violence
“I know,” she says, because of course she does, she isn’t stupid. She followed the dull god with eyes wide open, took in every horrid piece of this land. She knows its borders – knows them well enough, at least – and knows bits and pieces of the other lands.
(She knows the mountain, too, with its awful threshold, where the bones had collapsed in a useless pile. Where the magic was torn from her - vivisected from her.)
She is not a fan of borders. She is not a thing to be kept in. Or out.
“I could help you,” she says. Mostly a lie. She is not a helpful woman.
“But--”
Of course there’s a but.
“Our kingdom must stay strong. We need numbers. You, Surgery, are a number. So why should I let you leave? What’s to keep me from stopping your escape, by whatever means necessary? I’m sure our king would reward me for it.”
Ah, the fun she would have had once – she could have possessed him, possibly (his mind seems feeble enough), made him do all sorts of delightful things. She could have sent bones chasing after him.
Truth is, she doesn’t care if he leaves. But she’s idle, and bored, and in the mood to hunt.
I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips
