The old woman awoke to the sound of someone pounding on her door. She had fallen asleep in the comfortable chair in front of her fireplace and it took a moment for her to register why she woke. Then the pounding came again and answered the question.
Six months of retirement after fifty years of serving as the Daimyo's Truth Sayer, and she'd already lost the ability to wake up quickly. Which was a good thing, she could admit, even if it made her feel old in that moment. Returning to her home village to live out the rest of her days continued to seem like an excellent choice.
She walked over to the front door of her house, pulling it open and sighing at what she found. Now if only she could get the villagers to understand what 'retirement' meant. She didn't mind helping them, truly. But for some reason, the fact that she'd been a highly placed official in the Daimyo's court, meant that they wanted her opinion on everything, whether she had any reason to know anything about the subject or not.
The panting young man at her door brightened visibly at the sight of her, almost sagging with relief, "Granny! You have to come quick, Haruna had her baby and..." The man trailed off clearly unsure.
Haruna was the village whore. She'd fallen pregnant to some client that nobody could identify. The pregnancy hadn't been an easy one and the old woman could guess what had happened to her. Why was he bringing up the baby, though? "The baby?" she prompted.
The young man leaned forward and whispered, "They think it's possessed."
The old woman sighed, Kami save her from superstitious villagers.
###
Stepping into the common room of the inn that Haruna had worked out of, the old woman immediately saw that something was wrong. Many things, actually.
First, the common room was largely empty, only five people occupied it, six, counting the baby. The innkeep behind the bar. A serving girl with her back pressed against one wall. The local midwife, standing in the middle of the room, who looked like she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. The local blacksmith and the man who led the miners, two men who were the go to choice for muscle when such a thing was needed in the village. And finally, the village elder, though she always felt odd calling a man twenty years her junior an 'elder'.
Second, the babe itself, left wrapped in a blanket sitting on a table in the middle of the collected people. Nobody was holding it or feeding it. In fact, they seemed afraid of it.
Third, the babe itself was quiet. Any baby this young and unfed, ought to be wailing for food or its mother. Not silent. If not for the fear in the room, she would have assumed the child dead. But presumably these men, so brave as to stay in a room with a newborn, wouldn't have been afraid of a dead babe.
The old woman huffed, disgusted with the lot of them, "I'm here. Why?" she demanded, her voice sharp.
The serving girl was the one who answered. She raised a trembling finger to point at the bundle of blankets on the table, "It's unnatural," the girl hissed. The old woman rolled her eyes. Akemi had always been a flighty and superstitious girl, the sort that was scared of her own shadow. Eventually she'd marry some man willing to put up with her, and never leave her house again.
With a sigh, the old woman stomped her way over to the bundle. A single finger pulled away the blankets from the child's face, and her eyebrows ascended to her hairline. Gold eyes with slit pupils gazed up at her with more awareness than a child of this age should have. Delicate ears came to tiny points that peaked through fluffy hair that looked black, except for where the light hit it. There it became a deep and vibrant red. Overall it was the prettiest baby that the old woman had ever seen.
Interesting.
Apparently, Haruna's mystery client had been a ninja, which was odd. Nine months ago she still served at the Daimyo's side, and hadn't been aware of any ninja being allowed past the border. Ninja generally weren't allowed in the Land of Iron without good reason, and as Truth Teller she would have certainly been involved in any petition for entry. She supposed that it could have been a missing nin that had shed their headband to hide more effectively. Missing nin were strangely reluctant to shed that obvious marker, though. Either way, it explained why nobody had seen the client. A ninja of any rank would have been able to evade the notice of this bunch of civilians with laughable ease.
"The child is not possessed." She made sure that her disapproval of this entire situation was still clear in her voice, "They have a bloodline limit." Almost everybody in the room relaxed. Even in this remote mountain town, the famous powers passed down through family lines had been heard of, both their potency and how they could alter a person's appearance.
