Sparrow didn't quite understand the odd pulsations within her new arm, but she knew immediately what they meant the moment they began. It was an odd sort of tug, as though someone had grabbed her elbow and begun to pull her along like a child who had wandered somewhere dangerous. Something, or rather, someone was summoning her. Sparrow didn't dare to disobey. She set out down the temple steps and into the snow, following the sensations.

Hours had passed since the encounter with Shrike. Negotiations and tense dialogue about topics she didn't really understand had escalated to something less friendly as time went on. While Shrike himself and the majority of the clansmen had chosen to bow to Salem, a not insignificant number had instead chosen to mount a resistance. The protestors' bodies were strewn about the temple and its grounds in short order. Some of the corpses were visible around Sparrow as she walked, their features marred by black gel, scorch marks, and blood as they were intermittently gnawed at by the patrolling grimm.

Sparrow herself had aided with the slaughter of her former comrades, taking to the front lines and testing her new capabilities. The young woman had leapt into the fray without a second thought, filled with more bloodlust and righteous anger than ever before. As she danced through the crowds with her twin blades in hand, she found that her training and new arm combined proved far beyond the capabilities of the average clan member. Countering blows, raking at enemies with her claw, and evading hazards with her newfound limb felt like second nature. At first, Sparrow was thrilled that it seemed like she didn't even need to think to manage her new limb. Over time, that satisfaction and appreciation gave way to unease as she came to a different realization.

Her brain wasn't in control of the arm. The arm seemed to be in control of her.

What would normally have been reactionary impulses came to her in the form of sinister whispers. Not quite a voice, but a clear, understandable command all the same traveled through her nerves and entered her thoughts whenever the arm wanted something done. Combat had become less about utilizing her body as a weapon, and more about using it in support of the entity living within her limb. Sparrow wasn't sure who or what it was, but she knew in her heart that it wasn't her. She didn't know what that could mean, but allowing her thoughts to linger upon the notion filled her with dread.

The smell of acrid smoke filled the air around Sparrow as she walked between the buildings and tents that made up her former home. Several people lingering about regarded her with fear, stepping back into their houses or busying themselves with menial tasks as she approached. She could feel the terror in them as they looked at her, and their reactions made her chest swell with pride. They should have been afraid of her. She was owed their reverence and prostration. It was the least they could do after years of neglect.

With every step, the pulsations were growing stronger. Sparrow couldn't be sure whether it was due to the proximity to her master, or an increased urgency on account of taking too long. She thought to pause for a moment, standing at a crossroads within the small village. A formidable, almost painful yank within her joints gave her a definitive answer. She set out again at a jog, knowing that if she took too long, there would be far more severe consequences than physical discomfort.

Salem wasn't particularly difficult to find. There at the edge of the mountaintop standing silently in the snow was the white witch, her eyes fixated upon something in the distance far across the land. Sparrow couldn't tell just what she was looking at beyond the fog, but somehow, she knew that Salem wasn't simply staring off into space. Her gaze was intentional, and from the sharp dive in temperature near the woman, Sparrow knew that whatever had her attention was something displeasing.

"Sparrow," Salem said in an impartial tone. "Join me."

The young apprentice did as she was told and trudged forward through the ankle-deep snow to stand beside her master. As she closed the distance, the uncomfortable writhing within her arm weakened and slowed to a gentle pulse just beneath the surface of its blackened skin. Sparrow found the feeling oddly comforting, and yet, the foreign sensation of movement within the limb never let her truly relax.

"…Mistress," Sparrow offered as she squinted into the rolling fog surrounding the mountain several hundred feet below them. "The temple has been cleared of resistance, and Arowana's body has been moved to the central chamber."

"Well done, child," Salem praised, never taking her eyes off the target far below. "You desire his resurrection, do you not?"

Sparrow looked up at the taller woman, taking in her pale features. The sculpt of Salem's face was almost too perfect, lending her an otherworldly beauty despite her dark eyes.

"I… am unsure, now," Sparrow admitted as she returned her gaze to the fog. "The way that the Watchers spoke to me, it seems that they had orders to deny me extending even beyond his death. I thought that if it was possible for him to return with his memory intact, I might be able to reclaim his favor after it was stolen from me."

"And what events led to such a thing to begin with?" Salem asked, finally looking over at her protégé. "I called you here to ask of your standing with the clan, and what you know of Qrow and Raven. Their names have been mentioned several times, and their connection to Ozma makes them persons of interest to me."

Sparrow's face twisted into a scowl and her shoulders stiffened. The smell of smoke wafted toward them from the burning buildings near the edge of the encampment. Flecks of ash danced lazily through the air, occasionally carried by the mountain breeze to fizzle out before the pair of women as they spoke.

"…my mother… was one of Arowana's concubines," Sparrow began, her words dripping with venom. "I was born before he got to her, and for a time, he raised me as his own. He taught me to fight for a time and briefly raised me to become his heir. I was to lead this clan, until… unexpectedly, my mother gave him children of his own. Twins. Raven and Qrow."

"And I am to assume that from that point forward, you were no longer his favorite," Salem stated plainly.

