Driven from the Sanctuary, Ocheeva and Teinaava fled to the only other home they'd ever known.
Familiar in a distant way, these swamps. Soothing on a primal level from generations before them that called places like this home. The constant hum of life, of insects and birds and frogs croaking, the humid air hanging heavy and thick with rot. They moved nimbly through the bog of Blackwood, as they had done these past days in silence.
"I still – I cannot believe this. It still feels like a dream."
It was Ocheeva who broke it, slowing to a stop. A deep breath, yellow eyes filmed with tears blinked away. Her brother stopped by her side, feeling her pain. Joined, as they had always been from the egg they shared.
"I know, Sister. But we must keep moving."
"I should have seen something." She followed again, muttering almost to herself. Eyes flickering back and forth, breath shallow. "But how could I? None of them seemed to – they were all loyal. But I was the Mistress. I should have seen, I could have stopped this – "
"You cannot blame yourself. We could never have known the Black Hand would fall on us." Fall and try to smother, like an unwanted child in the cradle. A shudder crept through Teinaava, making scales rankle.
"Speaker Lachance – Lucien – to think he could not trust me, that I was not worthy – " A choking, wretched sob. She stopped short again and her brother moved to her, a hand on her back, gentle.
"Sister, please. We must keep moving."
"To what? Where? We are Shadowscales, Teinaava." A sudden viciousness to her voice that drew him upright. "This – the Sanctuary, Lucien's teachings, our Family, they were our birthright. I was the Mistress, I should have known. Without that, without them…" Her shoulders slumped, sharp lines of teeth bared in a bitter smile. "I am nothing."
"I feel the same emptiness, Sister." The same pain, the same brutal sting of rejection from the people they'd trusted most. From the man who'd raised them, trained them, who they'd loved like a father.
"… Are we doing the right thing?"
"Sister?"
"Fleeing our fate." She spoke dully now as they continued to move, their tracks being swallowed behind them by the mud. "We are not traitors, I know. But if the Black Hand has called for our death…"
She didn't need to finish. He knew. Had shared that same thought, that same fear these past days as they ran. The Black Hand was fallible. Almost a treachery itself to think that, but it was true – they were mortal. They were only doing what was necessary to keep the Family safe. They had broken no tenet, but this felt…
"Wrong." Ocheeva finished his thought, bowing her head low. "This feels wrong."
"… Yes."
"If we were truly loyal, we would have lain down our weapons and died there. Knowing our souls would go to Sithis and our Dark matron. We would have helped him slay our Brothers and Sisters, if only to drive the traitor out, to follow the wishes of our Listener."
"We have dishonoured ourselves." It wasn't a question, but Ocheeva nodded. A shudder crawled down her back before she straightened, nares flaring. A new calm, a new determination settled over her.
"We are both loyal children of the Night Mother. We are Shadowscales. If she has called us to her embrace, even if we fear it, even if we are not ready…"
The humid, dank swamp was suddenly chill. Still, Teinaava nodded slowly. Their eyes met, and a pact was made. "Then we must heed the call."
They stopped to make camp. Prayer, first. Supplication. That they didn't deserve forgiveness, but they would do what little they could to redeem themselves. That they were ever loyal, ever ready to serve her and their Dread Father.
Then, by their flickering campfire, they shared stories. Laughing at the memories of their siblings, contracts, blood spilled, triumphs and losses over the years. All the while taking advantage of the swamp surrounding them, what it offered. Even they, adapted as they were to their deadly homeland, could succumb to its toxins given time, given bounty. And Blackwood offered death in spades.
Their waterskins now held their creation, pulped plants and what little remained of their rationed clean drinking water. It would taste foul. It hardly mattered. Ocheeva raised her own, the liquid sloshing within, and took a deep breath.
"To our Night Mother and Dread Father. May they forgive us our trespass, and may the traitor that has brought such chaos to our family suffer for their crimes. To our Brothers and Sisters, alive and dead."
Teinaava nodded. Their campfire, in the moisture of the swamp, was beginning to sputter and fade.
"To loyalty." A low rasp. He raised his own waterskin, meeting hers for a cheer before swigging back the contents, down to the last drop. Wiping his fanged mouth, giving a small smile to his twin, mirrored by her.
"To Family."