Akemi still looked nervous, but that was the girl's default state, so nobody paid it any mind. The village elder also still looked concerned, "Could you check?" he asked, "Just to be sure. It will be a lot easier to settle the rest of the town if I could tell them you checked."
The old woman sighed. It was a reasonable request, the child would have it hard enough without parents. They didn't need this superstitious nonsense following them around as well. "Very well. I will check."
She closed her eyes and stirred her chakra to life. She had less than she used to, her physical energies waning with old age. There was nothing wrong with her mind though, so the energy responded to her will just as quickly and easily as it always had.
Drawing the power to her eyes, she activated her dōjutsu. Opening her eyes again, Truth was laid out before her. She looked to see the Truth of the child, and froze. The child had no chakra. Her Eye of Truth didn't have the same degree of ability to see chakra that the famous dōjutsu of Konoha did, but no dōjutsu was without the ability entirely.
This child had no chakra, something that modern medics insisted was impossible.
The old woman tilted her head to the side and considered. Clearly it was possible, since she was currently looking at it. So... there were stories about the origin of chakra. That it had been given to humanity, which meant there was a time before it was ubiquitous. Humans had obviously lived just fine before then, so clearly it wasn't nearly as necessary to life as medics liked to claim.
Still, this was an oddity that required further investigation. So she funneled more chakra to her eyes and peered deeper, to see if she could find anything further hidden about the child that might be revealed to her.
She expected her attention to be drawn to the child's eyes, or some other parts of their body, to indicate what might have some hidden quality.
What she did not expect was for a phantom image to appear around the child.
She had seen such a phenomenon twice before, where the soul of what she gazed at was radically different from its physical appearance. The first time was when she had the opportunity to gaze on one of the Jinchūriki of the Land of Earth. The image of the enormous four tailed, red furred ape had stood shrouding it's host. The other time was when she had found a Yamanaka infiltrator using their mind projection technique. The image of the ninja had appeared shrouding their victim.
Now again, an image very different from the body it surrounded appeared before her. A tall woman, with the same eyes, hair, and pointed ears of the babe stood before her. The image was clad in armor of a style that the old woman did not recognize. An odd looking hilt rose above the image's shoulder, a knife hilt extended past her left hip, and a shoulder bag rested on her right hip.
The old woman hummed to herself in thought. Despite the physical similarities between the image and the babe, the adult woman in the image could not possibly be the newborn before her. Or could it? There were stories of reincarnation, spirits returned from the Pure World to live again.
"Can you understand me?" The old woman spoke softly enough that the other inhabitants of the room could not hear her.
For a moment she was afraid that she had spoken so softly that the... girl, apparently, wouldn't be able to hear her either. But the image of the woman shrouding the newborn nodded.
"Can you speak?" The old woman thought it was worth a try.
The image opened her mouth to speak, seeming surprised at the second question. The babe gurgled as babes do, then the image shook her head.
The old woman nodded, "Very well. Is this your second life?"
The image nodded, which was a lie.
The old woman narrowed her eyes, then paused. Reviewing her question, she tisked at herself. That was a clumsy question, she was getting rusty. "That was a lie, but you did so because you tried to tell me what I wanted to know, even if it wasn't the question I asked."
It hadn't been a question, but the image woman nodded anyway.
The old woman nodded back, "You are reincarnated, then?"
The image woman nodded again.
"Did you displace the proper occupant of this body when you returned to the Impure World?"
The image woman looked confused for a moment, and it occurred to the old woman to wonder at the chances of them actually sharing a language. All of the Elemental Nations shared a tongue, as did most of their neighbors, but the Nations were only a part of the world. Possibly not even a large part of it. And there were places where the Elemental tongue was not spoken.
The image woman worked through her confusion though, and shook her head. The old woman would have liked to know more, but without speech in both directions complex answers were impossible, so she would have to wait.
Turning back to the rest of the room, the old woman discovered that conversation had gone on around her while she had worked. They were debating who would take care of the girl. Various names were mentioned, some already with children of their own, others that longed for a child but had none.
