So, I don't know what this is, or where it is going. I felt compelled to write after being overjoyed that there are readers that follow my writing. This is for you. This is an original work of which I do not have an outline for. That being said, I do not know how long it will be, or how often I will update it. I am at a loss for a better title. If you, reader, think of something better suited. Please allow me to consider it. And, I have no beta.

Trigger warning for violence, possibly non-consensual, implied, abuse, etc. If I missed anything that may possibly be triggering, please, please, please, let me know. I will try and keep triggers to a minimum, and will try and remember to make sure they are in place.

Italics are either an internal monologue or in certain instances, dialogue or a flashback.

Artio is a bear goddess in Celtic mythology. She is the goddess of nature, fertility, bears and was worshiped in the region of Gaul.

I found parts of this chapter difficult to write. Trigger for sexual assault reference. Thoughts of self-harm.

Bear with me if you are still following along. This particular chapter is a complete flashback. It will make sense later.

A FOUND HOME

Thirsty

xoxoxo

"Is it still breathing?" Two men are looking at the creature huddled in the shadows of its cell, wings limp against its body in a vain attempt to protect and warm itself.

"Seems like. With the things that the bosses have put it through, it should be dead." The second man shrugged. "It's almost like the thing doesn't know how to die. But every now and again you see it try and flap its wings." The first man is scratching at the scruff of his beard. The second man continued on, wrinkling his nose as if something smells. When in fact it does. It is a prison of sorts, and the individuals incarcerated there are treated less than human, less than any animal. He keeps his thoughts on the subject to himself. "I think some of the other guards have had a go at it."

"What do you mean, 'Had a go at it?'" The first man stills his movement, his eyes coming to a halt on the unmoving shadow.

C'mon man, you can't be that dense. You know?" The second man gestures at his crotch, his companion shudders.

"How long has sh-." He corrects himself, "it been down here?"

The other man turns and spits in the direction of their inmate."Dunno, maybe a month."

"So what's it story?"

"Who cares?" He points in the direction of the cell. "Somebody caught it, brought it in for the bounty. Folks in charge been poking and prodding at it almost everyday. But I think it's damn near used up anything its good for." He took a couple of steps towards the bars of the cell, snorting and drawing up a large wad of spit. Hurling, the snot filled wad landed square between the creature's shoulder blades. "Hmmph. See, more dead than alive."

The second man turned to leave. "Probably be cut up, dissected." He nudged his partner with an elbow. "Maybe me and you should have a go at it before it's cut up for chum."

"Yeah, I'm okay with just the human variety of weird." His companion cast one last lingering glance toward the creature, nodding his head to the other.

C'mon, we got shit to do."

xoxoxo

She cannot cover her ears. They have bound her wrists together with bailing wire in such a fashion that it appears she has prayer hands. Two lengths of wire extends from her wrists, cutting into the flesh of her shoulders binding her wings and keepig them contained with minimal movement. She is unable to squash the screaming coming from the other cells. Sure, she can cover one ear if she raises a shoulder, further injuring her skin, but it does nothing to protect the other ear. Ever since the guards attempted to assault her, they have restrained her in such a way as to limit her movements. She shudders and dry heaves for the umpteenth time, at the coarse and heavy hands that touched her. But she fought them as best she could, and they were going to know they were in a fight. Mutantcy, she had discovered over time, had provided small benefits. Freedom if she could manage to escape, strength, to win a fight if she is not outnumbered. And she, for that is what she is, draws further in on herself.

She hears new voices, muffled, as if she is buried under dirt. She thinks she has dozed off, if only briefly, and unsure of what has awakened her. Then she feels it, someone is tossing stones at her. One splashes near her face and somehow she remains still. Not a difficulty, as she is stiffened from lack of movement, and the cold has resettled into her bones. She aches. She is beyond cold and wet, her wings heavy against her back and weighing her down in a way that she is not accustomed to. They "cleaned" her and her cell at the same time, hosing it and her down with water. Water that has pooled around and beneath her, as if it can compound her misery anymore. The chill of the concrete burns through her limbs and body, settling into her bones crushing her will, or whatever is left of it. Are those my teeth rattling? She steadies her jaw, she has been clenching her teeth again. You should come in to be fitted for a mouthguard. Her last trip to the dentist. Fun times. Her lips are bruised and chapped and stinging as she uses them to slurp in small sips of water that she lies in. She can perform this action without moving her body; she is facing away from the bars. The stones continue skittering into her cell, but she remains still. She allows herself to succumb to her fatigue, the quaking of her body not enough to override her anguish, and she drops off to sleep.

