The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tel awoke while the world still slept. She had not dreamed. She had never needed to, for it was only seers whose dreams held meaning or power. Tel was not a seer. It was not her place to question, or even to ponder the traditions of the others. And yet she wondered where Rys’ dreams were leading them.

The Trial was a journey to prove a new skein’s worth. To harden boys into men, girls into women. Like packing together snow and ice, soft fragments alone, but together, sturdy. Resolute. It did not matter where they went. It mattered little how they got there. Save for arriving together, and returning alive.

And so it was good that Rys slept, and dreamed, and Tel allowed herself a hope that the ancestors would lend them a safe and close destination. They would need it, she thought. She could hear two sets of deep, steady breathing within the tent, above the sound of sleeping nature outside. The huntress uttered something indistinct, and Tel’s lips found a smile. Even in her sleep, she thought.

The first thing to do was to make herself naked. She removed her trousers. She removed her shirt. She stepped silently across the ground, stooped to push through the tent flap, and crunched her bare toes into the frigid snow.

She saw whiteness, everywhere and all around, cloaking the earth like a burial shroud. Stretching from where she stood and far to the south, where she stared. Reaching past the edges of their lands, climbing up the ridges of the mountains, straining to catch some snatch of the ancestors’ light. She saw that it was windswept that day, as it so often was in this early winter.

Good. They would be able to travel farther, and with lighter feet.

Tel felt the pace of her breath quickening, saw the foggy shapes cast out of her lips. Winter was closing around her. She looked to her fingers, and saw the pale numbness creeping toward her wrists. One more breath. One more moment. She closed her eyes, embraced the chill, then, re-entered the tent.

She bound her breasts tightly with cloth, many loops of it winding around her chest. She drew on her socks and stockings and trousers, inner and outer both, her boots, her shirts and her coat. She looked on the two bodies, sprawled before the fire. Rys faced away. The huntress faced toward, her body curled in on itself, twitching, lips moving in her sleep.

Tel lifted her glaive, and stepped out from the tent. Her hands gripped the red cloth. She plunged the spike at its end into the snow, until she felt it dig into the earth. She knelt. She inclined her head, touching her hood to the pole. She drew a deep breath. She spoke the warrior’s prayer in her mind, until she lost count of its repetitions.

The flap in the wall behind her was peeled back, in a semblance of quiet. She ignored it.

“What are you doing?”

But she could not ignore that voice. Ancestors above, she silently invoked, finishing her prayer, lend me your patience.

“What are you doing?” the huntress said again. She was closer now.

Tel masked her sigh with the sound of standing, and of ripping the glaive free from the snow in one motion. “Prayer,” she said, without turning.

The huntress’ boots crunched lightly through the snow. Like rabbits’ feet. “What for?”

“Many things,” Tel responded.

“Like what?”

The warrior looked over. Her prayer had gone on long enough for the huntress to wake and dress. Her bow was slung over her right shoulder, above the coat, while her quiver and arrows sprouted out from behind her head. “Did your warrior-father not teach you that, as well?”

“Even with six parents, you only ever learn so much, Tel.” She shrugged. “Didn’t all your time and energy get eaten up by warrior-ing?”

Tel steadied herself by fingering her gloves along the glaive’s cloth bands. “I am a warrior. That is my way. You should pay more mind to yourself and your own path, rabbit.”

“Why are you calling me that?”

Tel just smiled.

The huntress scowled, but to the warrior’s dismay, she continued speaking. “Anyway. I spent almost all of my time learning to track and hunt and cook and survive, while you spent every moment of yours learning to kill. Excuse me for being a little curious when you mention something in your ways that isn’t death by stabbing.”

“You are excused.”

The rabbit groaned, and stomped back inside. Tel turned her eyes forward again, out to the lightening horizon. Good.

She was about to plant her weapon in the ground once more, but she heard the flap opening again, braced her fists tight around the haft...

“Tel?” The small one. Rys. The warrior relaxed, and stepped to face the seer as she came out. She had dressed, as well, though the night’s rest had not seemed to ease her nerves or her weary-looking countenance. The dark circles beneath her eyes looked even deeper than on the last day, and her slack, thin face appeared ready to yawn at any moment. But it was as if she were so tired that she could not even muster the will for that.

“Rys,” the warrior nodded, and let the glaive’s spike sink gently into the snow at her feet. “You are well?”

The seer nodded back, and stepped up closer, her head swiveling around to take in the wintry early morning. “I... yes, Tel, thank you.”

“Good.” Tel hesitated to speak further. And when she did, it was slow, as slow as one would speak to a cornered, frightened man waving a trembling, frightened sword. “And your dreams...”

“None,” Rys replied quickly.