In the old woman's opinion, none of these were good ideas. This wasn't just a child, but also a grown woman, with who knew how many lifetimes already lived. Taking care of her would be an odd balancing act, that without seeing the truth, she doubted that any of the offered names could manage.
After listening for a minute, the old woman huffed, "She is not possessed, as I said," she declared into a pause in the debate, "And I will take care of her." She knew how, she had raised four children of her own, all of whom now had children of their own, "Unless you know of somebody else that is familiar enough with ninja to raise one of their children?"
That stopped the debate quite effectively. She didn't particularly know anything about ninja either, but the villagers didn't know that, and that wasn't what was needed in any case. It did serve as a convenient excuse though, and she did have the knowledge necessary to raise this girl. It just didn't have anything to do with ninja.
With only minimal further discussion, and agreements to provide aid as needed, the old woman was allowed to take the girl and depart back to her home. Now, without prying ears, she peered at the image woman again, "Do you have a name of your own?" she asked, speaking normally now that the two of them were alone and at no risk of being overheard.
The image woman nodded.
"Very well. I shall wait until you can tell me," the old woman nodded. "You will call me Granny. I think you have an interesting story to tell, I look forward to hearing it."
This brought a tear to the image woman's eye, but she smiled and nodded nonetheless.
###
The old woman watched her newest granddaughter. The girl somersaulted and jumped and spun, going through a gymnastics routine just like she did every morning since she was able to move somewhat steadily. Which thanks to her unique circumstances only took six months.
She would get up in the morning and meditate for an hour or so. Then she would do her chores, mostly lighting the fire, since Granny's joints hurt in the morning cold. Then the girl would help make breakfast. Afterwards, she would help the old woman to a chair on her porch, tuck a blanket around her, and then head into the yard for her practice.
A gymnastics routine that grew more complex and extensive as the girl grew older. Then she would find a light stick and go through a series of sword routines. The old woman had never trained as a samurai, but she had absorbed a certain amount of knowledge just by osmosis. Many people in the outside world associated skill in the sword with Kirigakure, with their Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. But here in the Land of Iron, the land of samurai, the sword was life. Though the old woman couldn't recognize the routines, the girl looked very skilled to her amateur eye, and grew more so with every practice session.
The morning routine finished with unarmed combat practice, but Granny didn't know enough about that sort of fighting to judge what she was seeing. She cared less about that though. Her adopted granddaughter seemed to have one of the most valuable traits one could have in Iron, she was a prodigy of the sword. At least part of that had to come from experience in her previous lives, but that wouldn't account for how quickly the girl's new body acquired muscle memory.
No, the girl had a gift, and in the back of the old woman's mind, a plan began to form.
In the yard, the girl finished her tumbling routine with a high flying jump. She landed with her feet together and nary a wobble. A second to make sure that she was steady, and the girl threw her hands up in victory, before bowing to an imaginary audience.
The old woman clapped happily. Plans could come later, for now she would enjoy the laughter that came with having a child, even an odd one, in the house again.
###
The girl finished her lunch, hopping off her chair with her plate. She moved with exaggerated care over to where the dirty dishes were kept before cleaning. Standing on her tiptoes and stretching as much as she could, she slid the plate onto the counter. Done with her own dishes, the girl scampered back to the table to collect the old woman's.
"Thank you, dear," Granny said, smiling down at the small girl.
"You're welcome!" the girl chirped.
"What will you do now?" the old woman asked, standing and moving to the sink. It was still cold outside, it was always cold in the Land of Iron, but the fire had warmed the house enough that her joints no longer hurt, letting her move easily and attend to her own chores.
The little girl tilted her head in thought, "I'm gonna make a snowman."
The old woman looked down at her granddaughter curiously, "Why do you behave like this? We both know you are older than your physical age." Her tone had nothing but curiosity to it, honestly puzzled at the girl's behaviour.