"Indeed," Sparrow spat. "I was cast out of the temple. Cut off from his training and favor… but I watched. I listened. I taught myself based on their training, waiting for the day when those two would fail him… and they almost did. I wanted nothing more than to become his successor, but… now, it seems unimportant. Now that I have you… this could be a new beginning. I could cut ties with the clan. Take on a new name…"

Salem watched with a smirk as a flake of ash fell into Sparrow's outstretched hand. The blackened material still glowed at the edges with a bright orange as it came to rest against her pale flesh.

"Perhaps you should," Salem agreed. "Raven and Qrow will get what's coming to them. They have chosen to throw in with Ozma, and so, they have chosen death. Continue to serve me, Sparrow, and perhaps the pleasure of delivering their downfall shall be yours."

"…Cinder," the younger woman replied as she closed her fingers around the dying ember. "Call me Cinder, from now on," she asserted as she looked back up at Salem. "What can you tell me about this 'Ozma' figure? Is he our primary target?"

"I can tell you many things," Salem said enigmatically. "He is indeed our primary target… and he is a charlatan. The sort of figure who veils his motives behind serving a nebulous 'greater good' while being only concerned with his own goals. Everything that man does is in service to himself, no matter how carefully he words his offers and reassurances."

"A man who pretends to care, only to pull back the curtain when he has no further use for you," Cinder considered. "Tell me more…"


"…I'm still not sure that I understand," the woman said slowly, brushing off her dirty yellow gardening gloves upon her overalls. She was a stocky, rustic looking sort, her long black hair partially veiled by a saffron bandanna. Her eyes sparkled with a rare tinge of green and hazel, and the freckles upon her face nearly blended into her olive skin. "You're just… this kindness is unheard of…"

"Should not all huntsmen strive to be a force for positive change within their communities?" Professor Ozpin asked. His outfit was one that belied far more sophistication- a brilliant emerald pea coat and black slacks. A pair of dark round lenses covered his eyes, and his short hair was a mix of black and silver. "You could say that I have a vested interest in the future of Vale, and when I heard you needed assistance clearing out the grimm here, I thought I would lend a hand."

"But… you're the headmaster," the woman said with reverence as she looked the man up and down. "I'd have thought you would send hunters from your academy and taken my fee, not arrived personally and given me money for repairs after the attack…"

"Please," the professor insisted with a wave of his hand. The other remained firmly atop his combat cane, its tip planted down within the dirt. "Time and time again, families have come to try to settle this old patch of dirt and been scared away by the packs of grimm that tend to roam these fields and the surrounding forests. Anyone looking to settle down here will have my full support. After all, Vale City could scarcely survive without people like you."

"People… like me?" the woman asked, pointing a finger into her chest and giving the man a look of utter disbelief. "But… I ain't anything special."

"Quite the contrary," Professor Ozpin proclaimed. "Who else will provide the city with food, and foster trade? If you're truly looking to get the machine shop at the edge of these fields up and running again in addition to the rest of it, you'll be doing more good than the vast majority who have lived here all their lives. You're a transplant from Mistral, correct?"

"That's right," the woman answered with a firm nod. "My family's been workin' the land for generations, and I thought it was high time to expand our reach. I really do appreciate the help, sir, but there must be something I can do for you in return beyond just 'my job.' Family wouldn't let me live it down, otherwise."

Professor Ozpin paused, feigning surprise as he rubbed at his chin with a black gloved hand.

"…perhaps there is one thing. I would be more than willing to do more than just give you lien to repair and maintain this place… if you or your siblings would be interested in joining my academy. I've heard that your hereditary semblance is quite a powerful one. The sort that could be incredibly useful in defending Sanus and its citizens, if it was well trained…"

The woman stiffened slightly, her kind features shifting to more resemble those of a frightened woodland creature that had just heard a predator. She sniffed once and brought a hand up to tug at her collar, seemingly torn between displeasure and regret. After chewing her lip for a moment, she shook her head slowly and met the headmaster's eyes.

"Maybe I'm a fool," the woman began in a low, sorrowful voice, "but I'll have to decline. My family is made of simple folk. We're not cut out to be hunters, even with our semblances. Of course, if one of my sons or daughters… if and when that happens… was interested, I wouldn't stop 'em, and neither would my kin. Mighty kind of you to offer, but for now, it's a no. My apologies, Professor."

"There is no need to apologize," Professor Ozpin insisted with a polite bow. "I would never force anyone to take up the life of a hunter against their will. It isn't a career for those without passion for it, and your work on these lands once the farmhouse is restored will be just as much a contribution to Vale."

"Thank you for understanding," the woman replied. "And… thanks again so much for coming to help out personally, as well as for the lien. I'll put it to good use, I swear. Fix up the barn, add more crops to the fields… this'll be the biggest farm in all of Sanus in a few short years. I promise I'll repay you in time, Professor."

"I'm sure that you will, Miss Pine," the headmaster acknowledged with a nod. "All in due time…"


Author's Note:

Pieces falling into place, whether they know it or not.

-RD