Vortex dare not use their newfound abilities to dash back to the cottage. The siren might not have been hurt during the battle, but trying the maneuvers outside of it when the last of her healing had been drained was too dangerous. Vortex had to rely on their own heart pounding, aching and crying out for some form of rest. Fortunately, they had passed by the same honeydew patch the werewolf frequents, making quick work to grab one fresh from the vine, holding it tightly in her mouth.
Vortex had not gone back to Priestess’s home after the night of the battle. All that was told was that urgent, intensive care was needed, and gathered the Beast Sanctuary’s best marine healers. The werewolf couldn’t muster the guts to go inside anyways; the aftermath images clung to the brain like saran wrap. The siren looked so pale, using most of her power to heal so the battle could be won. The long, webby ears had drooped down and remained unresponsive during the run back. All that could be done was wait for the news.
Vortex had made the mistake of passing too close to the village where the town was in the midst of rebuilding in the aftermath. However, Mekra was the only one that sensed their hulking presence, and sought to treat the burns all over their body. Going back to school life in the mornings meant plenty of jackets, long pants, and cotton gloves.
Currently, toe claws dig into the squishy yet firm dirt, creating small indents. Long, pointy ears are pushed back and lowered, faint whining bubbling in the back of the werewolf’s throat. A normally harrowing large presence has shrunk into a curled ball of brown fur. Vortex takes a moment to stare at their hands- a strange, abominable combination of wolf and human. Stuck as a horrid in-between.The form does not exactly have paw pads contrary to popular belief (and media). If anything, the cushion only partially swelled up to provide traction and protection for running. There were still some aspects of it that remained human. Vortex sighs, looking down at the rest of the cursed body.
Really, what was that new form about? When the lanky monster had taken hold of Gutripper, there was a rush of power pumping inside. The sword had managed to transform lanky, gangly arms into a hue of teal fur, tinted around the hands and arms like they were fluffy gloves. Some had appeared to thicken around her entire lower legs, glowing furiously against the lightning. For as close as the sheer power of the condensed gas had gotten, she did not feel it brush close to self-electrocuting. Was it some strange rubber fur that she was embedded with? During combat, the changes lasted long enough for the final blow, but did fade in the aftermath. When she went to stroke her forearms, the skin held no indication of physical change; it was the same old dark chestnut brown fur. The weapon had dropped where the Headless Horseman perished from the final attack. Looking off into the distance on the right, Vortex could make out the steep hill with Gutripper at the top. In a way, it was a tombstone marker. Something about the weapon was mesmerizing. But what was it? Was it an animalistic desire to shed blood again? Granted, neither of the two men had any blood to shed, but the adrenaline during and shortly after that fight emulated a successful hunt. Faint whispers echo in Vortex’s head.
She shook her head, refusing to listen. Gutripper stood tall where the amalgamation mist had taken over that night, the mist receding and protruding like ocean waves. The escape was too close of a call. Had she not outrun it, Vortex was afraid of the animal coming out. The siren was dying- what would have happened if the beast breathed in the smell of metallic blood? A sharp, icy shiver struck her tall spine. She continues to stare off at the weapon in the distance. What now? It can’t just stay there- what if someone else comes to claim the power? What if it revives the Headless Horseman? Even worse… What if the mist absorbed it?
Making up her mind, Vortex finishes off the last bit of honey dew, licking her chops and standing up off the ground. Taking a moment to stretch her legs and arms out, the werewolf gears up her legs before taking off. Two long legs smack the ground with each step, jogging over the grassy mounds. Though she could take off on all fours, Vortex refuses to. It reminds her of the situation she’s in. Besides, with her added height in this form, a few cycles of strides was equivalent to ten seconds of full sprinting for a well-trained athlete. She focuses on the glinting shimmer of the sword, closing the gap bit by bit.
The sight of the village off to the side makes her heart heavy. Through some sort of miracle, no one was killed by the raid. No grandparents, no toddlers, no children- despite the wild fire, the community stood strong. It may be horrible to think like this, but it does raise suspicions inside the werewolf’s head. You would think seasoned pillagers such as the dullahan and company would take down at least a handful of people. Were there magical entities in there that Vortex hadn’t noticed prior? She doesn’t pick up on the scent of any essence- just soot, burnt wood, and ash. It was fishy…
After nearly stumbling over a boulder, Vortex decides to put that train of thought on the back burner. What matters is that the humans were okay, and would live to tell the tale. What a tale that would be a few generations; a werewolf saving the day from a haunted undead killer? Such is the fairy tale life. The sword was just a bit up ahead. Vortex exerts extra effort to climb the steep incline, making a conscious effort to push forward. With just a handful of more steps, Vortex reaches the top. Eyes stop to stare at the weapon mere meters away. The amount of pain and death this one piece of metal caused at the hands of the Headless Horseman would be able to fill an Olympic pool. More than that, perhaps. Despite being a weapon of mass destruction, there was… no aura of evil around it. It was an eerie stillness of its own.
