Everheart: Chapter 10

"Oh, hells." Ginal muttered.  "Those damned birdmen again?"  The tension of a headache crept into her temples, and her frustrations were vented through a low growl that escalated into an explosive sigh.  "Alright, Wailer, you keep looking for people to go to the Spire's aid, I'm going on ahead now!"

"My thanks, citizen!"

The miqo'te man was forcing his way through the crowds of citizens and adventurers, resuming his calls for aid.  She sprinted as best she could down the wooden ramp, toward the nearby chocobo stable and the attending stable hand.  She found, though, that these iron plated boots were heavier than she was used to.

"Stable keep!  How much?"

At that moment, the bird mask these stable keepers all donned as their universal uniform was void of all charm it may have normally held.  It was, simply, ridiculous and seemed to only waste her time by its very existence.  But then, having to delay her journey to reunite with her wife, all because these damnable beastmen just couldn't sit still for another day, had her ready to snap.

May Garuda have mercy on her children, for Ginal would have none.

"Oh, that'll be a sixty gil deposit, Miss!" the stable attendant cheerily answered.  "Thirty gil refund if the bird is back within three hours."

"Fine, here!"  Ginal didn't really look in her coin purse, but she thought she saw that the coin she threw was a one-hundred piece.  Oh, well.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

The miqo'te spun around to face the armor-clad bust of highlander hyur.  The woman's broad build and near towering height were immediately off-putting.  Selah was easily a head taller than Ginal, but this woman had at least that much over Selah, if not even more.  Next to the woman was a male highlander, even broader of build and matching an elezen's sky-touching height.  Even Grezel wasn't this tall, was he?

The two were clad neck-to-toe in thick, steel gray plates of armor that looked nothing like anything she'd ever seen.  Definitely not of Ul'dah make, for it lacked the simple elegance of a gladiator's armor.  The axes the pair had strapped to their backs suggested marauders, and that was good enough for her.

"My name is Samaria," the woman explained, "and this is my lover, Roric.

The bearded man silently offered a half bow, and the miqo'te found it an honest struggle to not blurt out commentary about his height.

"We heard the call, and we'd like to help.  Where is this E-Tat's Spire?"

"About an hour west of Old Gridania's Yellow Serpent Gate, by bird.  If you're coming, hurry!"

The stable hand led saddled and ready bird out to its' temporary master, and as Ginal situated herself in the saddle, she noticed Roric hand over some gil as well, and within a moment the pair had themselves seated and ready.  Was that equipment of theirs just for show?  Let's hope not.  Defending a Wailer outpost would take all the help she could get.

Gods, if only Selah were here.

A gentle breeze that danced with her hair and the branches of the trees.  Pillars of sunlight piercing the woodland canopy.  The echoes of honeybees, chittering squirrels, and ziz seeking mates.  The potpourri of roses, lilacs and orchids.

It was good to be back in The Shroud, even under these urgent circumstances.

The great bird she rode upon galloped ahead, and in the distance, through the thicket, rose a craggy hill she recognized.

"You see that hill up ahead?" she asked of her allies.  "That's where E-Tatt's Spire is!  Almost there!"

"We have a plan?" Samaria inquired.

"Kill the birdmen and protect my home." the miqo'te sharply stated.  

Who cared about plans and strategies right now?  These Matron-forsaken beasts needed to be put down and driven away.  They weren't just a threat to the safety of her homeland, though that was bad enough on most days.  No, today these filthy, molting, stinking, squawking creatures were standing between her, and reconciling with her wife.  She wouldn't be denied anymore, by anyone.  

Her grip on the reigns tightened as she grit her teeth.  A low, guttural growl escaped her throat as red began to color the edges of her vision.  She hated the Ixal, today more than ever.  And she would kill them all if she had to.

"I like that plan." Roric chimed in, his slightly gravelly voice carrying a cheery lilt.

The words snapped Ginal from her trance, and she spurred her chocobo on towards their destination.

"You're not one for conversation, are you, Miss?" Samaria asked.

"I guess not.  I've got a lot on my mind."

"Sorry to hear that." Roric answered.