“I understand.” She did not. Magic and dreams were both mysteries to Tel, and this was by design. They were the responsibility of the seer, not the warrior nor the hunter, so that the others could focus wholly on their craft alone. “As long as you can guide us, I will follow. And if you cannot guide us, I will guard you until you can.”

Rys smiled faintly, and briefly met the warrior’s eyes. “Thank you, Tel. Don’t be afraid.”

“I am not afraid.” She had not even thought to be.

“Good.” The seer looked back to the horizon, past Tel’s shoulder. “I know where we’re going.”

“Good,” the warrior said. It was not her place to know, nor did she have a need. Nor should she even have a want—but it was something that she felt drawn toward asking anyway. Tel felt curious. Not just about the journey; in fact, she cared little about that. She was curious about this young woman. Small and lean, for a member of their people, leaner than any had right to be. She was quiet, but behind her eyes, colored in gold and green and brown, Tel could see that much was left unsaid inside her thoughts. She wondered at the seer’s strange mix of confidence and doubt. She wondered at her strange knowledge of magic, of names and words from without. She wondered at those strange words, shared the night before. The strange feeling she’d felt, whenever her hand had been squeezed.

Tel felt a shiver, even as the wind was low and quiet, and she cleared her throat. “Rys, last night...”

She saw the seer turn away. She was either surprised, or startled, or scared, or something else. Tel had not ever been skilled in reading the emotions of others, but she still wondered how pink the seer’s cheeks might be looking, even as the wind was low and quiet. “Y-yes?”

“I know it is not our way to think on the traditions of others.” The seer’s hood twitched up and down, an inkling of a nod. “But this ritual last night, it was an unusual feeling.”

Rys’ hood moved, and Tel could just see the tip of her nose from where she stood. “How do you mean?”

The warrior took a breath. How did she mean? While she had been there, in that moment, in... “What were the words you used, what did you call it?”

“Waking sleep.”

Waking sleep. Tel felt peculiar even then, just remembering the words. Recalling the way they had been spoken, and the way that they had felt. But she could not remember all of it. “While I was listening to you, I... I felt aware. I could hear your words and understand them, in one moment, but in the very next, and now, it is like they are hidden from me.” She swallowed. “It is like clear ice, once smooth enough to see through, has been made... cloudy. And I was not aware of it then. But I am now.” She shook her head slowly, as the seer’s eyes came into view. “You are our seer, and I ask for your guidance in this. What has happened to me, Rys?”

“Are you afraid?” the seer asked softly.

“No.” Tel knew at least that.

“But it worries you.”

“Only some.”

“Some?”

Tel nodded, and half-smiled. “Perhaps it is that I think I should be worried, and am not, that worries me.” She thought for a moment, watching the confused look and blushing on Rys’ face. “We put ourselves in each other’s hands. That is the way of our skeins. I trust you to lead us and guide us, just as you trust me to keep us safe on the journey and at the destination. I am not worried by you, Rys, and I do not think I could ever be, as short a time as we’ve known each other now.”

The seer nodded.

“I know what I make of this journey, of you and of the rabbit, of the snow and sky and the branches we gather for our tent. I follow the teachings in this. But I do not know what I make of this waking sleep.”

“But you don’t worry that you don’t know,” Rys said, “you worry that you don’t worry?”

Tel smiled wider, and saw the seer beginning to do the same. “Yes. It is not easy to describe.”

“I know,” Rys replied, and looked ready to say more—before the huntress’ head shot out angrily from the tent’s flap, scoffed, and darted back inside. The seer sighed. “We can speak of it later. Kez is impatient, and probably right: we should go before the sun’s up.”

Tel nodded, and as Rys returned to the tent, the warrior turned to the edge of the earth again, where dawn was making its rise, and the world was coming alive.

The huntress was with them, and talking, for hours after that. Tel had known children that asked fewer questions than she, and most children had had many, many questions.

“How’d you all sleep?”

“Any dreams, Rys?”

“Hey, Tel, what’s that big pole called again?”

“Bet it’s something dumb, yeah?”

“Anybody else’s braid itchy?”

“Is it colder than usual?”

“My warrior-father’d sing while we hiked, anybody know any music?”

“Shout out if you see any rabbits, alright Rys?”

The huntress was no child. She was worse.

Though with this last, she had finally left. Off to hunt something. Tel did not care what, only that she was frustrated, and the huntress was going over a hill, and then gone.

The warrior released a breath she had not known she was holding. Her hands loosened around the glaive’s pole, but did not leave it. She stood next to the seer. Rather, she stood just outside the semicircle of snow that Rys had made for herself, while she bent over the river with their waterskins. Tel had not watched the day before, but the way in which the snow had moved itself before her eyes was odd. Or perhaps it was not odd, but Tel did not know magic, and was not permitted to watch her seer-mother or seer-father perform it, and so the sight of snow simply deciding to push itself somewhere new was strange to her. She had hear stories, yes. She knew enough to know that seers gained their visions from the ancestors in moments of need, and in dreams. She knew their magic was similar, and she knew they spoke old, powerful words to wield it.