The girl looked up at her. A soul older than the body that held it peered out at her through the girl's eyes, "Part of it is that however old my mind is, my brain is still only a few years old, and that does affect my thinking, if I'm not paying attention. The other, though, is that this is the third time I've been a child." The girl said slowly, "The first time I didn't know enough to enjoy it. The second, I put too much pressure on myself to advance, and chose not to enjoy it. Now, though, I know enough and have the time to appreciate being a little girl. As much as I can, I intend to enjoy it to the hilt." Then the girl smiled and the old soul was gone again, as she darted forward to hug the old woman about the knees looking up at her with a wide toothy grin, "And you deserve to have a grandchild to spoil, can't do that if I'm too old!"
The old woman could only smile back down at the girl as she turned and skipped out of the house to build her snowman. Just faintly she could make out the girl singing to herself in a language that the old woman didn't know, "Do you wanna build a snowman?"
###
Smoke poured through the fireplace into the house, making both occupants cough and choke. They held their breaths as best they could and opened all the windows they could reach before fleeing outside. Gasping down the clean air, they turned to look at the house and the smoke drifting out of it's windows and the door.
The old woman sighed, "I think the bird nest that those doves were making has fallen down the chimney. We'll have to go to town and ask for somebody to help us clean it out." She wasn't looking forward to that walk. Now, only a few years later, the walk she'd made so easily to get the girl, was a daunting proposition.
"We don't have to do that," the girl denied, and then darted towards the house, "I can do it, Granny!" She reached the house, and with great ease she scrambled up the walls towards the high peaked roof.
"Girl! Be careful!" Granny cried out, taking a few steps forward before stopping. There was nothing she could really do now but hope.
"I'll be fine, Granny! I've fallen further before!" The girl called as she scrambled up the sharp angle of the roof towards the chimney at its top.
"And how old were you when you did what ever foolish thing led to that fall?" Granny demanded with a frown.
The girl didn't respond though. She had reached the chimney and with a jump and a bit of flailing she managed to pull herself up onto the stacked bricks. The girl peered down the chimney shaft, a frown scrunching up her face. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, then with an audible thump something fell into the fireplace, the sound accompanied by another huge billow of smoke.
Unfortunately, at the same time another puff of smoke erupted from the chimney hitting the girl right in the face. She jerked backwards sharply, coughing. The sudden movement caused one of her feet to slip. She flailed for a moment then fell to one side, off of the highest point of the house.
The old woman sucked in a breath to shout, but before she could something... unexpected happened. Before the girl had fallen more than a foot, black feathered, blood tipped wings erupted from her back. Somehow not damaging her shirt in any way, but that was the last thing on the old woman's mind at that moment.
The girl's wings were both large and tiny. Like the way a fox kit's ears might be small objectively, but still appear huge on the kit. The wings flapped and flailed, clearly not strong enough or big enough or something enough to achieve actual flight. The rapid, chaotic fluttering was enough to slow her fall to the point that her landing in a snowbank likely left her unharmed.
The girl's health was demonstrated a moment later as her head popped out of the snowbank, a conical cap of snow piled comically on top of her head, "I'm okay!" She called out thrusting one arm into the air and waving.
Granny sighed, "Get out of there before you catch your death, silly girl." The old woman moved over to the steps up to the porch and slowly sat herself down, grumbling, "Scaring me to death."
"Coming!" The girl sprang out of the snow and scampered her way to the old woman's side. Moments later she was curled up in the blanket normally tucked around the old woman in the morning, leaning against her grandmother.
"So," Granny started slowly, "wings." The girl's only response was to fidget slightly, to which the old woman nodded, "Perhaps it is time for you to tell me that story I asked for when we met."
The girl glanced back at their small house that was still shedding smoke out the windows, and sighed. It wasn't like she had anything better to do for a while.
###
The old woman sighed, placing the letter down on her desk. Carefully she refolded it and placed it into a bundle with the others from the same source. She gazed silently at the letters, lost in thought.