There was no longer time to think about these things, as they drew near the sharply rising hill.  The tall, wooden watch tower loomed overhead as the three circled their mounts around the jutting rocks in search of the easy slope Ginal remembered, and at last they found their way to the hilltop.

A quick survey found a handful of Wood Wailers, five of them, but no sign of any Ixal.  More curious, though, were the large chunks of blue, luminous crystal that sat piled into two wooden carts.  The soldiers certainly seemed to be on alert.  Three of them stood at the edge of the cliffs surrounding their position, carefully surveying the landscape, while the other two were busy taking whetstones to bone-crafted lances lined on racks.

Ginal dismounted, patting her bird and whispering her thanks to him.  The chocobo responded with a happy chirp, and turned to begin its trek back home.  The birds her allies rode upon joined their stable-mate a moment later.

"We heard a call that your outpost was under attack." Samaria explained.  "But...you seem to have everything in order?"

"We will be soon enough." answered the nearest soldier, an elezen woman.  "Regional scouts found a buildup of warriors at the Ixal logging camp northwest of her, and they're on the move in our direction."

The miqo'te pointed at the crystal-filled carts.  "Does it have something to do with that?"

"Yes, it's aetheryte crystals.  We were going to take them to Hyrstmill to be assembled.  We had them about a third of the way there, too, when we ran into an Ixal hunting party.  It's a very long walk from here to Hyrstmill, so we brought them back until we were certain the route was more secure."

"I'd guess Gridanians expanding their aetheryte network doesn't sit well with the birdmen." Roric offered.

The elezen nodded her agreement.  "It doesn't.  According to our scouts, they're throwing a sizeable group our way.  Should be here anytime now."

"Then we'll just have to hold out until help arrives." Samaria stated.

"The Godsbow scouts in the area will try to draw off some of their numbers." the elezen explained.  "So don't be surprised if it takes them a while to circle around to help us."

Ginal's ears twitched as she heard the distant cawing.  Call for them, and they appear.  How convenient.

She turned to the elezen woman, who nodded an affirmative.  "I heard it, too.  Look alive, Wailers!"

The other guardsmen; a male elezen, two hyurs and a lalafell still sharpening spears, took positions near the cliffs around the guard tower, while the miqo'te, her comrades, and the elezen woman stepped up to the top of the easily hiked slope.

Here we go.  Stay calm.  You'll be fine.  Just think of the story you'll have to tell Selah.

It was just like the time she aided in defending Bentbranch Meadows from an Ixal assault, minus the support of the Godsbow or her free company, and the security of the woman she loved nearby.  Blood dripped from her lance as she quickly surveyed the ground before her.  One, two...five...eleven?  More, and counting.  Limbs, blood, and corpses abound.  It was a grotesque sight to take in, even in her experience.

The two hyurs were certainly worth having around.  Their armor had been sturdy enough to deflect a myriad of weapon strikes and flailing claws, and their skill with those heavy axes were undeniable.  Granted, they didn't always hit their mark, but when they did, death or dismemberment immediately followed.  The elezen Wood Wailer, whose name she never caught, was a welcome addition as well.  The woman's form and attitude spoke volumes of being one of Ywain's students, and her ability to quickly survey the landscape and direct her team, who were contending with occasional cliff-climbers themselves, was impressive.

For her own part, Ginal was pleased with her own performance, as were her comrades, if their encouraging commentary were anything to take to heart.  So far, she had remained quite calm, which she knew was somewhat of a feat.  Her breath was steady, her vision focused, and she had no overwhelming desire to kill, just the need to defend her people.

A side-step and a forward thrust, and her lance pierced her attacker's stomach.  It squawked desperately as she withdrew the weapon, and with a hard kick to the wound, the beastman was down.  Two more replaced it, cawing angrily and swinging crudely-forged swords.  The shaft of her lance took the blow, and a fleet-footed twirl placed her behind her opponents, where a sweep of the legs put one face-first in the dirt, her spear-tip finding home in the other's back.

Help should be here anytime now, right?  Weren't the Godsbow agents on their way?  Wailer reinforcements?  Or another wandering adventurer?  Where in the hells was anyone?  These damned Ixal just keep coming.  And for Nophica's sake, what would it take to get them to stop with that damnable squawking!?