Tel hesitated for a few moments more. Much like the breath from her lungs, she had not even noticed that she was anticipating this moment. Now that she was aware, she knew why, of course. Rys had told her that later, they would speak. And now they were alone. And now it was later.

She pushed her weapon a bit deeper into the snow, leaning just barely against it as her gloved fingers played with the red-ribboned straps. Why was she lingering on it in this way? She thought that she had put the idea of the waking sleep out of her mind, and yet here it was again. The way it sat in her awareness was strange to Tel. Only dreams and magic had ever defied understanding in such a way, and she had long ago resolved never to dwell on dreams and magic.

But Rys had told her that it was not magic. But she had also said that it was magic. She said it was a seer’s tradition. And yet she had shared it with Tel and the rabbit. Why?

To handle our emotions, the warrior thought. To help us understand each other.

But how? This part escaped her. Tel did not like when things escaped her. She enjoyed when things were simple. And things were becoming less so by the day.

The huntress, Tel understood. More immature than her years. Ignorant. Probably a fine shot. These things she could handle; the seer was more of a mystery. For the second time that day, Tel found herself staring at Rys’ hood, working through what she could recall of her words, and what she could not, of how they had been said, of the shape of her face as she spoke them, of the things inside her mind.

“You wanted to talk about it? The waking sleep?”

Tel startled. She clenched her weapon, controlled her breath, swallowed, and nodded. And realized that Rys could not see her. “Yes,” she spoke up, with a hint of difficulty.

The seer glanced over, and the warrior caught a glimpse of her enigmatic gaze. “I don’t know how much I can say...”

“You do not have to say anything.” Tel swallowed again. “You do not. I am not a seer.”

“But you are part of this skein.”

Tel nodded.

“So, you... ought to have your questions answered. You have to be fully willing, and I want to reassure you, if I can. Even if it’s... a little untraditional.” Rys’ head turned, and a small, bright grin flashed.

The warrior returned it with a smile. “Thank you. Do not feel forced to break your ways, because of my...

“Curiosity?”

“Yes,” Tel answered. It was easier than she had expected.

“I know,” Rys smiled again, but her blush seemed to flare, and she looked back to the hand she had left plunged in the blisteringly cold river. “I-I was the same, when I learned of it.”

“Your seer-mother and father...?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Well, my seer-mother taught it to me, and I’d practice it with my huntress-mother and warrior-mother.”

“But not your seer-mother?”

“Oh, no,” her head shook, “you see, my huntress and warrior-mothers were much more used to going under, and they—”

Tel frowned. “Under?”

“A-ah,” Rys paused. “It means, well, say that you’re...”

Tel waited. “I am...?”

Rys didn’t respond. Her right hand was closed around the stone hanging off her neck. And now Tel saw that it was glowing, just as it had on the first night.

“Rys?”

Nothing.

Tel’s breath caught, her fists tightened on the glaive. But all the warrior knew was that this was magic. Was she working some mystic spell? Had some ancestor come down and taken hold of her? Her hand was still in the freezing-cold water. Tel swore, braced herself, stomped over the snow-circle and wrenched the seer up by her shoulder, out of the stream, making the woman squeal and gasp.

She pulled Rys close with both hands, careful to keep the glaive’s blade and hook far away from her. Rys was hyperventilating. She shushed the seer, and pulled her closer, and held her gaze. Fear was in her eyes.

“Rys,” said softly, sternly and urgently, “calm yourself. Breathe.” She took a breath, and another, and the seer finally followed her on the third, and the fourth, and they both nodded to each other on the fifth. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I-it’s Kez,” the seer managed to stammer out, “I-I saw her, she’s in danger, Tel, there’s something tha-that’s near her and it’s—”

“Breathe,” she told her, and it only took three to get Rys back into control, “you had a vision?”

The seer nodded.

“Kez is in danger.” A seer’s visions rarely spelled anything but danger. She knew this, at least. And she knew what danger meant.

Another nod.

Tel let her go. The warrior grabbed up the waterskins, tied them to her belt, and put both hands on the red ribbons.

“Wh-what are you going to do?”

She let one hand go to clutch the seer’s shoulder, hard. “You are our seer. Do you know where she is?”

“Y-yes, but I...”

“Lead me.”

The seer shook. “Alright.”

They ran.