She awakens again to the slow approaching sound of creaking and little screeching of rusty wheels from a gurney. The creaking comes to a halt at her cell and she exhales a shuddering breath; It's her turn. She is equal parts sad and relieved. She thinks about her life from the Before Time, and thinks that while it could be difficult and hard at times, living in this life has been nothing but brutal at the hands of human fear, and struggling trying to live beyond survival. Quiet tears slip down her face, down over the bridge of her nose, falling quietly to mix with the rancid water beneath her.

She is bewildered by the almost imperceptible tinkling of the keys in her jailer's hands. Instead of the harsh and brash jangling of keys, the sound she hears threatens to be muted, and there is the tinniest sound of nervousness, as the correct key is inserted. The door to her cell is pushed open, her jailer hissing curses at the whining sound it creates, and once again, the creaking of wheels moves closer. There is movement behind her, but she doesn't acknowledge it, then there is a blanket covering the length of her body, and a whimper passes her lips before she can stop it. Her jailer kneels down, speaks quietly to her.

"Shh, hush now. This will all be over soon." There is much huffing and grunting as her jailer hoists her bodily onto the gurney. Restrained, she can only lie helpless, immobile, save for her eyes that are trying to see the last of her surroundings. She was apparently the last cell at the end of a dimly lit corridor, and now she was being wheeled, where?

She flinches at what appears to be strobe lights beyond the barred windows. Rain? She doesn't remember rain. She struggles vainly against her restraints. Nothing good ever happens when it rains. "Paramedic Engine Seven Fourteen, Paramedic Rescue Engine Seven Fourteen, Medic Seven Fourteen, Battalion Seven-oh-Five, respond for the personal injury collision with rollover, report of one ejected." She remembers working, before The Before Time. She pulled on her bunker pants, mumbling curses under her breath, shrugging on her bunker coat and climbing aboard into the jumpseat of the rescue engine. Somebody being stupid in a smart zone, no doubt. Wheels continue to creak from the gurney, but less discernible against the backdrop of lightning and thunder. Rain. She closes her eyes. Tree always wins. Dumb kid. "Paramedic Rescue Engine Seven Fourteen dispatch, we have a definite."

She is tossed awake by a sudden forward lurching, and she once again finds herself hurled onto a floor, without ceremony. Except this floor is moving, and her restraints are, gone? Rain is pummeling the roof of whatever carriage she is in. Motorized, which means she is still a prisoner of some fashion. With her head resting on the floor of the vehicle, she blinks, her eyes adjusting to the shadows that surround her. Her body, rocking to the motion of the vehicle, an uneven vibration from the wheels on the road, moving up through the floor of the vehicle as they grind forward over no longer paved roads. Better they had used a horse and buckboard wagon. But then, she guesses they would have had to have found a horse. And do horses even exist anymore?

There are several pairs of eyes huddled together, staring back at her, as her eyes adjust to the gloom. Shadows upon shadows, she cannot make out any coherent shapes, blinking her eyes against the strain of it all, finally dropping them to the floor. It has been so long since she has had use of her limbs, and her arms protest a bit as she struggles to raise herself, gritting her teeth in a hiss at the pinpricks of pain that screams from both shoulders down into her palms in equal measure. Suddenly there are multiple damp and clammy hands laid against her skin, her body stiffening against the sudden cold their hands emit. But in the blink of multiple eyes, the stiffness and tingling dissipates, her body sinking against the hardness of the floor of their vehicle. She feels, - almost whole. Her wings are another matter altogether. Confined within the vehicle, and sharing space, she has no way of stretching, no adequate way to flutter them without knocking her unseen companions in the head. And they were exceedingly generous extending their skills to a stranger. She is able to pillow her head against her arms, bending them at the elbow as she allows herself a moment to just breathe. Inhale in, exhale out. Could she really be on the verge of being free? By the gods she hated living, but she wasn't ready to die. The desire to survive pushed anything less into a tiny box buried deep in the recesses of her mind. Inhale in, exhale out, she is alive one more day.

The vehicle makes a right hand turn and travels a bit longer on a road that has a distinct rubber on gravel sound. She can sense it pulling off to the side, coming to an easy halt. She hears a flurry of whispered voices and the hurried opening and closing of doors. Her unseen companions begin jostling about, a youthful tone of excitement mixed into the blurbling like sounds they are making.

