The Rabbit Dies Pt 08

I am a killer. I know I am a killer. I have been a killer for a long time But I am a killer. I have killed people and I can't get that simple label out of my mind. Each step spells out that simple statement again and again and again. It's the first time I ever really considered it. Even with the number of battels I've been in, the banners I've been under, I've never felt that title hang over my head.

And it's there now. I can't get rid of it. It always has been there and now I am seeing it fro the first time. It won't go away. I can't make it go away. Every time I think of myself now, it is there, that single word appended to my name. Bound so tightly that it cannot ever be separated.

I don't even feel that bad about it. I feel bad about not feeling bad. I feel bad that other people feel bad about me. Fear and revulsion, hatred and terror, all swirling after that little 6 letter word at the end of my name, but I can't make it go away. I can't make it stop. I can't take away that title and shove it away somewhere quiet and dark until it dies as an emaciated husk to never return to my name again. It is a stone that I must carry up the hill again and again and again and again.

My hand closes around something soft and squishy and I realize that it is raining for the first time.

"That was like 15 minutes before you noticed," says Annette, "15 minutes of your hand on my boob and you did not notice. Are you sick?"

My hand is indeed on her boob and has been there for about 15 minutes if her sense of timing is accurate. I keep it there, mainly so I can keep feeling boob. She doesn't make me move it either, simply taking away the guiding hand after a second and resigning herself to her current state of affairs. I don't think she's that sad about it really.

"Ladies," Amaru says, "Can we at least do this out of the rain? Just the side of the road even. There's an outcropping over there that looks relatively dry."

We hurry to the promised land of dry rock and find it lacking. The stones have gaps and the gaps make waterfalls that pool and spill down my back. In other contexts, I'm sure I would find this refreshing, enjoyable even. The killer would find it nice and calming.

I am a killer. I know I am a killer. Both Annette and Amaru know I am a killer. I have killed and I probably will do so again. Because I am a killer. Killer, I don't know if I like that word. Killer. My hand is still on the soft and squishy as Annette sits on my lap, sheltered from the worst of the rain.

I don't mind the rain, not really. The cuts on my back are healing nicely and the water helps ease the itch. The process has been slowed somewhat since there simply hasn't been time to indulge in the act. We've lost enough time, so ahead we march.

We can stop if it's raining, though. If one of us is injured, then the pace slows a bit. I believe those to be fair and thus they are and if the bastard doesn't like it then he's useless to me. Might be useless anyway. A thunder peal from the sky shakes the stones keeping us safe. That's fine too. Just an alarm telling us to stay where we are and never move, never ever, because the outside world is terrible and dangerous and no one should ever really go out there if they can help it. There are dens and burrows and nests to tend to. They need tending to, and the rain just gives an excuse to do whatever is necessary.

I lean my back against the wall. The stone cools the forming scars, helps ease the itch and the scratch that seems to permeate my every movement. I close my eyes and just let the sounds wash over me, try to drown me, try to drag me to the bottom of the sea, never to move again.

"Amaru," says Annette, "What's wrong with her? She's not liking tits anymore. That's weird. Like really, really weird."

Amaru doesn't say anything. He's watching the sky, looking for gaps in the clouds that would let the sun in and stop the rain. He doesn't find any. I don't find anything either. Another flash of lightning crosses the grassy plains and I almost jump out of my skin with the boon. I don't I knew it was coming. I could feel it, smell it on the air. Annette does, just a little. I won't hold it against.

Annette moves my hand to go under her shirt. His skin always feels so warm, so very softly warm against mine. She just runs hot, soaking in the sun and the earth and the flames and everything that burns to hold it in her core. I just sit there with the weight to her chest in my palm. It is calming just to hold it. I don't need to play with it anymore. It is shelter and it can sit there and I can just watch the sky for the moment to keep going forward.

I haven't told. I will not tell them. They do not need to know. I don't know if I need to actually do it. Warren wasn't giving any more details after he said that. He just went quiet and stared to the sky. There was nothing there, but the scant clouds and the endless shapes that had no form. The water keeps dripping down my back. It's worked its way through the fibers and I am soaked.