The thick trees bore much of the snow. Her eyes were focused forward, on the back of the seer’s head, on the base of her braid. The wind had pushed hoods away. Ice chewed at her skin. But her blood was hot. But her mind was cold and clear like ice. Everything was simple, when her blood was hot. There was only one thing she could think of.

Follow the seer.

And she followed. She stopped hearing their breathing and their feet pounding over snow. She stopped feeling the wind and the cold on her face. She stopped seeing anything but the dark knot of hair bobbing ahead of her.

And then the seer stopped short, and she shifted her barreling weight to swerve and skid to a stop at the top of the small hill. She planted the glaive, and looked where Rys was gaping.

Between the trees below, she saw Kez, on her back, her arms and legs scrabbling through snow for traction.

Between the trees below, she saw a shape moving. Walking on four legs. Shaggy fur the color of bark. Perhaps as tall as her, and perhaps twice as long as that. She started walking downhill. She saw dark eyes glinting. The huntress was still scrambling, and now her breathing could be heard, panicked, fearful, trying to keep herself contained.

The thing, she now recognized it as a bear, was ambling steadily closer, gaining ground, its four clawed and furry feet sinking under its weight with each step. Rys was still behind, and would stay there. The seer had seen, and done her duty, and now Rys was afraid. And that was alright. This was not her place.

Kez was afraid, too. She saw the trail made by the huntress’ trembling body, which had dragged itself back slowly, then quickly. There was no blood on the ground.

Good. Not too late.

Kez moved back. She stepped forward. The huntress screamed.

The bear towered up on its hind legs, and roared.

Tel roared back.

She did not know anything about bears, their habits and habitats, their diets or their hopes or their fears or any number of things that Kez could perhaps have told her, if Kez was not paralyzed with fear. But she saw the bear turn its head. She saw its tremendous bulk lumbering forward. She saw its eyes meet hers. And she saw its many sharp teeth.

She knew a bear could fight, though. And she knew when one was angry.

And Tel knew that she would kill it.

She tossed the glaive in her hands, spun it blade-side up and hook-side down, planted one foot forward and drove the sharpened point toward the thing’s face. It barely even grazed fur. It was too big.

She became more keenly of the things she did not know about bears.

She started to pull back, but the bear swerved, throwing a huge arm sideways to knock the shaft away—she twisted the pole again, brought the blade on an angle to slash the bear’s wrist as she yanked it back, the blade sailing past her shoulder and into the snow—she turned with it, arced her steps around and drew it out of the ground. The bear was unfazed; she had felt it cut, maybe the bear had not. Could they even feel, as she did?

Again, she advanced, as the hulking thing tottered on its two legs. She drove the point towards it a few times, trying to startle it, trying to get it down from such a height. It was just like a large man, with bigger arms and legs and fists and claws and teeth.

It was not very much like a man. But it had no sword, and she was thankful.

Whatever had possessed the bear to at first fear the glaive’s flashing end seemed to vanish. It lurched forward, breathing great clouds of fog, leering down at her as its arms swiped at the air, missing the glaive each time. She waited until it tried to catch its balance, leaning back, then she punched the blade forward, right into its stomach. The bear didn’t even flinch. She did it again, feeling another gash open up. And again. And she saw the right arm rearing back, and she pushed again, charging her weight with the pole and finally driving the blade in a few inches—but the bear just roared, maybe its footing quavered, but the arm came swinging anyway, and she ducked, rolled out of the way of the left, and again, was face to face with it.

Have to get it down. She saw its legs, saw the angle she would need. Somewhere, Kez screamed, and the bear’s lolling head took its torso turning. Just enough of an opening. She charged, both hands swung the glaive’s point back over her shoulder, long enough to graze the snow behind her as she ran, and just as the bear looked, she twisted her hips, every muscle in her arms straining as the heavy blade sailed in a half circle through the air and terminated with a slam into the shank of its leg. The bear roared with pain and fell to all fours, hamstrung.

Yes. No time to think. The others weren’t yet away. Two swift tugs yanked the metal out, she saw its blood in a flash of crimson, and steadying herself while it howled again, she threw the pole over her shoulder, arched her back, felt it pushing into snow and earth, then screamed as she whipped her whole body forward, momentum carrying the blade down hard. She felt the pole shake, she felt the bear shuddering around the weapon buried into its hind muscles. She strained, stepping forward, angling the point down as her hands came up, pushing it down deeper—

The bear’s body, and the pole, wrenched away from her, and then its face was swinging her way. She let go of the red wrappings, lost her balance and fell, and the bear was above her, raising a clawed and blood-dampened paw. She rolled through the snow, felt two claws ripping her coat. She started to scramble up, then the other arm came, slamming and raking into her left calf.