An arrow grazed the thin armor plate on her shoulder, but an oncoming opponent who threatened her with his own crudely fashioned spear pressed her attention.  Thank the Matron for terrible aim, but that bastard has to die next!  Her lance dug into her enemy's, and with a twist and pull, the weapon was removed from his grasp.  Ginal pressed forward, and with one, two, three shallow jabs, the Ixal stumbled back as his lifeblood poured down his front.  Her ears twitched as she caught his ankle with her weapon to pull him from his feet, and spun the lance around to thrust back and behind her.  The Ixal who thought to come behind her gazed upon her in shock as the lance punctured its' heart.  Lousy, stupid bird.  You should know better than sneak up on a miqo'te.

Her eyes locked upon those of the would-be archer, whom she knew had seen the demise of his comrades.  Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a predatory grin.  Oh yes, little birdy, you're next.  A blur moved through the corner of her vision, and an axehead buried itself in her prey's forehead.  She looked over her shoulder at Roric, who offered a nod as he pulled another axe from the harness on his back.  Oh well, maybe the next one.

She withdrew her weapon and allowed a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow and survey the battlefield.  The other Wailers were still defending the cliffs from their high ground, minus the one lying on the ground with two arrows in his torso.  Did he have a lover?  A family?  Damnable beasts.

And then there was Samaria, standing tall and proud as she brandished her weapon as though an extension of herself.  A sunbeam breaking through the canopy fell upon on her long brown hair, seeming to alter it to an auburn shade.  Time seemed to slow.  Ginal's heart ached as she looked upon the hyur.  The confidence and strength.  The complete control of her emotions.  The raw, natural beauty that defied makeup to ruin it.  That gorgeous auburn hair, eyes of shining sapphire...and did she smell lavender?

"Spell caster!" Roric's voice pierced the cacophony.

She whirled around as she followed his finger, to a solitary Ixal gathering aether around its hands.  Now would be a really great time to have an archer on hand.  Just as well, never send someone else to do a lancer's work.  She hefted her weapon over her shoulder and threw as hard as her arm could allow.  The lance soared, singing softly as it cut through the air, and found home within the beastman's torso.

It was too late, for the gathered magical energies had formed into a blazing ball of fire.  As the beastman fell, the fireball furiously raced toward her, and she threw herself to the ground.  Close call, that.  Dealing with these magic-users is always unpleasant business.  A hand dropped into her vision, and Ginal looked up to see that it was Samaria, with a grim expression, offering her help up.

"Try not to cut it so close, next time." the hyur chided.  "I'm growing rather fond of your lance-work."

The miqo'te took her hand and rose, chuckling softly.  "And here I thought you liked me for my body."

Samaria's eyes twinkled with a beaming smile, "I like you, Lancer."

"Ginal."

"Less chatting, more killing, please!" Roric called out.

The female highlander was back into the fray with a laugh.  Ginal spied her weapon, standing tall in the corpse of its' victim, and sprinted forward.  An unarmed Ixal ran at her, screeching and swiping its' talons.  With a shift of her weight, she tumbled back, and as the beastman stumbled, she leaped forward and buried her gauntlet-clad fist into its' jaw.  She could feel the snapping of teeth reverberate through her arm, and when the warrior tumbled to the ground, she dropped into a low stance and challenged it with the blood-seeking roar of a lioness.

But the birdman didn't rise to the challenge.  Instead, it clumsily scrambled to its feet and scurried off.  That's right, you stinking, screeching bastard, run away.  A particular call went out among the Ixali, an urgent sounding squawk that was repeated several times, and she realized that the remaining birdmen were retreating.

She slowly inhaled, and exhaled.  Good.  Not so bad after all, was it?

"Fire!  Fire!"

Ginal spun on her heel, and her eyes went wide.  The carts that carried the aetheryte were engulfed in flames.

The fireball.  Damn it all.

"Wailers, move your ass!" the elezen woman commanded.

The remaining guardsmen headed their commander and sprinted for the slope, as the elezen woman, Samaria and Roric ran ahead.  The miqo'te stood watch to wait for her lancer cousins.   Halfway to there, the lalafell stopped short, and turned back to tend to his fallen comrade.

