peel away the layers till you're nothing and no one; kult

[Kirke]

peel away the layers till you're nothing and no one

She’s so close - she can feel it!

She’s been tracking the Covelings for months now, trying to find any sign of where Potion had taken her triplets. She hasn’t found and trace of Potion or even Kirin, but now, finally, she thinks she’s found someone else. 

The trail she’s been following is distinctly male, and though it’s been many years since she last saw him, smells strongly of her uncle Kult. Kult had never been involved in the greater planning for the Cove - he’d been the following type, the sort to carry out Kirin’s orders. Especially his nastier ones. He might not know what Kirin and Potion have planned for the children, but he’d likely have a good idea of where they’re hiding. 

She follows him into the meadow - right where the forest thins and gives way to open plain. She can’t see him yet, but the scent is strong, strong enough that she knows he must be close by.

“KULT!” She’s not worried about calling him out. There’s no reason for him to run. She’s just Kirke, his weak little niece who never inherited the Cove’s streak of cruelty. The one horse she ever killed she had to be urged into it … and she never killed or even harmed anyone again. He might even approach out of simple curiosity - he can’t imagine what the kidnapping of her triplets has done to her. 

She is broken, raw. And she will not hold back.

kirke

@[Call]

[Kult]

Oh he’s around, the Meadow that is. Though he had yet to find Kirin, not yet, this new Beqanna was very confusing. He kept getting turned around, everything looked different, everything smelled different. The world was upside down and backwards and he can’t even remember the entirety of his getting back, he was going to come back and then he was. Suddenly and quite violently too he might add, though that wasn’t truly bothersome, he actually was intrigued by the force of it.

He was getting closer though, something just told him he was, he could feel that they were near. Somewhere right down in the very marrow of his bones because his heart was too small or too black or too wretched to ever harbor feelings there.

The smell hit him first, a woman, a girl. She was a child once and he bent his head to the grasses to take a long breath, the green shoots bent, then clung to his nostrils. “Kirke,” he said to himself though it was decidedly a much bigger Kirke now. There was nothing to keep him from her, he had never known fear and nothing would cause him to ever tremble at the presence of another Coveling. Much less this one.

Much like a cat he swayed across the rolling hills, head swung low as always, as though he suffered some strange deformity or ailment. Surely the girl would know where Kirin was, he prayed silently to Khaos that she would know this new land much better than he did. Her shout finds him, his single ear rotating forward against his inky black mane. His body followed, pivoting to find the path to her, aim himself in her general direction.

“Kirke,” he answered but it was not terribly loud, Kult was not much of a talker, and much less of a yeller.

A storm is coming; a storm that will swallow the children.

KULT

I'll send them back to a place where no-one else can see them ..

(except for me)