𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕆𝕗 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 ¦ 𝔽𝕖𝕟𝕣𝕪𝕤 𝕄𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕞

Dances with Death

Cairn's death tole of 'innocent' fae warriors had increased to five when Brielle circled her way back into the camp a week after the first male died at the hand of Maeve's new blood sworn. It had been an effort, a tiresome one to stay up late into the nights spying on the encampment. Weeding out the warriors worthy of her wrath. Those who hurt and took pleasure in abusing the power and titles they were offered with their military training, Brielle felt little pity when she wavered Cairn's attention in their directions.

Those of a similar nature to the male who would kill them. Riling Cairn up was simple enough. The male was insecure, insignificant and for years he had known this. Only being offered the honour of being sworn into the Cadre once the original of the group had been dishonoured or betrayed the Queen.

Brielle had put salt on that wound, wielding his every niggling insecure thought to her advantage. Poking a rabid animal with a stick. She would be ignoring her senses if she believed it didn't bring her a little bit of enjoyment. Tormenting the male into playing her hand. Get his hands bloody.

A long waited dance of wills which balanced precariously in time. Time which the Lioness now feared may be running out. Even with her tormenting, Cairn hadn't retaliated against her in any way, not even dangling her mate or friend before her like a piece of bait. Unable to know if they were okay was the source of her running herself ragged with training. 

Throwing every ounce of her strength into pushing that bit further. Muscles burning in protest with each stride taken, each punch thrown.

Her group of warriors weren't far behind as they ran now, she had pushed herself faster, further then them. The morning's deluge had left her skin polished with rain that mixed her sweat into a shinning coat, slick like blood but not as heavy. Not even shaking her head could remove the hair that clung to her face like seaweed.

The cold rain had pelted their faces red raw, but her whole group had shown this morning, Emmie leading behind Brielle proudly, many other warriors watched from under the cover of the camp tents or from their patrolling posts around great harth which had been erected throughout the camp which had doubled in size in the last week. 

Some watched on in awe at Brielle's willingness to run with her warriors in the downpouring rain. Not shying away from the task that was required of them. Her group kept pace despite her running for her own benefit. None of them truly knew the Commander had personal reasons to run that morning.

Yes the image of caring leader was what she aspire for, but the gnawing feeling in her gut was what spurred her from the comfort of her bed that morning. Brielle had been content to lay under the covers letting the world pass off around her.

She did not often sleep, simply laying in the bed. The silence in the cold room being her only companion now that Connall was gone. It was difficult to even rise to light the hearth in her room. It was guilt that hounded her every action. The feeling of inherit wrongness when she sought comforts in her room. Felt wrong to offer herself the pleasantness of warmth or hearty meals when she felt at fault for his death. Maeve had ordered it, but Brielle may has well held the knife. Murdered him for display, a show of dominance, a reminder of who was the apex predator.

The same knife she now kept strapped to her thigh at all times, the weight a reminder of its previous owner and the debt she now owed to him.

There was no time for her to be moral anymore. Not that morality was something that often frequented her mind since the beach almost three months ago, But one should have still considered it in their decision making. The part of her that might have once listened to such reasoning died at Maeve's hand the moment she decided to kill off the one person who had become her anchor amongst the suffering.