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half Iago, half Fu Manchu, all bastard
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
[[Winsome Clark continued from Day of the Dove]]

The group had been walking for what seemed like forever before they finally found the river. Charlie, that was her name, the loud girl, had been making jokes and comments for most of the way. Winsome hadn't really paid much attention to them, although she'd answered when they'd asked for her name. She felt numb, closed off, like she was floating along behind them in a bubble. Words came in slow, difficult-to-understand streams, and she often didn't try to decipher them. Even the few words she had spoken, giving them her name, felt raw and wrong in her throat. Speaking wasn't okay. Speaking was how they found you.

So she drifted along behind them, wrapped in the huge sweater that she thought might be the boy's, eyes on the ground because that was where they were supposed to be, she was a good girl, she was a good person, she was good in the eyes of her God and she knew this. The dull pain in her chest was spreading, but slowly, she thought. She was not particularly hungry. She was thirsty, but didn't want to waste any more of their water than she already had. That would not be good.

And then they had heard the screaming.

She had followed, of course she had followed, because they would protect her and she knew they would protect her but the screaming cut through her, to the bone, made her whimper and then they were emerging by the water and there was a girl there, screaming, so loud it cut through Winnie's carefully constructed cage of silence and vibrated in her head and there was a smell rising, an awful smell, like the time Winnie's grandmother had leaned on the stove and burnt her arm. Charlie was shrieking something and Dave was rushing forwards and it was all suddenly busy, so very busy, colours blending into one another, shapes blurring together. She backed up a step, breathing loud in her ears, heartbeat pounding, suddenly hearing everything not wanting to hear not wanting to see the girl in the water the smell the hiss of cold on hot and she had to do something, had to do something but she didn't know what she could do.


The girl in the water was hurt.

When Winnie was hurt, Thea had given her a shirt. That would - that would help. Somehow. It would do. She yanked at the sweatshirt she was wearing, pulling it over her head, snagging on unhealed scabs. It came off in a jerk and she threw it at the two struggling figures by the water - hadn't meant to, but wanted to get it off her, wanted to help as fast as she could, and there it was done and now she could go back to where she was crouching hard at the base of a tree and breathing, just breathing, rebuilding her silent walls one by one.

marc st. yves
light it up or burn it down we'll all die in fire
{food for thought}

phineas rosario
fall down seven times stand up eight

sebastian conway
can't see the forest for the trees
{book of sparrows}

(so you've got to keep in mind, when you try to change the world for the better not everybody's gonna be on your side)
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Faraday's Cages · The Woods: Inland