--THE ESCAPE--

--THE ESCAPE--

Moira shook herself awake, tears streaming down her face. It was still early, the sky still dark and littered with stars. There was no moon this night, no light to guide her. It did not matter as Moira had no need for the moon's luminescent glow. She shuffled from her bed and dressed: a tunic made from Deadmire's scaly hide, leggings crafted from the scales of the black dragonkin who haunted the Marsh, and raptor-hide boots. She'd found the freshly slain corpse of Deadmire in the Marsh and had skinned him, chanting reverently over his twisted body. Moira knew that it was likely a Grimtotem who had slain the white crocolisk but she refused to let his spirit remain lost and disjointed. Her chants, she hoped, had eased his path back to the Earthmother.

Moira gathered everything she knew she might need: scraps of leather for crafting or bartering; sacred plants she'd gathered; simple potions she'd hoarded away; various reagents for her spells; a few precious silvers for purchasing anything else she might need. The meager food scraps she had were hastily stuffed into her pack. Moira knew the others held her in high contempt because she was so very high in Magatha Grimtotem's graces, and being rather smart Moira preferred to cook her own food. The other Grimtotem were not above poisoning her.

Moira did not know how long her vision quest would take her, nor did she care. She simply knew that she must follow the words of Apa'ro. The great white stag knew that her soul ached and he had opened her eyes to what she had been blindly ignoring.

She stepped out of her small tent which was set back from the others. It was surrounded by flowers and lush green plants which were unusually out of place in the dank and musty Dustwallow Marsh. Her home stuck out like a sore thumb and only solidified the fact that she was an outcast. The others mocked her, called her Pesticide. The name didn't truly bother her, not nearly as much as her own name did. Moira Grimtotem. Her lips curled disdainfully. No more. She was Naawe Riverbreeze. Her vision came back to her: the great Apa'ro, his quest for her. For the first time in her life she felt free. The rage that had tainted her heart had faded away. She knew what she had to do. She was ready. She was Naawe Riverbreeze, and the Earthmother called to her.

Naawe snuck away from the camp quietly. If she was caught she would be brutally dispatched. It was common knowledge that the Grimtotem didn't take kindly to clan members leaving and she had no doubt that they would take great pleasure in taking her life as penance for treason. She would be safe when she was free of the Marsh but until then she HAD to be careful. Thankfully the Grimtotem who occupied her camp seemed to be heavy sleepers. In all her years in life she had not once stepped foot out of Dustwallow Marsh. "There's always a first time for everything," Naawe muttered to herself under her breath as she distanced herself from camp.

"To whom do you speak, owachi?" The words were laced with sarcastic disdain. Naawe's eyes widened as she spun around in a swift movement, hand coming to rest at the dagger that was strapped to her thigh. There was only one clan member who would speak to her that way. "And where do you creep to so early in the morning?"

It was Jeddek, the youngest of the Grimtotem clan. He was a mere 3 years younger than her but he was proud of every 18 summers he had seen. He towered over her unnaturally petite 6 foot frame and outweighed her by at least 300 pounds. Despite his youth he was one of the larger Grimtotem, another reason he carried himself with such narcissistic pride. Jeddek enjoyed poking fun at Moira -no, Naawe- at every chance available.

"Go back to camp, Jeddek. My business is none of yours. I beg of you not to follow." Naawe paused for a moment, weighing her options. Jeddek made no move to turn back to camp. She knew she had to come up with a believable reason for leaving camp. "Magatha called to me in a dream," the lie came too easy, "I am travelling to Thunder Bluff to see her. She would be angry if you were to follow, I am sure of it."

At her words, Jeddek's brow furrowed into a deep frown of disbelief. "Magatha's little pet," he spat, eyes narrowed with hatred. "Pesticide. Worthless. Weak. You are nothing." Pesticide, poison to the Grimtotem, a disgrace to her clan; these insults were nothing new. His words held little sting as she lifted her head a bit higher with each barb that spilled from his twisted lips. She slashed her hand through the air between them to silence his tirade.

"Enough. I do not have the time to waste on you, Jeddek. I must be gone." She took a few steps backwards, daring him to follow. Her hand remained on the small dagger. "Go back to camp." He looked as though he intended to follow, but something held him back and he turned towards camp. "May the spirits guide you, Pesticide, and beware of the lands away from the Marsh. It would be most unfortunate if something were to happen to you, owachi." His words were heavily laced with sarcasm as he faded back into the gloomy darkness of the Marsh. Naawe heard the dark inflection of his voice. She felt the strong desire to put distance between herself and the Grimtotem camp. Thankfully speed was on her side.