She touches him.
To most others this would be a minor thing, a simple gesture. To Slaiter, it is much more. The corpse-son has never been shown affection before, except from his dam, and the contact throws his mind into chaos. For twelve years he has been alone, shunned and hated, driven from every home he has tried to make. Yet, here is this maiden, not afraid, not repulsed, but kind and accepting. For a brief moment he forgets that he is the ghoul, the abomination, the grave robber. He is just Slaiter, just a lost, lonely boy looking for a friend, a home, anything besides rejection and hate.
Maybe he has found it.
But it seems that whatever is out in the trees is not a friend, for she is frightened, eyes wide and white, and this he understands. Fear is familiar, a reaction he often invokes in those who are not fighters, but it is not him she wants to flee from. She speaks, quiet and urgent, and though Slaiter doesn't know what is happening, he knows things are wrong, and she is offering to lead him away, presumably to someplace safe, and he cannot refuse, doesn't want to.
Then, with a final warning, she whirls away, racing toward the trail recklessly, wildly. Without thinking, he follows, leaping after as fast as he possibly can, not worried about slipping in the slick mud. It is nothing compared to the muck in his swamp, and here there are no vines to reach down and grab him, few tree roots to surge up and trip him. No, he thinks, this forest will not claim him, not the son of a witch. Besides, she will guide him, and surely she know what she is doing and where to go. They will make it, he thinks, and then he will learn whatever it is that he needs to learn, and fight whatever it is that needs fighting.
Come on, she calls, and he sprints to her side, shaking his sodden forelock from his eyes as he does so. "I am coming."
There isn't anything more to say.
Well, until another appears from the rain in front of them. Instinct and the rain spirit's warnings prompt him to flee from this unexpected stranger, but then they greet his companion. Uncertain of how to react, he dances in place nervously, looking to Tangere for guidance. Who is this other mare, and why is she talking about infection? Are horses getting sick? Maybe he should just go, retrace his steps until he has once again left Helovia. That would be the safe thing to do, the smart thing. Just run and run to the borders, cross those boundaries and never look back.
He, of course, doesn't choose that option.
Instead he stays, pressing close to his guide for comfort. The newcomer addresses him briefly, but he freezes at the sudden attention and doesn't say anything, shrinking back and futilely trying to avoid her notice. He cannot see her well in this storm, cannot smell her. and has no idea who she is. Of course, he doesn't know Tangere either, not really, but his mind never has been logical.
So he simply waits.
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Going To A Party Where No One's Still Alive
