And that would not do.

She set her sights on her destination, settling the small dagger she had more firmly in her belt.

The pixies were out, their zip and buzz could be seen all through the dark of the trees with a light like a firefly’s, except far less leisurely and they were lit constant. That was, when they were in motion. When they landed on something, their light dulled.

They’d soon be fewer and fewer. They disliked the cold, but more, the trees when they were naked of their leaves. They’d forage for food and go to share with others of their kind. But they would not dash and soar for flying’s sake in abundance as they did in the summer.

And it was growing cold.

The next quake (which she hoped would come sooner, and not be delayed as the last, something that had alarmed her greatly), instead of the light cloak she now wore, she’d need fur robes to keep her warm.

Wodell had a wet chill that seeped into the bones in the autumn and winter (and a good part of the spring, especially up north). Something, as she’d come from the north, she was glad to see the back of when she made the mistake-slash-blessing of leaving behind her cruel mother, her oftentimes vexing profession of a prostitute, and going where many of her ilk went when there was no other choice.

Go’Doan.

It could get cold in the Dome City as well. But not near as cold as the north of Wodell. Not to mention, Ry kept the fire in his Go’Ella’s cell blazing.

Marian rode on, thinking of this and deciding, when she met her destiny, she would be kind to G’Ry, as he had been to her.

And she was nearing. She knew it by her location but also by the quickening.

She’d need no fur robes as she got closer.

No.

And she sensed all would happen soon. After the power of the last quake, and that plaintive cry, it could be nothing else.

She finally reached her destination and her skin felt flush all over to the point it was heated.

And thus, she wasted no time in doing as she’d done the many times before, first divesting herself of the Dellish garments that Ry insisted she wear for her own protection when she left Go’Doan.

She also wasted no time, wearing nothing but her white Go’Ella sheer, in laying herself upon the ground.

She did this on her back with arms over her head and legs spread wide.

Like all the others.

Without the tethers.

Marian smelled the blood. The sweat. Centuries of it permeating the dirt.

But some of it was so very fresh.