Her eyes shot open wide. Pain shouted at the top of its lungs, drowning out smell and sound and touch, thoughts returning with it. She was unarmed. She’d taken a blow, but her leg could stand firm. Good. Her eyes tracked the lines of red as they traced randomly in the air, the glaive’s point still dug into the bear’s rear flank. She had to get around, and she had to hit it somewhere it would hurt.

The bear was stepping closer. She was stepping back. Trees, on either side, in the corners of her vision. She darted to the side, it followed, it charged to catch her as she ran but its heavy arms punched worthlessly into a thick trunk instead, as she bounded around it, down the bear’s length, two hands grabbing the ribbons and twisting with her body’s speed to wrench the weapon free in a spray of blood. It howled. It felt pain. Everything told her to make it feel more. Before it could do worse to her skein.

She was still steadying her grip when it reared up tall again; she threw a stab toward its good foot, but the sound of the air rushing past her head from the swing of its arm made her toss the idea. Rys and Kez were arguing. She heard something about helping.

“DO NOT!” she yelled. Could they even hear her?

And why hadn’t they left? What were they thinking? She’d already been wounded. She’d barely injured the thing. And she knew that she could not run, but they could. They needed to. They couldn’t protect themselves if she failed. They couldn’t die here.

She kept backpedaling, glancing over her shoulder to where Kez was stringing her bow and Rys was speaking frantically. They needed to run. She was about to call out again, but the bear got wise, and she saw both its forepaws flying back to swipe at once, to crush her underfoot.

If they ran, she could die, and still fulfill her purpose. If they remained, she would fail the moment that they died, too.

She would have prayed, but she could not think of any words for what she was about to do; she dove forward headfirst into the snow before the bear, landing beneath it as it toppled down onto all fours again. She felt a back foot and claw kick into her shoulder, she heard the thing shouting its confusion until she sprung out from the side in a roll—she was to its right, and the bear was looking left. She darted forward, held the pole underhand, and punched the point into its bared neck. The head started moving, but she was faster, and she withdrew, breathed, and stabbed again, a gush of blood spurting from its severed vessels.

It howled. It collapsed. Its breath ran ragged, while its neck spurted more blood than she thought possible into the reddening snow. But it was still alive. She saw Kez’s blurry shape running closer, but it was still alive. She couldn’t take the chance.

She put a foot on its back, and it moaned. Ahead of her, Kez stopped moving.

She reversed her grip, putting her dominant right hand on the lower wrapped hold, angling the butt of the pole rather than the blade and hook and point. She stepped forward, and with as much strength as she could draw, she lifted the glaive tall over the bear’s head, inhaled, and plunged the pole’s metal spike down hard, down through fur, down through flesh, down through skull.

She felt it crack.

She felt the spike catch in mush.

She felt the bear give up one, last, empty breath.

Tel let go of her own.

They had eaten in silence.

Tel’s muscles had been sore from the strain. The huntress had turned sullen, glaring every which way. She had objected to eating the bear, and to skinning it, and to collecting its teeth and usable bones. Rys had intervened, then. Tel could not stand to speak to her.

The seer had used her magic to clear the snow, and to push aside the earth, and the two of them had buried the bones and what parts of the carcass they could not use. Tel had pitched the tent, and packed its rim with snow, and lit the fire that would keep them warm and fed. She had set her socks and shirts and trousers and bindings to dry, and when the others entered, teeth chattering and arms huddled close, she had ignored them. The glaive needed cleaning. Her wounds needed binding.

And when Rys had spoken to try and mend some rift, no one had answered. Tel had sharpened her blade. The huntress had cleaned the bearskin.

And now they sat in silence.

Until the rabbit started talking.

“Shouldn’t have killed it,” she muttered.

Tel did not answer. But the huntress wasn’t looking to her, only to some empty place in her lap.

“Shouldn’t’ve skinned it. Shouldn’t’ve eaten it.”

“Kez,” the seer murmured, leaning to place a hand on the huntress’ shoulder, “you know we need the food and the furs...”

“I should’ve found something else.”

“It was getting dark, Kez, I don’t think you...”

“What,” Tel heard the huntress scoff, “you don’t think I could’ve found us something?”

“No, I...”

“You don’t think I can feed you? That it? You think I’m—”

“Enough.” Tel saw the brown eyes finally meet her own. “You may speak to me that way. But you may not to her.”

The huntress crossed her arms. “Fine,” she said, “you shouldn’t have killed it, Tel.”

“What, then, I should have left you to die? I should have left Rys and I to starve?”

“I had it under control.”

“And that is why you were fleeing on your back, yes?”

“I was getting away, she wasn’t going to—”

“So when it bared its teeth, I was meant to stand back, is that what you say?”

“Yes,” the huntress spat, “you should have. You upset her by running in and screaming like a wild beast. She was just defending herself.”

“She?”