"Ah, shit."  Ginal muttered, and she charged ahead without a second thought.  "You idiot, leave him!  He's already dead!"

"We have...to get..." the lalafell grunted his words as he tried to drag the much larger man away.  "...him to his family..."

As she reached him, the sounds of glass exploding caused her ears and tail to twitch anxiously.  She looked back and saw Roric running back up the slope, then glanced to her waist-high companion.  Ginal scooped up the man and spun herself around, and around, and finally let go of the small man.  He flew through the air, his expression of shock almost comical.

"You get back to your family." she whispered.

Roric caught the smallkin as roaring boom came from her right.  A wave a bright purple light consumed her, and she immediately felt twice as hot than on any of the days she had spent in Thanalan.



Ginal stumbled forward.  Smoke wafted off the patches of her crumbling armor, gauntlets and boots. The leather that made up the main body of her outfit was burned through in large patches, as were her skirt and some of her hair.

Her legs buckled and she hit the ground hard enough to lose her remaining breath.  Her head spun, and her vision grew cloudy.

Selah...

Everheart: Chapter 9

It had been three...maybe four days, since Ginal stumbled back into Gridania.  It was a bittersweet thing, to be back in the city she loved so much, but under such awful circumstances.  The vibrant blues, greens and browns that made the city so beautiful all seemed muted, and often times she only barely heard the birdsong of the daylight, or the nocturnal symphony of the Shroud's insects. 

Ginal hadn't even been paying much attention to her grooming.  Where she typically sought to bathe at least daily, if not twice so to keep the light musk that miqo'te were known for at bay, she had only bathed when it was suggested.  The braid she had been meticulously maintaining had since come undone, and her hair now spilled over her shoulders in wild curls.  She wore no lipstick, blush or eye shadow that she enjoyed displaying when not in the field, and her clothes were eternally wrinkled.

The miqo'te had spent her time helping Miounne tend bar, but had been stunningly taciturn.  Her smiles seemed joyless, her movements lethargic, and she hadn't initiated or responded to a single flirtatious encounter.  She hadn't told Miounne or Ywain any of the details of her ruined honeymoon, though her surrogate parents had certainly tried to engage her.

It was as though her very soul had been bled dry, and life had no true bounty left to offer.

She sat on the docks of the Westshore Pier as the city was bathed in the pale blue of dawn.  Miounne and Ywain had tried to engage her, to help her through this hardship...and she had responded to their support with tight lips and despondent behavior.  Ginal had wanted to make sense of this, figure out what went wrong on her own, but the more she looked into her memories of that night, the less she understood what had happened.

She rose from her perch, and steadily made her way for the nearest aetheryte.  Two of the regional guard she passed by, a man in a Wood Wailer uniform and a woman dressed of the Godsbow,  were engaged in a lively conversation. 

"I heard the riots got so out of control that the Flame General personally called on those Scions to contain it all."

"Way I hear it, a whole horde of 'em almost broke into the Sultanate's royal halls."

Sounded like unrest in Ul'dah.  But strange...if those Scions were called, why wasn't Selah told of it?  Oh well, it didn't matter.  It was time to go to her mentors and tell them everything.  If anyone could help disperse the fog from her vision, it would be them.

The wind was still, and sunlight had pierced the clouds, giving the landscape an ethereal glow as it reflected off every snowy surface.  It was cold, to be sure, and Selah was grateful her mother had brought cloaks to defend against the eternal freeze, but it was almost pleasant to be here without snowfall.

It was bittersweet for Selah to be back in Coerthas, even if she was just passing through.  This had once been her home, and that meant something.  She remembered how beautiful this region had been before the Calamity, with its stretches of grassy plains, scattered forests of evergreens, and the long and winding rivers.  Even the omnipresent threat of dragon attacks couldn't dull the beauty of the Coerthas mountain ranges.

A piney scent grew strong, and out of the corner of her eye she noticed a small grove of evergreens, half covered in a powdery blanket.  Dinornis plodded along at a steady trot with Selah and her mother bouncing gently atop their mount.  He had finally stopped being so stubborn about making them walk, and she allowed herself a small smile as the image that had been gradually growing on the horizon was at last almost upon them: the First Dicasterial Observatorium of Aetherial and Astrological Phenomena.

