Camp had been struck before sunrise, as had always been her way. Now, Silver once again stood at the very edge of the mists, half-in and half-out, as she set her mind to that which lay ahead.
The East side of the Fields of Fornost were always relatively quiet, but the West side... they congregated there more than anywhere else outside of the Fortress proper. Inner-silence had served her well until now, but it would do little good on the road ahead. Here, something else was necessary. Something markedly different. Not silence, inside and out, but noise, loud and willful.
She closed her eyes, letting the damp, swirling air brush so gently against her dusky skin. She could feel it, the despair, the longing, the desire for an end, and if none was to be granted, then at least vengeance upon those who had caused this eternal state of decrepitude. In lieu of that, a sating of jealousies – death to the warm ones, that the living too might forever be trapped in this nightmare.
That was what she had to face. That was what she had to fight. But not with weaponry. She had to use something rather more profound if she wished to complete her goal. So, she turned her sights inward, sifting through the emotions that she had so far suppressed.
Fear and sorrow, though in abundance, would do her no good. They would attract attention. They would give the ghasts and their rotting, animated counterparts something to catch, to cling to, to turn against her and exponentially increase until madness would come and, with it, the overwhelming urge to put an end to herself. That was what they did. That was how they got you. If the wights couldn't tear you limb from limb, the spirits would make you do it to yourself.
Hope was a fragile thing, and too easily crushed. This too must remain suppressed within, along with desire, desperation, greed, despair, anger, hatred and love. Each one of these could be too easily twisted and changed.
She sifted further. There. In a tight knot beneath all the rest, there they lay. These were the ones she needed. These were the ones she could use.
Carefully, oh so carefully, she teased them free of the others. This took longer than she would have liked. This was far more difficult than she remembered. Vestiges of other emotions clung to the ones she wanted, little wispy tendrils of feeling that contaminated the desirables, rendering them impure.
Once, she could have done this with ease. Silver had been an expert in feeling what she had wanted to feel and nothing else, but she was no longer just Silver. Three had become one; her past pieces shifting and merging until equilibrium had been reached. Memories and skills remained, but her ability to compartmentalize to such extremes had been... diminished.
Careful. Easy. You can do this. I can do this. That's it, that's right. That one, right there. Gently now. Gently. Got it.
A smile settled upon her plump lips. A glint came back to her silvery eyes. She was ready.
Clambering up atop Steel's strong back, she gently steered him toward the correct area.
For the first mile or two, there was naught of interest or threat. The skeletal trees reached for the murky skies whilst the sickly grass swayed gently in the breeze that stirred the mist. Somewhere off on a rise, a half-dead bear bit through the head of newly-killed barghest, the crunch echoing hollowly over the gentle hillocks.
Over the westward path, the hillocks gave way to mounds. Barrows, and not the peaceful kind of long-dead warriors that one would find in other lands. These were active. Steel picked a fast path between them, these menacing knolls. They put Silver in mind of earthen mammaries, each one clung to by spirits and wights, like starving infants seeking to suckle but forever denied.
Those closest began to turn in her direction, pitiless eyes falling upon her with such loathing that she could feel it even through her mental armour. That was when she pulled the ace from her sleeve.
Parting her lips, she began to sing. Softly at first, but soon picking up power. Songs of defiance and joy, sung with an unshakable conviction and force of will that even these pitiful things could not overcome. As her voice echoed out over the area, those would-be-foes closest first slowed and then stopped, each one left silent and still until she had long since passed by.
This was a trick that she had learned early on in her career and one that had served her well on too many occasions for her to accurately recount. It always worked. To believe otherwise, to give any less than her all, would ensure that it would fail. That she would fail. That was not an outcome she could conceive of right now. To do so would be to invite disaster.
Believe. Believe with every part of you, with every fibre of your being. Believe. Turn it into music and make yourself untouchable!
They wound their way on and on, past one group and another, between barrow after barrow until they reached one of the eldest and, on this occasion, one of the quietest. That, in itself, would have gained her attention but the scene before her is what held it. Dismounting, Silver took up her cane and hobbled over for a better look.
Bones were strewn around the area, remnants of long-dead corpses that had been pulled apart and scattered like pieces unloved dolls. This was not out of the ordinary for a disturbed barrow, but the sigils on the walls certainly were. She recognised them. She had seen such things elsewhere in years gone by, though she had never seen much purpose to them. Usually used for protection or warding, they were too easy to get wrong and too easy to tamper with. Plus, she held none of the power that could make use of such things. Had one of the Rangers? Or had these symbols failed them too?
A scrap of bloody cloth caught her eye, causing her to look more closely at the floor. Were those footprints? It was hard to tell; the earth was far too churned for her untrained eye to make any sense of it. That, however, was certainly dried blood mixed in with the earth; a red-brown sheen upon the ashen grey. And what of that shine there? Sharp shards of a broken blade situated a couple of feet from an ornate hilt with an eagle-headed pommel. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. It wasn't his, and certainly not tarnished enough to belong to whoever had once been buried here. The other man, then? She would keep this, perhaps give it a new sheath within his spleen.
No! No such thoughts. Push them away. Don't attract attention with anger, vengeance or sorrow. Smile, sing, light of heart and mind! Keep looking.
Silver turned her attention to the entrance of the barrow. It would have made a good shelter. She hobbled over, her cane sinking into the soft floor. The lingering malignancy was palpable. This would not have stopped her in the past, indeed it would have only heightened her curiosity, but she wasn't searching for herself. He would not have gone inside.
Moving back to the centre of the area, she scanned the surroundings. There was no clear path from here, no trail of blood drops or handy little arrows pointing the way.
Where did you go, Rowan?