“She was a creature of nature. She was probably hungry, looking for food for her family, and...”

“I should have let you be that food, rabbit?”

“Piss off,” she swore, “if you hadn’t shown, I would’ve been fine, and you wouldn’t’ve put us all in danger.”

“In danger?!” Tel glared. “I saved your life, I saved each of our lives, and you berate me for it?”

“I berate you for killing something that was just trying to keep itself fed and alive. Just like us, Tel.”

“And the birds and the hares and the caribou you kill have no families? Have no hope or life beyond the point of your arrow?”

“I don’t slaughter my hunts senselessly. I don’t torture them and destroy their bodies.”

“You have never had to protect, rabbit. You have never had to defend someone other than yourself. You are lucky to be alive.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get us all fucking killed out here.”

“You endangered us all. Should have never let you go on your own.”

“Please,” Rys’ voice begged between them, “please, you two...”

The huntress and warrior both stopped. Neither had the rage necessary to drown Rys out.

“Please,” she whispered. “You need to listen to each other. ”

“I have, and she’s...”

“Fine,” the seer said, “then listen to me. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault—I had the vision, I was the one that saw you in danger, and I was the one who warned Tel, and I was the one who led her there. I didn’t... I was scared, and I didn’t think that you could do it on your own. And Tel, I tried to tell you how to keep us safe, and you know that I can’t do that.”

“You are our seer,” Tel replied, “it is your duty to see and to warn us of these dangers. You did everything correctly.”

“There was no danger,” the huntress snapped, “I told you, I had it under control, I just needed to—”

“Kez, please,” the seer urged, putting a hand around the huntress’ muscled arm, squeezing their fingers together with the other. “Please, would you at least listen, Kez?”

Tel watched the huntress close her eyes, take in a breath, and nod, reluctantly.

“Good. Tel, would you...?” Rys looked to her.

The warrior paused. The two were near the fire. Rys’ right hand held the huntress’ left. And the seer’s left hand was now outstretched. And Kez, who had been so feral merely a moment before, now seemed tame. Tel swallowed. “Are you...”

“I-if you two wouldn’t mind, I...” The seer glanced between the two women, searching them for approval. She gulped. “I would like to help you, like we d-did last night.”

The huntress seemed to perk up, her brow quirking. “The waking sleep...?”

“Yes, Kez,” Rys murmured, and through the fire, Tel caught sight of their fingers flexing together again. She heard the deep, heavy breath from the huntress. “Do you want that?”

Her brown eyes nodded, and started turning toward the flames. “That’s good, Kez, thank you... Tel?”

Tel was stunned again, by the seer calling her name. And it took her a moment to bring herself into the space; it was like she had been observing alone, rather than being in the same tent and same warm place. She nodded, and slowly picked her way across the ground, one hand dragging her coat before sitting to Rys’ left side. The seer offered her hand. Tel eyed it, then looked to the huntress. Her eyes were locked to the fire, and another glance lower, her hand was being massaged.

“You have to want it, Tel,” Rys’ voice called to her, and she met the seer’s multicolor eyes, lit with flickers of firelight. “Each of us have to.”

Tel nodded.

“Take my hand?”

Tel did. She felt a squeeze, soft but firm. The seer’s hand was a tiny, delicate thing. She did not try to squeeze back.

Rys smiled. “Thank you,” she said, and turned to the huntress, “both of you. See the fire, now?”

Tel did not want to look away from Rys’ small face, and the small blush on her cheeks, but when her hazel stare met that of the warrior, Tel turned to the flames instead of looking even deeper.

“Good,” Rys said. Tel heard a bit of a sigh. She thought that it had come from the seer, but it might have come from the huntress, just as well.

“That sounded like a very calm sigh, Tel,” Rys spoke, “would you like to take another deep breath?”

Tel blinked. Had she been the one to sigh? Her brow furrowed, even as she felt herself taking another deep breath.

“You can take another one, Tel, and another one, while I talk to Kez, could you do that for me?”

Tel felt that she could do that for Rys. She had already been breathing deeply, though she did not know why. Had Rys told her to? Was Rys telling her to?

“... and you can feel the smoke inside of you, mingling with the sleepiness in your...”

No, Rys was talking to Kez. Tel had thought that the last time, Rys had been talking to them both, but now she wasn’t sure.

“... smoke and warm and sleep, all cast up by the fire into the air, in with your breath...”

How long had Rys been speaking to Kez? Tel couldn’t say. She wasn’t sure when it had begun, and it felt wrong to try and focus on words that were not meant for her. But she focused when she could. And they did not sound like the magic of seers.

“... and you’re feeling the squeeze of my hand, and how relaxed that makes your legs feel...”

