Blood and water ran together, dripping from Fika's battered face as she shifted position under the tree. She cradled her head in her hands, trying not to groan at the stabbing pain shooting through her skull with every peal of thunder. Even the staccato of rain on the leaves, so heavy as to blend into a dull roar, caused a throbbing ache behind her eyes. How had it all happened so quickly?

She gazed at her surroundings slowly, as if in a daze. The collapsed, smoking ruins of the huts, the conspicuous lack of children playing in the deluge, the collection of torn off limbs that fell from the sky every so often. It was all just too much to process at once.

She stared, absent-minded, at the charred bodies of her mentors. She'd been sitting with the Shaman's Circle, laughing and joking around just a spoke earlier. Now they were all dead.

The sharp crack of lightning above her brought her back to reality. She was still in danger.

Fika looked up at the sky with wary eyes. Just clouds for now, dark and menacing as they may be, along with the odd wind spirit. She quickly ran to another tree, her scalp tingling in dread, making sure the canopy shielded her from being spied from above. She needed to make it to the forest.

After another glance at the sky, she set off again. This time though, another violent crack of lightning brought her to her knees. Mud spattered onto her skin and clothes, immediately getting rinsed off in the rain. A diminutive rain spirit giggled at her plight.

She stole a look at the sky and screamed in pain and frustration, before quickly clapping her hands over her mouth. She quietly admonished herself, then ran to the nearest tree.

In her haste, she missed an exposed root and tripped, the stabbing pain this time coming from her ankle. She nearly screamed again, but grit her teeth, the exclamation instead coming out as a drawn-out hiss. At least she was under the tree.

This is pathetic. I need to heal myself, I won't make it like this.

Her pouch was waterproof, sealed with whale fat from the East, but her hands were both drenched and crusty with a mixture of rain, mud and blood. She'd be doing no healing in this state.

Fika was a shaman of the Bloodseeker Shaman's circle however. This was not how she'd go out.

She spat out a few stray strands of hair that had come undone from the bone ornament tying her hair up. She needed a plan.

She took stock of her options, keeping one eye on the sky at all times. Her ankle was hurt, likely twisted, so she wouldn't be making any long treks until she could fix it. Her head still pulsed, she'd obviously gotten hit too hard and some of her wits were knocked loose. Again, the solution was a healing that she could not currently do.

The only advantage she had was information. She knew this entire area like the back of her hand, unlike that blighted beast. She had to leverage that small advantage into a path to survival.

What survival required was a chance to dry off, a chance to heal and a chance to get away. She knew a place. She just had to get there.

A disembodied torso, no limbs or head attached, fell to the ground with a splash. That was as good a sign as any.

After casing the sky once more, she set off, limping heavily in order not to aggravate her already inflamed ankle. The dull ache behind her eyes spurred her on. When she focused on the pain, it distracted her from the broken remnants of her childhood home.

Elder Sara would smack me out of the afterlife if she found out I died because I was too busy falling apart to get to safety.

The thought brought the shadow of a smile to her face. It was quickly extinguished when she passed one of Elder Sara's arms, still wearing her colourful wise woman's bracelet. Fika couldn't find the rest of her.

She managed to hobble her way to her target, a large hollow tree that life spirits loved to converge at for whatever reason. The only way to enter was through a labyrinthine system of roots that opened up in a copse of smaller trees many strides away from the tree itself. Unfortunately, her entrance was filled with muddy, opaque water. Fika sighed, grit her teeth again, and dived in.

She came up with a gasp, treading water inside the hollow now. As expected, countless little life spirits populated the hollow, banishing what would be an oppressive darkness with their soft, green glow.

There was a small outcrop of wood inside the space, just big enough for her to sit on. At least, it had been several years ago, now she could just awkwardly seat half her butt on it, locking her working leg against the opposite side of the trunk to stay above the water.

And there, under the rejuvenating light and muffled beat of rain hitting the tree, she sobbed.

She didn't cry for long, Elder Sara had taught her better than that. Rather wring these first tears out now, then break down when she was safe.

She took stock of her options once more. She was in the hollow, safe for now from the pandemonium outside, but she had no idea how long that would stay true. One could not be too careful with spirit beasts.

Just being under the spirits' light was easing her pain, the throbbing and the aching lessened considerably but indirect healing like this would take time she did not have.

She'd been drenched yet again, this time by the water she'd had to swim through to get inside, so her hands were still wet, slimy and useless. Worse, there was nothing to dry herself off with. She held out hope that her pouch had stayed sealed but it was meant to protect against rain, not full submersion.

She tried producing a flame, but the tip of her finger merely fizzled and let off a bit of steam.

Shit. Okay, I guess we're doing this the hard way.

There was a tiny crack in the trunk that she'd widened as a kid, to be able to see her playmates as she hid from them. Fika put her eye to it as she started alternately blowing air into her hands and shaking them frantically, to dry them off.

Outside, a man clad in animal hides dyed a deep red ran past, screaming obscenities and brandishing his axe at the sky. A fellow tribesman. A fool.

Her judgement was validated a moment later, as a waist thick pillar of lightning swallowed the man with an ear-splitting boom, igniting a fire that was immediately put out by the rain and leaving after images in Fika's eyes. That terrifying bird was still overhead. The unnamed tribesman's smoking corpse, what little had survived, fell to the ground with a splash, joining the rest of the Shaman's Circle. Little rain spirits and mischief sprites danced around the remains. The only sound in the air was the slap of droplets against the mud and leaves.

The spirit beast had arrived out of nowhere, diving suddenly out of the clouds just after a tribemeet, while everyone was relaxed and off-guard. It was a gigantic bird, some sort of raptor much larger than the dire hawks that sometimes snatched small children.

The beast had aimed straight for the centre, right at the lounging shamans. After grabbing two in its wicked talons, it flew back up, dropped them, then began wantonly slinging man-sized bolts of lightning at anything moving. From its vantage in the sky, it could see them all. Those who ran off were killed first, the predator chasing them down and tearing them apart with its beak. Those who were a bit slower off the mark got roasted where they stood. Almost lazily, it slaughtered people she'd known since birth, bringing down the apocalypse on the Bloodseekers. The fate of the weak.

As the Bloodseekers' only surviving shaman, it was her duty to stop things like this in their tracks. She knew she was the only one who could fight back. She also knew she was utterly, hopelessly outclassed.

She hadn't even done any battle, the bruises on her face were from getting hit in the rush to get under shelter, as much good as that did. All the huts were blasted ruins now.

A tall, well-muscled man with long white hair and cloud-grey eyes, wearing furs and strange leather bottoms, strode into the clearing where her tribe used to hold meetings. He looked around at the drenched, desolate remains of their settlement with a disinterested gaze, flicking some wet hair out of his face, then called out to the sky.

"Stormbird! I think we're done here."

Ah. A Marked. Shit.

Which meant the bird was a totem.

She needed to leave. Now.

A piercing caw responded as the gigantic bird spirit dove towards the ground, pulling up just in front of the man and landing heavily, making the ground slightly rumble. The bird absolutely dwarfed the stranger. At least four times his height and stuffed to bursting with lean muscle, it was built to be an apex predator. Its blue and grey plumage crackled with lightning every so often, small arcs appearing between its spear-like talons. An oddly sweet, sharp scent filled the air.

Just the totem's presence in the human realm meant that the man, who presumably controlled it, was already far above Fika in power. But she had seen Marked before. The strongest Touched could even go toe to toe with one. This man was clearly a level beyond.

The Six are beginning to wake. Skyfather save us.

His totem's sheer size and overwhelming power meant he must have been Marked by one of the original gods. Fika was not in the business of picking fights she could not win and anything such powerful spirits had something to do with was something that she actively avoided.

The massive beast swung its head around with a critical eye, water sluicing off the end of its razor-sharp beak. Marked couldn't usually see spirits but their totems could. And sprites only ever stayed in one place when humans were around. There weren't many, but they should have all left. Fika's heart started beating in her throat. The bird made a grating sound that probably would have been a chirp if it wasn't as tall as the trees ringing the settlement.

"There's no one left," the man said dismissively. "Spirits are always agitated."

