the shadow is mine, so is the valley

Jude was many things. Shaking teeth, blood and bone, chiseled malachite. She was forged from a column of rigid stone, born beneath an alter to a God who said she did not belong. He had said that she would raise the fires of hell and burn down the whole world with the tips of fingers. Yet, Jude was no monster. She was merely a girl; shaking teeth and blood.

But if they had wanted her to be a monster— so be it.

The woman was in a crevice of the ruins of the colosseum, rummaging through herbs and sharper objects that she’s been collecting these past few days. A collection to be admired. She loved it so— cherished it like a child. Jude kept it a secret though; something she normally had to do with her treasures.

---

@ "Madmortigan"

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 The ruins were suited for dwelling. Madmortigan had chosen his den at the center of the Roots, occupying the room that opened like a cavern beneath the mighty tree. 

 He emerged to a welcome and glorious sun. Stretching with a great yawn, he stopped at the river for a drink, surveying the Elkshire territory across the narrow strip of water. It was a curious thing - to be so newly entwined with neighbors.

 Readying himself for a morning patrol, a familiar scent fluttered along the breeze, drawing him towards it. Jude was nearby.

 Like a gently tugged tether, he was silhouetted in the narrow, jagged threshold to her chambers, haloed by the morning sun. “Hello, Jude.” He greeted, warmth encapsulating his tone.

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At the sudden breakage in a voice in the barrier of her ears, she would jolt lightly, spinning on her heel to face whoever it was. She had a feeling that it was him but nonetheless kept her guard up. Her eyes widened, but relaxed, seeing Madmortigan's disposition. Jude covered her collection of bones and hoard of dried skin with her body, shadowing it with her russet fur. 

A soft smile grew on her face, ears planing back against her skull. "Good morning, my Harbinger." Her voice was thick with sleep; he was the first one she talked to since she woke up this morning. Her body had a habit of her waking up just before the sun creased the treeline. She'd do a once-over of his body, clearly looking for any changes in his state. She didn't know why she had done it— it almost felt like instinct. 

Jude watched where he had come from— a small inset in the ruins that managed themselves to render as a hovel or a home for the Harbinger.  "En route for a patrol?" She would ask lightly, her voice the same cadence as a mellowed feather from a bird. "Would you...like some company?" She had debated the words. Jude's face flushed only slightly out of embarrassment— or rather, fear of rejection.

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 “I am indeed.” He replied. “And I would love your company.” Unabashed in that much as he walked further into thin crevice instead of out. 

 The space between them evaporated. Dipping his head down, he greeted her properly with a gentle swipe of his tongue across the edge of her cheek. 

 “How do you fare this morning?”

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Madmortigan's soft words send a chill up Jude's spine, her skin growing with amiable goosebumps as her ears still stayed flat against her head. Her eyes would not leave him as he continued to approach her in the ruined coliseum. She had thought a patrol meant that they were going to leave—

Her wanderlust mind would freeze. Madmortigan's tongue swiped across the surface of her cheek. A gesture that she didn't know how to process. Her mother would often call any signs of intimacy a sin out of wedlock— and they were certainly not married—, but Jude had learned many things outside her convent. Many things that were wrong and futile. Was this one of those things that she had been wrong about?

Jude's words caught in her throat. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I..." she'd begin to say, her mind running a million different directions. "Do I...return the gesture, Madmortigan?" Her voice was gentle and docile. "I've never been kissed before." The word 'kiss' had been foreign to her tongue. It sounded almost unnatural, but she stared up at him with her big doe eyes wondering. 

It was more that she had wanted to kiss him back, but simply begged for approval.

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tw: child abuse

---

 Madmortigan was a tactile priest. Raised to be righteous, he had learned to appreciate the wolven body, the wolven spirit, and the wolven mind. Entrenched in tradition and the expectation of being the Harbinger's oldest son, he was led down a path to certain godly rapture - early and ritualistically. 

 He was fated to be holy, as was every wolf. 

 But Madmortigan recognized a lack of choice in his own upbringing - a narrow tunnel where the future he lived now was the only light. 

 Jude was young. Her mind was a malleable, moldable, machine. Ever the artist, there were lines Madmortigan set to chisel, paths he dared to mark and form, but he left this, these more primal instincts, untouched. He would not sway her that way. 

 The Harbinger took a measured step back, his head dipping in a slight bow. “You may return it, but only if that is what you truly want.”

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When he had pulled away from her, that singular measured step, she'd almost beg him to come back. There was a shift of warmth, fleeting quickly, that she desired endearingly so. How particular for Jude to feel so...entitled to such attention. She'd never experienced something of the sort. It distracted her. Blinded her. 

Madmortigan was a gentleman. Well, at least Jude thought so. He had bowed his head and asked her what she had wanted, and she didn't hesitate. Her feet guided her, light and without a single doubt, towards him. Back to their closeness of before. She almost sighed with relief, but she was consumed with another feeling. Her tongue raked across the bone of his cheek, the same way that he had, and she'd pull away. Her eyes would search his, eagerly awaiting something. Anything.

A smile bloomed on her face as she looked up to him. She felt almost child-like, giddy with a new chew-toy. Jude didn't know what she was expecting him to say— acknowledgment, maybe? Something that made her feel...different. Noticed, looked at, adored...