Rys was saying normal words, in a normal way, and yet, Tel felt so calm. Calm and strange.

“... so calm and peaceful, enraptured by this braid, and you can remember how I told you that...”

Tel tried to think backward. When had her body become relaxed? When had she begun breathing in this way? Had Rys spoken to her at all, or had she simply stared and become so...

“Tel.”

The word brought a measure of clarity to Tel’s thoughts.

“You’re relaxed now, aren’t you?” she asked.

Tel felt a squeeze. She felt the muscles of her legs and shoulders flexing, tensing, pushing past their stillness for only a moment, feeling their warmth as she did. “Yes,” Tel managed to say.

“That’s very good, Tel,” Rys said, “but you look confused?”

Tel nodded. She knew the crease of her brow had deepened.

“It’s okay. You just have to listen. Can you do that?”

Tel could do that. “Yes, but I...”

“Yes?”

Tel swallowed. “I don’t know if I can...”

“Why?”

Tel felt her breath shake. “Because I can understand your words, and they do not sound like magic, they sound like... like words, Rys...”

“Oh, Tel,” Rys murmured softly, “there’s nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with that at all. They’re just words, and you can just listen very closely to them, and try to pick out each one, can’t you?”

“I can.”

“You can, that’s right. And while you listen so closely, you can look so deeply into the fire, can’t you?”

“I can.”

“That’s right, Tel, and while you look so deeply and listen so closely, you can breathe so warmly, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, and how do you know you can do all of that?”

Tel paused.

“Because you already are, Tel, aren’t you?”

Tel swallowed.

“It’s okay, Tel.”

“Yes.”

“Very good, Tel, and can you feel this squeezing?”

“Yes.”

“You can, Tel, and when I squeeze like that, can you feel your toes curling?”

“Yes.”

“Can you feel that warmth when they do?”

“Yes.”

“Can you feel how that warm, smoky air comes down to your toes?” She could, and they... “Can you feel with this squeeze, how it’s come to your knees?” ... she did, her knees were... “Can you feel with this one, how it’s risen to your thighs?” ... and it had, that wonderful... “Can you feel how it sits in your stomach, Tel?” ... such a lovely and warm feeling... “Can you feel how it fills up your lungs?” ... warm and wonderful... “Can you feel how it’s warmed up your shoulders?” ... yes, and...

“And can you feel how heavy it’s made your arms?” ... heavy? ... “How heavy it’s making your fingers while it fills them up?” ... warm and heavy, and they... “Can you feel how heavy it’s made your wrists, Tel?” ... yes, she... “Can you feel how heavy it’s made everything, all at once like this?” ... she was feeling very... “Can you feel how heavy it’s made your eyes, even while they’re wide open?” ... very... “Can you feel how heavy it’s made your mind, even while you’re listening so closely?” ... so closely... “So heavy, even while you’re looking so deeply?” ... deep in the fire...

“Even while you’re breathing so warmly?” She took a deep, warm breath... “But there’s something else, isn’t there, Tel?” There was something else. “It’s the ice, Tel, right?”

The ice. “It’s transparent, but it’s muddled too, isn’t it?” Clear. But not clear.

“One moment you can see, and the next, the ice has gone cloudy, hasn’t it?” ... yes, cloudy, it had gone cloudy and she...

“That’s okay, Tel, that’s okay, yes?” It was okay.

“Because you’ve done all of this, all of these things, haven’t you?” ... yes, she realized, she had.

“And there’s only one thing left, isn’t there?” Only one thing left.

“Do you know what it is?”

She hesitated.

“Do you know what it is?”

Did she?

“You don’t, do you, Tel?”

She didn’t.

“Because the ice is so cloudy, isn’t it?”

So cloudy.

“And that’s okay, Tel, isn’t it nice?”

It was nice.

“Nice to be so cloudy?”

Nice to be so cloudy.

“You don’t have to know what comes next.”

“You can just let the ice cloud over.”

“You can just let your mind cloud over.”

“You can let the fire grow muddled.”

“You can let the fire fade away.”

She could let the words grow muddled.

She could let the words fade away.

She could let herself just breathe...

... let herself just listen...

... just relax...

... just relaxed.

Just becalmed.

Just enraptured.

Just floating

floating in waking sleep.

Very good.

When the hand let hers go,

the ice would fog over,

not just cloudy,

but thick and foggy.

Her self would fall

through the ice,

and her mind

and body

would fall

in the ice,

in the fog,

falling with all her warmth

and all her thoughts.

And her ears would close, and she wouldn’t be able to hear through the ice.

And her eyes would close, and she wouldn’t be able to see through the ice.

And her mind would close, and she wouldn’t be able to think through the ice.

Because of the clouds.

Because of the fog.

And that would be good.

And that would feel nice.

