The Lady Walks

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Pencil entry, dated 26/3/2009, there is a deep red smear in one corner
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Through the darkened streets She walked, crunching over the concrete gravel and spent casings. Standing tall and upright, but I could see Her shoulders were low, as if some weight were on Her, something, I couldn’t see what. But She walked on, and I followed. Knew I was there, I’m sure, I had made no secret of it, but, when She needs to stroll to think, I’m happier if I know there are extra friendly eyes Watchin. She don’t need much in tha way of protectin, there’s not much more I can do, that an Ancient Fanger, as She is, couldn’t handle. Still, makes me feel better knowin She aint wanderin all alone, and I think She finds it warmin that I tag along sometimes, either in arms reach, or like now, from across tha street.

I sing a little song to myself as we walk, Her where She would go, me, watching her “6”. It’s a song from home, called “Thorns”. One verse catches me, especially as She walks, and I think I understand what is happening.

No point complaining, I've been here before,
The same old same old you know the score,
Faces unfeeling, look down on me,
Eyes cut from stone shine with no sympathy,
This silent of silence, this river of pain,
And here I am walking down her streets again,
On thorns...

She walks through the city, not a straight line “walk with a mission”, just, walking. From tha Library I follow her to tha Garage, tha Ryders took off, just roared into tha night, and no one’s heard much from them since, there are still a couple of folks about, but they don’t wear the Colours, so I figure they’re strays. They don’t even look up from their scavengin as Her Ladyship passes, and pauses to look over the near empty stronghold. Its not till She is passed that they look up, and look to one another and nod at Her back. One stands, and they make to move on what looks to be an easy mark, a Lady, in fine clothes, walking in the dark, alone. Except, She aint. I saw them through the window, and as they step up ta make a move towards Her, I pad to tha open Garage doorway. Lookin in from my crouch, tall even with my paws close to the ground, I give a snarl to let them know She is not prey for them, they go silent, looked to the floor, and I move off.

The Pit, that fucking place. Power and terror, fear and rage. I’ll be glad to see the back of that place, some of my Timor dreams are matched by the ones I have from that place. She walks up the long ramp and pauses, staring inwards and shakes her head, not a negative, but disappointed, and walks back down, and away. I Watch from the back of tha Shelter, ready as ever to go in for Her, as I have in tha past, when She was confronted by tha Shadows, seeking reparation for Nareth’s being ett. Not this time though, tha Pit was as silent as tha Graveyard, which was Her next destination. We walked, Her down the middle of the street, me, dartin from cover to cover, past the Shelter, past the hospital, to tha Church of tha Righteous, and tha Graveyard.

Still, silent. She moves into tha Church, and down tha aisles. I could hear her heels on tha boards, and tha echo was telling. Tha graves were as still and silent as ever, tha muck and mist givin no sign of bein disturbed for some time, no couples scrumpin, no Fangers, fangin, nothing. Dead. Ironic, that. I hang back as I hear Her return, lettin Her walk as She will. South again. Past Haven, past tha Diner, to tha Park.

Tha Park where we did a great Work. Where the willing bled and a great betrayal was struck. She stands by tha Pool, now clotted and leaf-blown, tha Alliance of Her kin seem to have never givin it care and neglect shows, its healing power is diminished, and it smells. Her Ladyship stopped and sighed. I saw her look up to the trees that grew right around it, trees planted from seeds of Her garden, Goddess knows how old they would have been. Fruit that is blood-rich, and good ta eat fer Fanger and Fleshie alike. Plums that taste kind of like salty melon. Deep red and hardy enough to even grow in Toxia. Untasted, it seems, because tha branches are full of fruit, maybe tha season change did them good. It was a hard winter. She sighs again, and walks back towards tha Library.

I pause, from across the street, and as She leaves the park, I enter it, and go to the trees. I stare at the fruit, and at the pool, and back over the city. Was it all wasted? Were all the efforts fer nothing? We’ve lost so much, so many of our people have already fled. Tha comin of Cthulhu and Dagon was tha turning point, I think. Even tha rats are hard to come by. At least my Kin in tha Pack are thrivin, but, fer how long?

I looked to the trees, and made up my mind. I picked half of tha fruit, every second one, and put them in my pouch, dozens of blood-plums, lucky my pouch is a lot bigger on tha inside than it is on tha outside, or at least, where it goes is. I harvested tha fruits, because, if this place falls, or if we go, this at least won’t be wasted. I headed back to tha Library, and stroked tha walls, letting tha Library Spirit know that I was home, fer now.