"Should we move?" asks Amaru, "I'm thinking that this place might flood and I'd rather not be here if it does."

"Might be a good idea if you can stand the rain," I say, "I don't know if there is a better spot though."

The stream down my back pours a puddle around my divot in the rear. Water, so much cold water that clings and chills and does all sorts of terrible things to me. But Annette is there to at least keep my front warm and my hands busy.

"I'm fine with staying here," she purrs, "There's ways we could pass the time."

There are but I am watching the sky and feeling the growing pools of water form between the rocks. Those are important tasks that need seen to. The sky refuses to break, dark clouds and the occasional lightning flash off the horizon to keep everything from being too monotonous. Annette digs her hips into mine, rocking and swaying in hypnotic motion that does stir something within me. But I am looking to the sky. That is important and someone has to do it. There is a sky that needs to be watched and as much as there is joy in the palm and the hips, there is work to be done a. I can't be distracted by idle things that take away from the work.

"We should move," Amaru says, "Before it gets worse. Look. Those clouds are getting darker."

He is right. Those clouds are getting darker. And that means more rain, more lightning and thunder and cold. So, we best not be here under the rocks, even if it means getting drenched down to the bone. But it feels good on my skin. So, I'm not too worried. If it feels good, then it can't be too bad.

---

It's not that bad. It really isn't. Didn't have a breast in my palm and that's not alright, but there have been many, many times where I haven't had a breast under my palm or on my tongue or between my lips and those can be good times. Maybe not great times, but good times, nonetheless. So, we walked and we walked through the rain, getting damper and damper all the while. My eyes glaze over Amaru's back and the shifting lines of hard muscle. The rain traces rivers and valley and mountains down the spine and I lose myself in the idle exploration of the topography. I should take up mapmaking. It might help me not get lost. But getting lost is also kind of the point in most of life, so maybe not.

I am a killer. Amaru said I was that and it is true and he is frightened of that simple fact. And we are walking together down a path in the arain with thunder and lightning creeping ever closer, ever closer through the darkened sky. I keep pushing my steps to go a bit faster. I'm already soaked to the bone and I don't want to be soaked to the bone anymore. It's not that bad though. Not that bad at all.

I have to kill Warren. He asked me to kill him and I have to do it because he asked me to do it. I don't know if I can, but I have to and it won't stop raining. I want it to stop raining now. There have been enough dark clouds and thunder and lightning. The world doesn't listen to me. Instead, it just keeps pouring down cold stinging rain drops and shattering hail on our collective forms, hammering us into the earth. My hands go to my hammer and that is still there, still hanging at my waist, still heavy and grounding. That is still there and that means I can keep walking. If I dropped it, I would have to go back and get it. But it is there. I step in a deep puddle and almost trip. A sink hole, just a sink hole in the road. I keep moving. I keep moving.

It has to be late afternoon now. There are too many steps between now and when we started. But there's no one around to mark the time. We've been alone on the plains of waving grass in solitude. My foot almost hits another pothole a, but I am too quick, too sure footed to stumble again.

"We should have stayed by the rocks," mutters Annette. She's not wrong, but it would make less sense to run back now and investigate what is surely a swamp by this point. My hair is matted to my forehead and no matter how many times I try and push it away, it just keeps coming bac k to the same spot and sticking there. I have given up.

"Something will come along eventually," Amaru says, "It has to."

"No, it doesn't," says Annette.

"Yes, it does."

"No, it doesn't."

"Stop," I say, "I'm not listening to you two argue over this. Annette, we probably should have stayed, but we didn't. And there will be shelter eventually. Probably not for a long, long time, but the road will end. And we will get to the end sooner if we just keep walking."

She sighs and throws up her hands, pulling down another lightning bolt off in the distance for her trouble. Grass is too wet to start anything serious. It can threaten us with a wildfire, but I doubt it will follow through. Water and fire do not mix and as much as the world hates me right now, there are still lines and rules it has to follow.

"Come on," Amaru says, "I see another outcropping up ahead. We can stay there for a bit."

It's a good plan and I'm excited to be a part of it. We can hide in the rocks from the rain and wait for this entire thing to blow over. Not quite big enough for a fire, but has a cozy, familiar feeling.