As a child that name inspired awe and wonder, and the trips to the place with her father were something somehow magical.  Now, though, the name reeked of pompous, self aggrandizing posturing.  The only reason to smile was because soon she could be rid of her mother, the the trouble she stirred up, and the days-long awkward silence that had fallen upon them both.  But, there should also be a mail courier present, and that was the most important thing.  Getting a letter to Ginal immediately had never seemed so important, and she was ready to leap from her bird to find a desk to sit and write at.

The gates of the township's wall were closed, and one of the guards on post stepped forward with an outstretched arm to signal them to stop.

"Hail, there.  Name and purpose, good folks."  The elezen man looked upon Selah and her mother with weary eyes, and even though the soldier was clad in thick cloth and heavy chain mail, it was easy to see, or maybe sense, the tensing of his arm's muscles as he tightened the grip on his halberd.

The other guard, a younger elezen man by the lack of wrinkles on his face, held a slight distance with an equally weary gaze.  If memory served right, this seemed to be business as usual in the lands of Ishgard.

"Selah Phocina."

"Charlotte Phocina.  My daughter is bringing me home after I went to visit her."

The older guard stepped closer and turned his head to look under her hood.

"Ah, it's you, Charlotte!  Come, we'll open up for you."

"Why's the gate closed up anyway, Lenimont?  The sun has risen."

Lenimont scoffed as he and his younger comrade pulled open the iron grate gateway.  "Orders coming from the house lords.  Heretics have been on the move lately, bold n' brash as all the hells.  Temple Knights and the Crystal Braves've worked together to comb the highlands for their new nest."

Mother and daughter shared a look of confusion at the words, prompting a chuckle from Lenimont.

"Oy, ladies, have you been hiding away from the world?  Crystal Braves are a new grand company, like those of the Twin Adders from Gridania.  They were founded to work for the Scions.  And anyway, they were here because those heretics were looking to summon a Primal or some such."

It almost made the mind reel.  It had been three years since Selah had experienced her first Echo vision, leading her to her new found comrades within the Scions.  Through their various investigations, tribulations, and even a handful of battles against Primals, she had thought herself among Minfilia's most trusted.  Yet, here she was, without a single bit of correspondence to alert her to their needs.

But then, she had stopped wearing Minfilia's linkpearl for a reason.  When Ifrit had been summoned and duty called, Ginal had nearly lost her sanity in a rage and insecurity fueled rampage.  And some weeks later, when the Scions called for some kind of special meeting, Ginal recklessly chased after some poacher lord, and nearly bled-out from the arrows that found a home in her torso.  The Scions most certainly worked for a noble goal, but the price of leaving Ginal alone was just too high.  At least, at the time.  She had grown since then.

And the image of that almost blood-red hair, the eternally mischievous grin, and those emerald eyes all just made her heart ache with longing.  Oh, Kitten...

"You alright, dear?"

Selah looked back to meet her mother's concerned expression.  "Ah, yeah.  Sorry."

Dinornis marched on with a nudge, and the women offered the guards their grateful smiles.  Another long moment of treading into the township, rounding behind an inn and speaking with the stable hand on duty, and the war bird was housed into a small, but still warm and comfortable pen.

"You were thinking about her again, weren't you?"

What could be said?  What use would it be to tell her mother how she really felt?  All she'd hear is some more nonsense about "uncouth outsiders" or "growing out of being queer."  No, there was nothing to say, or hear, that was worth engaging in.

"Selah, talk to me!"

So Charlotte was intent on following after, was she?  She really, truly wanted to have this conversation?  Fine.

"And say what?  Pour my heart out to you, Mother?  What would that do for me?"

"I'm still your mother, Selah, I do care..."

The dragoon shook with derisive laughter.  "Care?  What do you care about, Charlotte?  You've never cared about anything I felt, or thought or needed.  You've only ever wanted your way, your status, your damnable, fucking stipend!"