And she would wake whenever she wanted.

And she would know that it was her choice, to sleep or wake.

Or whenever the hand took hers again,

the ice and her mind could simply be muddled,

clear, but muddled, just like now.

But she wouldn’t be able to think through the ice,

she wouldn’t be able to think of how she might wake,

only knowing, without thinking,

that she could wake, without thinking,

and not worry, never worrying inside the ice.

But when the hand lets go...

Clouds turned to fog.

Muddle became murk.

And she fell,

and fell,

and fell.

Encased deep in the ice.

A calm, warm place, amidst so much cold.

And she knew there were voices and words.

But she didn’t have to listen to them while she sank.

She wasn’t able to hear them while she sank.

Until the fog cleared and settled into clouds.

And soon the clouds would clear, and the ice would be transparent again.

But when it was, a few things would have to happen.

Kez was going to speak,

Tel was going to listen.

She would hear Kez’s words,

she would feel how much Kez meant them.

She would speak when Kez was finished,

she would know that Kez would listen.

She would speak her mind,

she would know that Kez would hear how much she meant them.

Tel would have no need to fight,

Tel would have no want to argue.

She could just listen and understand,

she could speak and know she was understood.

She and Kez would compromise,

she and Kez could agree, or disagree,

but even then, they could, they would treat each other fairly.

Because that is how a skein should be.

That is how a skein survived.

That is how she could,

that is how she would protect them.

And then the clouds over ice were clearing,

and the smoke around minds was loosening,

and hands were being squeezed,

and muscles were being used, thoughts were coming back,

“bodies are coming back, right back into place, and the fire is before your eyes again, and you can breathe deep...”

Tel breathed, and she sighed.

“... and you are wide awake now.”

Tel blinked several times. Her eyes and mouth had become dry. She looked to Rys, whose face was pink and red and flickering with gold, and she looked to Kez, whose face looked tired, but thoughtful. She saw the huntress swallow. “Tel, I...” she began, and hesitated...

But Tel did not speak. She held the huntress’ gaze and waited, and she did feel somewhat surprised. Why? she thought. Because Rys asked me to, and I cannot see a reason not to.

Kez’s voice was surprisingly soft, and level, once she found her steadiness. “Tel, when you and Rys came to help... I was upset, because I felt, and I feel still, that it’s my purpose in the skein to handle animals. I think that if I was alone, I might’ve been able to get away without getting hurt... but I wasn’t, and that’s... well, it’s okay. You saw me getting stalked after by a bear, and, it’s your responsibility to keep us safe and make sure we don’t... y’know, die.

“And when the bear got angry, well, I know there was nothing we could do then, we had to kill it, but... I know it was hard for you, and I know you were hurt by it, but I’m upset that you didn’t show the bear respect. She was an adult and probably a mother, and we ate her, yes, and we’re going to keep eating her, and we have her pelt now, but... I was taught that when you hunt an animal, you treat it like it’s part of your family, or one of your skeinmates, because we’re all just trying to live out here, so... y’know, we have to eat, and we have to eat animals, but we can be kind, yeah?”

Also to her surprise, Tel found herself nodding. But she could not find a reason not to speak her thoughts calmly, as foreign as the idea seemed in her head. “I do not know of bears, or of the customs of hunters. The only thing in my mind was to protect you, Kez, to make certain that you and Rys would live. I am glad that I have done this, and I do not think I could have done it in any other way. I understand that my actions invaded those of your duty, but I believe that my own duties meant that I must have. I am glad you are safe, Kez, and I am sorry for the words I used in anger against you.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Me too,” Rys murmured from their side, “I only saw a flash of a vision, and I acted on it in haste, and because of that... I misjudged your abilities, Kez, and I forced you into action, Tel. I’m sorry.”

They both nodded, to the seer’s brightening smile. Then Tel spoke, “But I do not think that I can apologize for performing my duty, or for breaching those customs of yours which I did not know, Kez. I can only promise that I will hold to them in the future,” she felt herself smiling, “and trust your knowledge, should you share it, on bears and other creatures besides.”

Kez flashed a grin, which then hollowed, and turned to a smaller, more reserved smile. “We could honor that promise now?”

Tel nodded. “What would you have me do?”

“Pray for her,” she said. “It’s the hunter’s prayer, for any animals or fish or birds or, really anything that we take the lives of. I can show you how.”

Tel nodded again, and breathed as she gave a long look to Rys’ face, lit by the fire. She thought of ice, of clouds and fog, of words she could not clearly recall and of these impulses that she could see no reason to resist. And then she turned, and bowed her head, just as Kez began to speak, and her own lips began to repeat the words, “Ancestors above, take her into your arms, unburden her from this life of struggle, bring her peace in the skies with you...”