"What's wrong?" Came the girl's voice from the doorway of the bedroom. Glancing over at her, the old woman waved her in. The girl scampered into the room and climbed into the old woman's lap.
"Nothing is wrong," the old woman said slowly. "Simply a letter from my son. All my children are good about writing to me, which is more than some people my age get from their descendants. I miss seeing them, even so."
The girl hummed, then slid off the old woman's lap, scampering out of the room. Granny watched her go, her expression confused. Confusion that turned to bemusement as the girl returned with a piece of paper, a stick of charcoal, and dragging a chair behind her.
The girl set up the chair with it's back towards the old woman, laid the piece of paper out on the seat of the chair, and readied the charcoal. "Tell me about them," the girl said seriously.
The old woman smiled and began to talk. She described her only daughter, her eldest child. How she had looked after her younger siblings when the old woman was busy. How she had continued this trend, marrying into the nobility and through nothing but her position and wits, had become the power in her husband's family. All so she could continue to look after her siblings. How she acted so serious all the time, which gave her the perfect poker face when her little pranks went off.
Her oldest son. He had grown up to become a samurai, given opportunities that no common born soldier should have had, through his sister's and mother's efforts. How proud he was the first time he wore his armor. How his skill with the sword was not the greatest, but his ability with people, organizing them and motivating them, made that weakness irrelevant. How his charisma and intelligence allowed him to climb to the position of Quartermaster General for the samurai of the Land of Iron.
Her middle son. The only one of her children who had inherited her gift. He had apprenticed under his mother as early as he could, learning everything he could, so when she retired he could take her place. So their dōjutsu would continue to stand at their Daimyo's side, helping him discern truth from lies.
Her youngest. Such a large chip on his shoulder at being coddled as the baby of the family. All the talent of the sword that her eldest son lacked, had found its place in her youngest. That, coupled with obsessive determination to be able to stand on his own, saw his skill soar. Eventually landing him a place as the chief instructor of the sword for the Land of Iron armies.
The old woman talked about all her grandchildren, who she got to see so rarely, but made such impressions when she did.
Finally, wiping tears from her eyes, the old woman ran out of words. Through all of her talking the girl had remained silent, her hand moving the charcoal across the page with careful surety. The two sat for several minutes in silence, the old woman reminiscing and the girl moving the charcoal across the page.
Finally the girl finished. "Here," she said, holding out the piece of paper.
The old woman took the page and almost dropped it when she saw what the girl had done. On the page was a drawing. At the center of the page was the old woman, sitting like she did every morning on the porch in her chair. Standing around her were her children, their figures hazy and mostly indistinct, their faces unclear, but recognizable nonetheless. At her shoulders, her daughter and middle son, recognizable by the noble's dress and uniform of the Daimyo's Truth Teller. Standing outside of them, as though standing guard over the rest, were her eldest in his armor, a clipboard just visible under one arm, and her youngest, his stance angry and his sheathed sword held in one hand ready to draw. At her feet were phantom representations of her grandchildren, little details letting her identify each one. The only solid and distinct figure aside from Granny herself sat directly in front of the old woman, the girl herself smiling up at whoever viewed the picture.
The only clearly present part of her children and grandchildren, were small depictions of their hearts.
###
The girl narrowed her eyes at the face in front of her.
The horse snorted and lowered his head to a convenient patch of grass, entirely unimpressed.
"You have said that in your previous lives you never learned to ride a horse," the old woman said from where she sat not far away, a blanket covering her legs and a thick shawl around her shoulders. "It is time you learned. Travel through the Land of Iron would be impossible in any large numbers, or with any cargo, without horses. The samurai ride specially bred horses into battle. You must know this, and your body is old enough to learn." Really, the girl would probably still be too young for anything serious if not for the advantages she had brought with her from her last life. She could still walk under the horse's barrel without having to duck, after all.