Passersby were turning their heads at the noise, but Selah didn't give a damn about privacy.  Her heart thundered in her ears, and her fists were balled so tight that her knuckles were as white as the Coerthas snow.  She held a narrowed and intense gaze upon her mother as her breathing came ragged.

"I told you I'm drawn to women, and your response was to force me into bonding with a man.  I tried to tell you about the things he did to me, and you just said I must have "misunderstood."  I never misunderstood the way he beat and choked me, mother!  Or the way he fucking raped me for years!"

Selah trembled.  The world around her and her mother seemed to no longer exist, just a blurry void that wrapped around her peripheral vision.  It couldn't be contained anymore, this rage she felt when she thought of her mother, and the things she had pushed for.  Charlotte had to answer for her crimes and inaction.

But Charlotte, too, was trembling, with eyes forming pools.

"I get it, Selah!  I godsdamned get it, you don't care for men!  And in my heart, that's not even an issue.  But I'm not the one who would be judging you!"  Charlotte threw her arms out as she manically looked about their surroundings.  "This is the land of Ishgard, Selah, and for a nation that worships a goddess we're not exactly overflowing with equal status for women!  Our jobs in this land has been to birth children and support our husbands.  You only find, what, one in ten of our soldiers are women?  Do you really think there's any place for a queer woman in Coerthas?"

Where was she going with this?

"I know what it's like to be denied the life you want, Selah..." her voice trembled and cracked.  "And when I feared that you'd be denied yours, it broke my heart.  I pushed you into that bonding because I hoped that, maybe you could at least be comfortable, if not happy.  It was the least you deserved."

Deserved?  Deserved?!  How little did she think of her own daughter to say she deserved such a life?

"Hey, you two!"

Selah had forgotten she was even a part of the world at all, and the town suddenly sprang back into existence around her.  It was a guard calling after them, his chain mail swaying and clanking with each step closer to the pair.

"I can hear this argument of yours all the way down the alley!  Now I'll give you two options: You take this someplace where you're not disturbing the peace, or I take you two in and make you simmer down.  What'll it be?"

The young man looked deadly serious, with his narrowed eyes and furrowed brow.  Intimidating, too, with arms folded and near rigid posture.

"Sorry, sir." Charlotte offered.  "My daughter and I were just...having an intense discussion, is all.  We'll move along."

"See that you do."

Once the guard had rounded the corner, it seemed to Selah it was time to move on.  She was back with the stable attendant within a heartbeat, and produced the needed coin to release her bird.

"Selah, where are you going?  We're not done!"

"Yes, Mother, we most certainly are!"

Dinornis squawked his annoyance, obviously unhappy to brought from his warm pen so quickly.

"Shut up, Din.  Get me the hells out of here."

The letter would have to wait, at least until she reached Revanent's Toll.  By all the gods in all the heavens, she just couldn't stand to be here and face her mother like this.  Not now.

The road went ever on.

It would seem Nophica wanted the miqo'te to speak with her mentors as well, for when she entered the Carline Canopy to find Miounne, she also found Ywain already there, the two engaged in a conversation at the far left bar counter.  To Ginal's relief, they seemed particularly pleased to see her, and were eager to move their conversation to Miounne's office.  So there she sat, on the small couch where she and Selah had so joyfully shared the news of their engagement.  The elezen proprietress sat behind her small desk, her chin resting on her hands as she eyed the miqo'te in interest, and the Guildmaster sat on the desk's edge with folded arms.

Ginal's tail flicked behind her anxiously as she tried to find in herself the right way to begin.  How could she start this conversation in any way her mentors would understand?  She knew they'd be disappointed, possible even angry with her, for these two had been nudging her and Selah towards each other from the very first time they had met in that training ring.  Best to rip the bandage off.

"Selah and I were taking a holiday in the Gold Saucer." she began.  "Some weird and awful things had happened over the weeks prior, and I was becoming a mess from it all, so Selah wanted to treat me to something to take my mind off it all.  While we were there, we saw that they perform these...these silly Eternal Bonding ceremonies with some actors, and we thought, 'hey, why not?'  So we went through with one, too."

The hyur and elezen silently looked to each other, their bemused expressions making it obvious they weren't sure what to think.