Her hiding place was rapidly feeling less and less safe. She'd have to leave before she was discovered. But without her tribe along with a means of drying off, she'd quickly fall sick. Not to mention she still could not heal herself.

One life-threatening issue at a time. I have to at least try.

With shaking hands, equal parts terror and cold, she took her pipe out of her pouch and checked in the herbs under it. Soaked through. She sighed and packed a bowl anyway. Fika brought it to her mouth and tried to light a small flame, despite the wet herbs. Said finger could only produce a weak, flickering flame that quickly guttered out. She sighed once more and packed everything back in her pouch.

Okay, that's a bust. If I cannot rely on myself, I must trust the spirits. Skyfather help me, next I'll be relying on almost-men.

Spirits always looked more favourably on Touched, giving them aid from time to time, as opposed to the utter disinterest and occasional impish tricks they usually played on regular people.

Fika had a limited field of view within the tree but she could see several rain spirits frolicking in the downpour, ominous death spirits congregating around the corpses of her people, diaphanous wind spirits riding the air currents and-- there! A mischief sprite was staring directly at her.

She slowly waved from within the hollow. The shimmering spirit, shaped like a small child the size of a dog, grew a brilliant smile and waved back with excitement, jumping up and down in place.

Please understand me.

She pointed at the bird and the man, then covered her eyes. The spirit nodded enthusiastically and pointed at them.

They disappeared.

"Hmm. I just felt something."

Shit.

Fika heard the massive bird take flight instantly.

She frantically shook her head and pointed at herself, covering her eyes repeatedly. The mischief sprite laughed, clutching its small gut in mirth. It pointed at her this time and as it did, the raptor appeared directly in front of her, mid-dive. She froze.

With an rush of air and the crack of fracturing wood, the bird physically ripped the top half of the tree off, exposing the hollow inside.

"It seems you were right, girl. Looks like there's a rodent about."

The man came over and looked inside the hollow himself. The bird made that rough chirp again as they both stood above it, the ground slightly trembling each time Stormbird shifted her weight.

That blighted sprite nearly got me killed on purpose!

Lesser spirits were not allowed to mess with Marked in any way. It's why Stormbird was initially suspicious, as mischief sprites never stick around for Marked. Thus when they'd disappeared, they hadn't been affected by the roguish spirit. It had simply made her unable to see them. However, it had evidently decided to help when it saw its plan fail. Fika was still sitting within the hollow, invisible to their senses.

She just had to hope the sprite's idea of "funny" involved her passing right under the noses of the big, powerful shaman and his beast. She tried to convince herself that it would find that more appealing the alternative.

Either way, the man had felt the sprite flex its power. She was trapped until they moved.

Luckily, the bird was leaning over the hole, so the rain didn't give her away. The sharp smell of lightning was overpowering. Fika just sat in complete stillness, praying to every Great Spirit she knew.

"There's a hole down there. Someone was probably hiding in here until the sprite gave it away. They can't be far, find the entrance."

The bird stared holes into the spot Fika was in, its instincts tingling but seemingly for no reason.

"Come on, girl, we can't let them get away."

With a huff, the beast took flight. The man glanced back at the hollow one last time, then walked off in the direction of the entrance to the hollow.

Fika was shaking. Uncontrollably.

GET IT TOGETHER. This is my chance!

She slapped herself in the face, regretted it after her head injury made itself known once again and began slowly standing up.

She knew she couldn't go out the way she came in. Luckily, a new egress point had just made itself available. She grabbed the lip of the broken off trunk and pulled herself out. It was much harder when she couldn't see her hands or body.

Falling unceremoniously to the ground, she stared into the clouds for a moment, rain stinging her eyes. This was it. If they caught up with her now, she would be dead.

Pulling herself together, she stood up slowly. Her head still hurt. Her leg was still lame. She was dirty, beat-up and completely powerless without her herbs and flame. But she was alive.

Fika began limping her way in the opposite direction the dangerous duo had went. Her foot dragged in the mud but the tracks were quickly hidden by the torrential rains. Like this, she slunk away in defeat from her own home.

Former home.

She didn't look back.