Isabella blesses a cranberry bog in exchange for a large stack of cheap notebooks, and she writes trees of questions in them - if this is true, she needs to know that, in which case this could also be relevant. She passes them to Kas as fast as he'll take them; Path supervises and clarifies what Isabella meant where needed.

The alethiometer can make suggestions about spells. It doesn't communicate in words, and Kas doesn't know enough about ritual magic to interpret it very specifically, but it can point Isabella in the right direction. When she fails six times in a row to figure out what it means about a certain powerful defensive blessing that it thinks she'll want soon, though, she needs something that was better optimized for her use. The alethiometer describes the location of a witch from a non-Olympic but friendly clan based in Texas, an expert in such defenses. Isabella is busy: she sends Path to go talk to her about the spell, and stays in Metis's house herself, catching up on sleep now that Path is too far away to be stubbornly shaken awake, contemplating the unification of the clans as a preceding step to the attempt on human society, and eating mostly what the cornucopia can make for her.

After Path has been gone for just shy of a day, Isabella, collapsed sleeping on top of Kas, jolts awake with a strangled scream.

Comments

[truthwright]

"I see it, I see it," she breathes, and she carefully carefully carefully disentangles him from his prison.

[dark_light]

Path whimpers, but it's nothing like the screams from earlier. He doesn't even try to fold his wings; he lets them hang limp from his shoulders.

[truthwright]

"I got you, baby," she murmurs. "We're going home."

She carries him carefully, gently out the door, and walks barefoot back to her abandoned cloud-pine.

[dark_light]

"Wh-where is he?" stutters Path, huddling close to her chest.

[truthwright]

"My sweetie's home with yours," she says.

[dark_light]

"Y-you -? But that's... miles, hours away," he shivers. "You didn't want that..."

[truthwright]

"We wanted you safe," she says. "We wanted that more than anything."

It takes some doing, to get them in the air without hurting him much worse. But she manages it, and she points them homeward and gets plenty of altitude to discourage any ground-level interference.

[dark_light]

Path tries to fall asleep.

Eventually, he succeeds.

At home, murmuring half-words and settling into a calmer slump in Kas's arms, Isabella sleeps too.

[truthwright]

Kas does not sleep. Neither, naturally, does Petaal.



Eventually, she lands in front of the house.

"Hey, wake up," Kas says softly, kissing Isabella's forehead. "They're here."

[dark_light]

Isabella sits up, slowly. "Path? My Path is here?"

"Isabella," calls Path from the door, desperately relieved. "Please - I can't fly - give me to her -"

[truthwright]

"I am, I am," says Petaal, hurrying inside. "Oh, honey. We love you so much."

[dark_light]

Isabella takes Path with as much care and eagerness as can coexist in the same motion and cradles him, murmuring. "My Path my Path my Path - oh you're safe - my Path -" while he murmurs back to her in much the same way.

"Where's my cornucopia?" she asks, not taking her eyes away from her daemon. "I need to - he's so - I have to fix him."

[truthwright]

"Right here," says Kas, grabbing it and handing it to her.

And then throwing himself into Petaal's arms.

"Sweetie, my sweetie, I love you, I love you I love you love you love you love love love..."

Petaal says similar things back to him, and they both pretty quickly dissolve into incoherent sobbing.

[dark_light]

Isabella glances at them quickly, but she has other priorities at the moment. "Dill - cilantro - mint - shredded ginger - parsley," she tells it, pausing between each one with distraction or to pant with lingering pain. "Bottle of pine sap?" she tries. It won't give her that; she eyes the door and the twenty feet to Metis's stock of such things dubiously, and says "Bottle of maple syrup" instead. That she can get. She drizzles it one-handed into shaky runes in a square on the floor, her other hand clutching Path gently to her chest.

[truthwright]

They end up on the floor, as wrapped around each other as they can possibly get, Petaal as a jaguar again and Kas with his hands buried in her fur.

[dark_light]

Isabella finishes her diagram and gently, gently puts Path in its center. She never takes her hand away from him, though, fingers buried in the feathers he has left. She sprinkles him with herbs and sprinkles the syrup with other herbs and murmurs verses. She's too wrung out to compose; these are simple, almost nursery rhymes, that she's known for first aid forever. When she can think straight, when she hurts less, she'll come up with something to fix the rest of the damage. Right now she needs to apply painkilling poetry, close wounds with disappearing syrup and herbs. She can't do anything about his feathers but those will grow back.

[truthwright]

Kas looks away from Petaal long enough to ask, "You guys okay?"

[dark_light]

"Better," says Path, as Isabella scoops him up again out of the disappeared diagram.

"We'll be sore for - a while," says Isabella. "And I don't think he'll be able to fly until his feathers grow in again and that could easily take weeks even if I pour coconut milk and lavender over him every morning. But better."

[truthwright]

He lets out a relieved breath.

"Good. Better is good."

[dark_light]

"Are you okay? I don't even know how - how you did that. Witches have to go to a wasteland that daemons can't go into and drag ourselves across a mile of it and it usually takes hours and some people have to try four or five times - I don't understand how Petaal just flew away like that."

[truthwright]

"I had to," says Petaal. "You were hurting."

[dark_light]

Isabella's sitting on the floor; she scoots closer to them. "Thank you," she whispers.

Path can't fly. But he can walk. He edges his way to the end of Isabella's arm. He presses his face - with his healed beak - into Petaal's side.

And then, timidly, into Kas's.

Isabella closes her eyes and gasps but she doesn't pull away.

[truthwright]

"Sweetie," Kas murmurs, and he uncurls from Petaal far enough to lean down and kiss the top of Path's head.

[dark_light]

"Thank you," Path whispers.

[truthwright]

"We love you," says Kas. He strokes Path's remaining feathers with his fingertips. "We love you and we're sorry you hurt and we're glad you're okay."