"Same rocks," I say, "those are the same rocks."

"Those are not the same rocks," he says.

"Those are the same rocks," he says, after finally seeing the rocks. He sighs and I think he wants to hit something. That's fine. It's a good outlet and I would lend him my hammer if he asked. He won't though. He will just sigh and slump to the floor and maybe cry.

"So, let's go to those rocks," Annette says, "We know they are good rocks."

"They are good rocks," he says.

We shuffle and stagger to the stones and find our old places once again. Annette has moved from my lap to sit in the mud and stare at the world and hate it for being dull and gray and dark. I like rainy days, I really do. But not when I am out in the world with it. I need a wall and a roof and maybe a fire. The stones are not doing a good job of being any of that.

"Did we get turned around or something," says Amaru. I don't think he cares if he gets an answer.

"No," I say, "We were going the same way the entire time. And if we went the wrong way, we would have seen that tree again. But there was nothing."

"So, what do we do?"

"Not a clue. Wait for the rain to stop?"

"Is it going to stop?"

"Not a clue."

"Why are we even going to the Lilac Frontier?"

I don't say anything. I just listen to the rain and the thunder.

"Because Warren told us to go there," says Annette, "And we get the next step once we're there. What's at the Frontier anyway? Thought it was mostly trapping stations."

"And the Burrow. It's where I was born," Amaru says.

"Really? Know anybody that's still there? I assume your parents are still hanging around."

"My parents are a weird topic. I don't want to talk about them."

"So many things to not talk about. Like what the hell has been going on between the two of you. Ever since we left the lake you guys have been weird. Bad weird."

"It's nothing," I say.

"Yeah, nothing," he says.

She sighs and for a brief moment she takes the urge to just sprawl out against the ground. But it's too muddy and too cramped for the full effect. So, she instead slumps against the wall.

"How about this," she says, "We walk into the grass. We'll have to turn east at some point anyway."

It's a good plan. It's a good plan and I am excited to be a part of it. But it can wait another moment or so just in case the rain decides that it is done. We wait a handful of minutes watching the sky all the while. Just wasted time, that's all it was, because the rain does not stop. Everything is cold and soaked and I will never be dry again.

---

The mud squishes under my boots and sucks at the leather. I can feel so many blisters coming down the line. Or chafing flesh turned red and raw. At least this will all end with a wonderful excuse to curl up in front of a fire for several weeks with Amaru and Annette pressing into me. That's all I really want. We could even do it in the rain. I don't mind. We could do that and rest for a moment, but then mud would get absolutely everywhere, so it's better that we keep moving, keep one foot in front of the other and hope that the rain stops at some point. We might even be able to relearn what being dry feels like.

The grass cuts at my arms. It just catches wrong, that is all. It's all been pounded down, almost all level now, save for the handful of proud blades still standing tall. They will droop, they have to droop. They have to fall beneath the rain, just like the rest of its kind so that everyone is nice and equal and calm. The mud pulls at my boot again and I have to take a moment to pull it free,

I am a killer. I have lost count of how many times that simple thought has entered my mind. Too many. Not enough. It keeps popping in there when the steps start to grow dull and the rain blends into once continuous stream. Amaru stumbles ahead and I rush to pull him back up. I get a soft grunt for my efforts and he keeps marching through the grass.

It's a lovely pink color. Or it would be, in the sunshine it was made for. Right now, it's a sickly red brown gray that makes me long for the simple green of anywhere else. Rossa Plains, we've been matching through them for what feels like weeks. It is still the same day, still the same late afternoon dreary day that it was yesterday. And it will be that way tomorrow if there is a tonight to separate them. There might not be one, however. I do not know if the rain will allow the moon to come out. I hope it does. I would like to see the moon again. Or the sun. Or just clouds that did not spit lightning at us. Another bolt strikes off to our right and I do not jump. Too many of them now, and none of them are surprising. It's all just light and sound and none of it is important to the next step.

Annette is the next one to take a tumble, but she manages to save herself, turning the whole thing into a rather smooth cartwheel. I do not give her the applause she is looking for when she sticks the landing. I do give her a nice little swat on her ass and that seems to be something she approves of.