As the doors to the rear of their vehicle opens, she realizes, beneath the first light of morning, that it is an old, worn, and rusted out cargo van. The doors creak on their respective hinges, blending with that of the creatures that waddle, run, and lope, past her. She counts five, maybe six, "children?" her brain supplies, eyes adjusting to the natural light slowly emerging on the horizon. The rain continues to fall, though it seems to no longer be a straight downpour. Its just rain, she tells herself, as she scoots tentatively towards the rear exit of the vehicle, barely managing to rest her butt at the edge. Her body feels slightly foreign to her, after not belonging to her for some time. She's not been this active for however long she was in captivity. She raises her face into the rain, breathing in deep, allowing the dampness to fill her senses, and wash away the stench of decay that she has lived with while incarcerated.

Allowing her feet to settle into the mud, all of her nerves begin charging at once as she feels a connection to the earth, returning her strength to her. The voice of her jailer moves her out of the moment, and she stands into her full height, pinning him with a questioning eye. There is one other human adult with him, but that one moves off with the children.

"We must move from here, there is little time to waste."

"Why?" The man shifts uneasily under her gaze, but continues undeterred.

"They will sends guards or worse, bounty hunters."

"No. Why did you help me escape." He turned toward the handful of children splashing in the mud. He pointed to the smallest of the group.

"You see that one, the little guy?" She inclined her head. "He is my son. He, along with the others you see, have and are, morphing into amphibians. Myself, and the parents of the other four, are moving them to a place that is called The Village. My son's mother is there. But we had to wait for the rains to come to even try and get them somewhere safe." She moved from the rear of the vehicle, putting more distance between the two of them. Memory remnants of being trapped pressing in on her.

"So why me?" She tested the movement of her wings, easing them open lest they cause her discomfort. She continued watching the children, an almost wistful expression on her face. She put thoughts of the past from her mind, turning her attention back to her jailer. "Well?"

"You are the only mutant I have encountered that hasn't been killed or died, from being tortured. I saw it as an opportunity to save my son. I figured if I helped you escape, then maybe you could escort them to safety." She rolled her shoulders and neck. She inhaled deep, stretching her wings completely out. Freedom was almost in her grasp.

"You're assuming a lot thinking I would help you." He took a step forward in her direction, and she rapidly hugged her wings about her body, mirroring his step forward with one back.

"Look." The man began to plead with her, and she cut him off quickly, her voice dropping into a gritted hiss.

"No! You look! I was beaten, assaulted, tortured to the edge of death. And while you think you may have done me a favor by aiding my escape, I was prepared to welcome death. Death meant I could no longer be hunted, and dragged back to be experimented on. You have done me no favor! And I don't owe you shit! Whatever you did, you did for purely selfish reasons. You have your own private agenda, and I have mine." Her eyes blinked in rapid succession, chest still heaving as she became aware of a pair of cool small hands enveloping her right hand that was drawn into a fist, her anger ebbing away. She glared at the newcomer, one of the children she had gone to calling tadpoles, in her head. It didn't shrink away from her, and she nodded her head in its direction.

"Thank you. Now go on, git. I'll be along in a moment." She kneaded the earth beneath her feet. She closed her eyes for another moment, the rain no longer feeling like a friend, she took a final inhale and released her fists into open palms. "I will do this thing, I will find this place, but do not let our paths cross again."

She held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "Whatever else you want to say, don't. I don't want or need to hear anything that might sound like an apology. You chose to turn a blind eye to another creatures suffering. Silence equals complicity, so no, I don't want to hear the word, sorry." She felt her anger returning, willing herself to silently count to ten. "I would not wish what happened to me onto any child, or adult. Mutant or otherwise."

He reached into the back of the van, passing her a pillowcase obviously filled with supplies.

"There is maybe three or four days of food in the bag." She opened it and peered inside. "It's not a lot, but its enough to get you started. The kids have learned to forage and can sustain themselves with whatever they find in the mud and dirt. This road disappears into the woods about half a mile. They have the ability to sniff out water when it is not raining, so if you come across any waterways try to stay close in close proximity to it."

"And how will I know when I have found this village?" She watched the woman hug her child for probably the last time, tears tracking through the mud her child had smeared on her face.

"You'll know." She said nothing further, moving to follow her tadpoles deeper into the brush, never once looking back over shoulder.