The girl learning to ride now had less to do with the girl and more to do with the old woman. She was feeling her age more and more each day. The girl was doing all the chores around the house now, the old woman rarely feeling good enough to do them herself.
"First you must saddle the horse," the old woman said from her seat, watching the girl and her horse in the paddock. The girl turned from the horse to look at the saddle she'd dragged out only minutes earlier. With a look of determination the girl marched over to the saddle, lifted it, and carried it over to where the horse stood.
The girl looked up at the animal, the bottom of his barrel a few inches above her. Stretching up on her tiptoes and raising her saddle as far as she could over her head, she still didn't come close to reaching. Narrowing her eyes the girl collected herself, popped her wings, and with a single flap-aided leap, shot into the air high enough to get the saddle on the horse's back.
The horse darted sideways, startled and snorting loudly, as he watched the girl crash to the ground, startled by the horse's sudden movement.
"Well, this doesn't bode well," the girl muttered to herself.
#
The horse had been led over to a rock tall enough for the girl to use as a mounting block. If the horse didn't want to be saddled, that was fine, the girl would simply do without. Who needed saddles anyway? Not her! The girl easily scrambled up onto the tall stone, and from there carefully swung a leg over the horse's back, sliding into place. Then the girl frowned as she kept sliding, right off the far side of the horse, who never raised his head from the tuft of grass he'd found.
She hit the ground with an audible oof. The horse turned his head to look at her. The girl would swear that he was asking her why she was down there.
"Right," the girl muttered, "saddles."
#
The girl jumped and flapped at the horse, who again darted away, though not as far. The girl narrowed her eyes growling, and lunged again. And missed again.
The old woman smiled to herself as one of the odder games of tag that she'd ever seen, played itself out in the paddock.
#
The girl clung like a barnacle to the saddle she'd finally gotten on the horse. She felt less than secure on the back of the giant animal, even if things seemed to be going well at the moment. The horse walked sedately around the edge of the paddock, though the girl suspected that had more to do with what the horse felt like doing than what she was doing with the reins. Without warning, the horse leaned into the paddock fence catching the girl's leg on one of the posts. The horse kept going, the girl stayed with the fence post, and moments later hit the ground.
Picking herself up, she glared at the horse.
The horse trotted cheerfully away.
#
The horse stood perfectly still in the center of the paddock, the girl on his back. This was safe, nothing to scrape her off on here. Sure, she wasn't going anywhere, but that could come later. Now she just needed to...
The horse casually lay down on the ground and rolled over. The girl's eyes widened at the on coming ground, but thinking quickly she freed her feet from the stirrups and stepped free onto the ground at the perfect moment to escape getting squashed.
The girl pointed at the horse in triumph, "Hah!"
The horse pinned his ears back at the girl.
#
The horse walked backwards. The girl frowned at the back of his head as she tried everything she could think of to get him to go forward, or even just stop. All she did was succeed in making him go backwards faster, "Really." She deadpanned at his ears, he just snorted at her and went backwards faster still. "Granny! Stop laughing!" It wasn't funny, damnit.
#
The horse went forward, the girl in a saddle on his back. He tried to scrape her off, but she lifted her leg out of the way and stayed on. He tried to go backwards, but she managed to control him. He tried to roll on her, but she stepped free again and even managed to get back on him as he stood up again. He turned where she wanted him to, sped up and slowed down as she wanted him to.
"Hah!" She told the horse guiding him into another turn, "I am victorious! Control is mine!" she gloated. The horse pinned his ears back, and the girl had a moment to think she might have made a mistake.
Then the horse reared, his front end going into the air, and then kept on going as the horse flopped onto his back. And onto the girl.
The horse rolled to his feet and trotted away, tail flagging, leaving the girl sprawled in the dirt. The old woman hurried as fast as her old joints and the cold would let her to where the girl lay unmoving. Reaching the girl, the old woman began to look her over, "Are you all right?"
"I hate horses," the girl told her flatly.