"I know," Ginal answered.  "You wanted to be there with us, and I'm sorry for that..."  Her ears folded in as offered a shrug, "We got caught up in the moment."

"But I assume that things didn't turn out quite 'happily ever after' for you two." Miounne stated with a worried smile.

The miqo'te sighed as her head hung.  "No...far from it...Selah's mother tracked us down to where we were taking our honeymoon, and..."

"And?" Ywain inquired.

"...And...she had this letter, from Selah's husband she thought was dead."

The Guildmaster leaped to his feet, his eyes wide with shock.  "Geoffrey?!"

Ginal met his bewildered gaze.  "You know of him?"

"Yes.  Selah told me of her past during some of the more quiet moments of her training."

The Proprietress nodded in agreement.  "We managed to get some bits from her, but never the entire story.  We were hoping she would have opened up to you  fully by now."

The miqo'te nodded as her tail sharply swished.  "Well, Selah panicked, and she insisted that she absolutely HAD to go and find out what was going on.  I tried to tell her that she didnt need to go anywhere, that we could be perfectly happy as we were,  but..."

"But?" Miounne urged.

"But she gods-damned left me behind!  And went on her way to get wrapped up in some kind of con-game or guilt trip, or some other dammed stupid thing!"

Her face was almost as red as her hair, her breaths were short and ragged, and she grit her teeth so hard that she felt a headache coming on.  Reading her tail or ears was entirely unneeded.

Ywain folded his arms, and Miounne leaned back in her chair, her lips pursed in annoyance.  They both locked a silent, piercing gaze upon the miqo'te.  Ginal looked up when she realized she was in their intent gaze, and looked between them.  She had known they'd be disappointed, but seeing it so clearly in their eyes was different, and her ears folded in as shame began to wash over her.

"...This again?" Miounne's normally kind and motherly voice was tinged with irritation.

Ywain sighed with a shake of his head.  "Didn't you two move past all this miscommunication nonsense by now?"

"Well, I..."

"And let me guess," Miounne continued.  "You didn't even ask her why this means so much to her, did you?"

"I...no, I didn't..."

The Guildmaster and proprietress both responded with irritated sighs, and the miqo'te felt her heart sink.

"Ginal..." Ywain paused as he seemed to gather his thoughts.  "Let's not mince words.  When you began your romance with Selah, you were broken and adrift in life, and you asked Selah for patience, understanding and support.  You asked quite a bit of her, and on multiple occasions.  Yet the one time she needs the same from you, you can't give it to her?"

Guilt and shame drowned Ginal as the words burrowed into her heart.  With her face buried in her hands, tears streamed down her cheeks as she realized the extent of her selfishness.  She had failed utterly as not just a wife or lover, but as a friend as well.  It like she was looking upon herself from outside her own body, and she was disgusted with what she saw.

"Oh gods...it's t-true!  I-Iv'e been terrible!" She sniffled along with a trembling voice, and at last collapsed into a full sob as she we felt the full weight of her transgressions.

Ywain came to her side and lay a gentle hand on her shoulder.  Ginal wiped her blurry eyes and met his soft smile.

"Ginal, you know what you need to do."

The miqo'te sprang to her feet, "I need to go after her!" 

The hyur and elezen both nodded their approval.

"Atta girl!" Miounne commended.



The armor was a little uncomfortable.  It had been weeks, or more, since she last donned the outfit Grezel had crafted for her.  But it was practical and protective, and Nophica only knew what lie in wait for Ginal in the regions she'd have to head to in pursuit of her wife.  She marched up to the Aetheryte tower, her lance proudly harnessed on her back.

She was through being stupid, and scared, and selfish.  Done with running from her fears.  She was a lancer, Twelve damn it all, and she would face her fears head on! This was the last time she would ever part from Selah from such ridiculous circumstances.  She would find her beloved, and stand by her as she should.

"Call the Wood Wailers!  And call for any willing adventurers!"

Ginal whipped around at the shout, and raced down the platform to the Wailer responsible.

"Wailer, what's happening?"

"It's the Ixali!" the miqo'te man panted.  "E-Tatt's Spire is under attack!"