Amaru screams and my hand goes to my hammer. As the yell peters out, the hand relaxes. Frustration, anger, not fear or panic. And I scream as well, not quite as long or loud as his. But the rocks are right there, standing as silent and mocking as they always were.

"Hey," says Annette, "Its those rocks. How about that?"

Amaru now turns to sulking duty as the complete lack of any sort of progress hits him.

"I vote we stay in the rocks for a while," she says, "It's getting time for dinner anyway. We can have a snack and plan for the next move."

I see no reason to vocalize anything. It's a good plan. A very good plan and we all make our same places as we once had. It feels familiar now, those same streams running down my back, running down the lines in my muscles. I think the cuts are healed by now, but I want to wait until we get out of the rain to seek medical attention. The bandages at least provide some modicum of protection against the rain, in theory.

Amaru just lets his head hang between his knees. He's tired. I'm tired. Annette's probably more tired than she lets on. But we have the rocks, our little island in the growing sea.

"So, something's definitely up," She says, "But I'm drawing a blank on what it could be. The last time it was a guy and then a kid, so I'm pretty sure it's another guy or a kid doing this."

"My guess is either Soddal or Finchwing," I say, "Leaning towards Soddal."

"Makes sense, although I am not quite sure why. Both of them don't really like interfering too much. Cout at least made sense to pull in. What's three more souls in the grand tally of all, right? We would just get where we're going sooner rather than later."

"Could also just be a someone gone rouge. Happens sometimes. I think by some classifications I'm technically a heretic."

"Why?"

"Didn't stay at a monastery or start a shop with a red light out front. That's what we're supposed to do at least."

"Am I a heretic?"

"You walk around singing songs. That's the most textbook definition of what you're supposed to do."

"And what's Soddal supposed to do? I'm pretty sure its not box in three travelers in a raining plain that loops forever."

"Sit in one place and look at the clouds, mostly. Maybe go out to sea on a boat and look at clouds. Finchwing does a lot of the same, but they look for birds," says Amaru. He pulls himself from his shaped pit of mud and stretches at the opening of our little outcropping. He's not used to small spaces.

"We can talk this out," he shouts to the storm, "Just stop the rain."

He does not get an answer, save for a gust of wind rippling the matted grass. He shivers when it reaches him and hurriedly ducks back into the stone.

"Worth a shot," I say.

"Just didn't want this to get violent."

I shift a bit in my seat and the water takes a slightly different path down my spine. I like the new one a bit better. Not quite the same spot as the old, but it pools along my thighs in a better way. A shiver runs up my spine once the wind picks up and whistles through the cracks.

"So, we just wait it out," Annette asks no one in particular.

"We have a snack," I say, "And see what happens."

---

Nothing happened except I got to eat some rather flavorful jerky. I will have to ask at some point where we got it, in case I ever find myself back in Goldenrod. Might even be able to make it if I put in a bit of effort.

The water keeps rising, slowly, but surely. Halfway up my thighs by now, Annette's a bit deeper, Amaru's in a bit shallower. But it is all rising. The few tests I've done put it about ankle depth all around outside. It will take a while, but we will have to start swimming at some point. In some small victory, the wind has died down to just a steady breeze. It is still enough to chill my bones and set my teeth chattering. There is no relent. There is no respite. There is just the water and the cold that will slowly drown us all.

Amaru has made several attempts at negotiation that have all fallen on deaf ears. I appreciate his trying, but at this point, he has just proven that there will only ever be one way this has to end. I don't know if the Weavers will approve once all is said and done, but I do not see another way out of this that keeps us all alive. I am a killer.

I keep my hand running over the grip of my hammer. It's calming. The action gives my hands something to do and thus it gives the mind something to focus on that is not the rising sense of panic at the endless rain. It will keep rising as more and more and more and more comes down upon the earth. Inevitable, all of it is inevitable.

Annette's having the hardest time with the stillness, the rising water. She can't sit still, fidgeting like a toddler. She has decided to dig a hole in the earth to mark the passage of time and I 'm impressed at how deep she managed to get. A small pile off pebbles sits at her other side, harvested from the earth.