###
The old woman smiled down at her adopted granddaughter, as the girl gently massaged her hands, trying to warm them up and alleviate the pain in her joints. It helped, but nothing really made the pain go away entirely anymore. It had been months since she had been able to leave her bed, and for months before that she hadn't been able to do much but move from one seat to the next. The girl had taken over chores and duties with a smile and no comment.
The girl made the food, helped the old woman clean herself, however embarrassing that was, and cleaned the house. It was more than could be expected of a five year old. But the girl was no ordinary five year old. She was more than capable of making sure that the old woman was comfortable as her days came to a close.
Which would be soon, the old woman knew. A day or two at most. When she was younger, the old woman would have thought she would be scared at the prospect, but now that the time was here, she felt content.
She had raised four children. Served her Daimyo well. Passed on her duties as both their guardians and as Truth Teller to those worthy of them. And now, her last act of helping the girl acclimate to the strange world she'd found herself in, in her third life. She would be remembered well and, if what she suspected about the girl was true, for a very long time.
Now, she had just one last thing she wanted to do.
One last gift to give.
She took one of her hands from the girl and covered the girl's hands with it. "Thank you. For your efforts. Have you decided what you will do? After...?" They both knew her end was coming, but neither spoke of it directly.
The girl sat back on her heels next to the old woman's bed, and sighed, "I don't know. Travel some maybe. Possibly join the Iron Army. Learning the techniques you described would be fascinating." The girl lit up slightly at the prospect of learning, but it faded quickly as the context reasserted itself.
"Whatever you decide to do," the old woman said slowly, "the first place you should go is the capital. I have some letters there, on the desk," the old woman pointed vaguely at where her desk was. "They should help you, whatever you decide to do next. One is a letter of introduction to the Daimyo's court. The other eight are for my children. Two for each."
"I'll deliver them, Granny," the girl assured her.
The old woman managed a weak smile, "I know." She sighed heavily, "I have one more thing for you, a gift. I want you to use your special seals and take my eyes, my dōjutsu."
The girl reared back, "But Granny, I know how important blood lines are. I can't just take it, and I'd have to... "
"Child."
"I just can't, they haven't finished..." the girl babbled in denial.
"Girl."
" No it's just not..."
"Ericka." The girl's mouth snapped shut on her babble, her eyes wide, "You won't have to do anything, I have a day or two at most." The old woman smiled gently and took back her granddaughter's hands, "Let me give you this gift."
###
Ericka drew the Script like she had for Simon, so long ago in the vet's office. One circle around Granny's bed, another placed on the floor next to it. It took most of the day to write it out, she was still getting her ease and grace with writing Script back, and sang it to life.
When she was done she sat down in her circle, took the old woman's hand in hers, and waited with her.
The sun set and the old woman drifted off to sleep.
The sun rose and a final sigh of contentment drifted from the smile on the old woman's lips. The Script lit in faint, gentle light. The light almost seemed to drift along the Script channels to the circle where Ericka waited.
She closed her eyes and, for the second time, her eyes ripped themselves apart, no soul fused to her new flesh to ease the change.
Unlike the last time though, Ericka did not collapse. Instead tears of fire leaked from her eyes. Moment's later they stopped and she opened her regenerated eyes.
She leaned forward and kissed the old woman's brow, "Thank you, Granny," she whispered, then set about getting ready.
Supplies were collected. The horse was saddled without trouble, for once. A Script was laid about the house to preserve it from the passage of time and keep anybody that didn't share blood with the old woman from approaching it. Or even noticing that the house was there at all.
With one final look over her shoulder, Ericka rode away down the road towards the Iron Capital. She had enjoyed being Granny's granddaughter. She had been able to be young in a way that she hadn't before, and was very grateful to Granny for giving her the chance. Now that Granny was gone though, Ericka found herself tired of being young. She was ready to be active again.
Her physical age could only be fixed with time, but in the Elemental Nations age was hardly a problem for the skilled.