Her thoughts got ahead of her. That racing, intangible, force of a mind that she so desperately wanted to escape. She wanted to learn more about the world. There were so many things unknown, new, and overall magical for her to learn for the first time over. She wanted Madmortigan to teach her all of them. Right now. All at once. 

But Jude had to be patient.

She was never quite goo at that.

 

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 Her touch was like the feathering of butterfly wings across his cheek, an eager, gentle splendor. 

 Eyes bright, he returned her smile, letting it widen to a joyous channel of mirth. Trotting out of Jude's alcove, he stretched in the sun, giving into a moment of indulgence in the early-morning warmth. 

 As they began their patrol, Madmortigan kept pace with the smaller female, letting their pelts brush with every step. “Have you met our neighbors, the wolves of Nightwalkers and Elkshire?”

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  He responded in the way that she had wanted.  A smile bloomed on his eclipse-colored face, and she found herself mirroring the action. Kisses were good. Jude wanted to continue to make the harbinger smile, continue to look in her direction. She liked the attention that he gave her...it was addictive. And Jude was nothing in her soul, but obsessive. 

 He would be her new fixation.

 Their patrol had begun with her magnetized pelts rubbing against one another. Jude didn't dare move away— why would she? She was afraid this moment was going to slip right through her paws, and never be granted again. She almost missed his words- but that was funny. Jude never missed anything he said. "I can't say I have..." lying to him would be a fatal mistake. Yet it was true— Jude hadn't met their neighbors personally. Curiosity beckoned her mind as she looked up to him. "Why? Has something happened?" Concern was laid in her voice, scared that something harbored ill-intentions towards the Labyrinthians. She had no qualms that her Harbinger couldn't protect them, however.

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 “No, everything has been quite cordial. As you know, we've struck an alliance with Elkshire.”

 Without stopping, he cast his gaze to the side, taking in her profile. “They worship a god named the High Elk.” Madmortigan let his mask slip. “It's ignorant blasphemy, praying to prey. But they have a stronghold within these forests. And their numbers, from what I can smell, are many.” Greater than theirs, at least. 

 He looked at her again, his violet gaze chipped with a flaking edge of vulnerability. “Do you think they can be trusted?”

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 High Elk. Jude wouldn't prelude the inanimate curiosity that drew her to wonder what exactly that may be. Jude particularly enjoyed eating elk for breakfast, so, she wondered how exactly these wolves lived. She didn't imagine them to be...whats the word— normal? She supposed that was the right word for it. But again, Jude wasn't exactly 'normal' herself. 

 Madmortigan's sudden spur of emotion had surprised her even more, however, stunned by the way he'd snap at such views. She supposed he was right though...it was a bit silly to pray to prey. Elk were the natural prey for wolves, and to rip them away from the natural formations of their lives..."Blasphemy," she'd repeat after him. 

 Madmortigan would look towards her. She looked at him. "I think we must." She would say with a heavy heart. "If their numbers are as great as you say..." she'd shrug her shoulders, looking impervious. "I don't want all this—" Jude would beckon to the extent of the territory,  "all this beauty that you forged to disappear because of elk worshippers."

 

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 “You helped forge it too, don't forget.” He would not let those in his midst escape their mistakes, but he refused to let them admonish or erase their successes, too.

 Jude had founded this era of Labyrinthian alongside himself and his siblings. To the Harbinger, dedication was the greatest form of currency. In Jude, he found wealth.

 “But you're right. And that is why we will uphold our alliance.” He paused, halting so he could turn to face his companion properly. “But I have a task for you. I want you to mingle with these elk-folk. Learn more about their ways, learn their opinions. I want you to get past the queen to the subjects beneath her.”

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  Jude was left speechless at his confession of praise. She didn't know what to say, and simply let her ears pin against the back of her head, and cooly look off to her side. Madmortigan was an interesting leader and made her feel undeniably special and important. 

 Jude's ears would perk at the mention of a task. "Oh?" If Madmortigan had requested something from her, who was she not to give it to him in earnest? He had wanted her to infiltrate their hive, collect information, do the digging. "What, may I ask, are you looking for in particular?" Jude would stop before him, too, looking up towards the Harbinger with a twinkle in her eye. 

 There wasn't much that she wouldn't do.

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 He dipped his head low, letting his muzzle graze the edge of her ear. His tongue ghosted across the delicate scrim of flesh, thin enough that her veins were a silhouetted web against an early morning sun.

 “Weaknesses, mostly. And secrets.” He licked her properly then, another long stroke across her cheek. “Do you think you can do that for me?”

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Jude froze in the light of Madmortigan's soft caresses. She was akin to a fawn— seizing the moment of the attention that she garnished from the Harbinger himself. This attention didn't come from an endless point, she knew that...he had reasons, didn't he? The fae liked to think that it was just...his own doing. Yeah, that's what it was: his own doing, kissing someone that he adored. How badly Jude wanted to be adored...it was criminal.

She leaned into his touch. A low mewl bellowed in the back of her throat when his tongue raked across her flesh— it beckoned more. "Yes— Yes I can." It took a insurmountable amount of strength for Jude to pull away from Madmortigan, but she succeeded, feeling a colossal feeling of brash cold against her skin that was occupied his own.

"I will report back soon." Jude began to turn on her heel, but hesitated. Do I? — the mantra of words replayed in her head. She did, turning to face him, and gave him a slight brush of her nose against his muzzle. A simple...good-bye gesture. Before he could react, she fled through their ruins, heat rising to her face.

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