Slowly, Vortex approaches the blade. Gutripper’s side reflects the lanky figure in the metal. Canine snout became warped when taking a closer look. Serrated edges previously had a permanent red accent to it; now, it appears like cracked, faded blood. The faint whisper of the scent of copper remains- hard to believe this was the same blade that dealt the final blow.
“You’re back,” a voice echoes out, startling the werewolf a bit. Vortex flinches, ears twisting in the direction of said voice. “Down here,” it says again. The werewolf tilts downwards.
“Am I safe to assume you’ve returned to wield me?” Gutripper said. For a blade, it is strangely formal about being repossessed. The werewolf kneels down to examine closely. It sounds like the source is coming from the hilt. She’s unsure how to hold a conversation with it- all of this was so bizarre. “Er- something like that,” Vortex starts, lowering to a squat. “I have some questions first.” While unable to see it, its metaphorical eyebrows raise. “Questions? Usually questions are reserved for later- or never, in my case.” The metal reverberates, acting like a sigh. “Okay. What is it that you ask of me?” Taking a deep breath in, Vortex starts questioning. “Why did you speak to me when I had you in my hands? Both times.” The first was when Vortex stole the sword away from The Centullahan; she never understood how that was possible. Neither the siren nor the Horseless Headman could hear what they had said. The sword fell silent, taking a few seconds to think. “I don’t know- it sort of happens when someone with immense power holds on to me. I’ve made lesser men go mad.” Vortex chuckles; “fortunate for me, I’m a greater woman,” she remarks.
“Not what I was looking for, but I’ll take what I can get. Second question: why are you still standing?” The sword was quick to give Vortex an answer. “I was forged from a half man, half animal who drew their own blood to infuse in my metal. I carry their memories and glory; it’ll take more for me to dissolve from magical blasts.” Vortex nods, taking in the new information. Half-man, half-animal- that can be anyone. The Beastial Barrier had at least three quarters of folks in there that match that description. “Do you remember his name?” The sword rattles again, as if saying no. “He’s most likely dead. I was forged over two hundred years ago.” Two hundred years is a long time, she reckons- remembering it must be hard.
“Final question: what will you do now?” Gutripper didn’t seem to understand. It tilted over as if cocking their ‘head’. “What do you mean? Anyone who has bested my previous master has always taken me as their new weapon. Isn’t that why you’re here?” Vortex thought to herself. What would she do with them? She doesn’t know how to wield a sword, much less how to control these new found lightning powers. She has spasms from launching them! “I’m taking you back to Priestess. If anyone knows what to do with you, it might be her.” Vortex stood back up, hunching slightly out of habit. She reaches out to the sword, but hesitates in the few centimeters left in the space. Was this a good idea? The weapon is probably infused with Headless Horseman’s leftover power. If they couldn’t be struck down, who’s to say they won’t try to corrupt her mind?
Wait.
“Why did my fur change when you were in my hands?”
Gutripper responds simply: “I alter the form of whoever wields me.”
She’ll have to make it to Priestess in time to purify any potential evil it transfers.
Grabbing onto the hilt, she wiggles the end of the sword briefly out of the ground. With a strong pull, Vortex yanks Gutripper out of the ground, wielding it high over her head triumphantly. Gazing over the hills, she can see the village that she had saved; some were still tending to wounds and running errands for the injured. She would normally not be able to see from such a distance in her human form- not even with her glasses. Sighing, she lowers the sword, turning to jog back to the Priestess's cabin.
It takes a bit since she was jogging mildly, but soon, she’s face to face with the spiritual woman’s door. Knocking three times, Vortex barks out “it’s me” and waits. A second later, it opens to reveal Priestess.
This woman was a half-animal, half-human herself- not fully minotaur but not quite centaur. She was tall, with dark black fur. Her eyes were pure white, glimmering on their own. She was decorated with a nose-ear piercing, the gold glinting from the inside fireside light. Her robes were a deep purple, covering her from head to toe like a toga. Her half-animal was that of a Rocky Mountain Elk. Her antlers added extra height- it was hard to not be startled at the kind of aura she carries.
“Come in,” Priestess says, her thick Haitian accent filling the air. “I have been waiting. The siren you brought in a few days ago has stabilized. It took a good fraction of the village’s effort, but she’s resting by the tablet lake.” Vortex sighed in relief. Thank goodness they were okay. “She was bleeding out fast- I’m grateful you were faster,” Priestess mentions. Vortex brings her free hand up to look at, flexing her fingers.
Just what was all that lightning? She had done her best to recreate it after the fight, but nothing came out. Not even the zapping that she did when she sprinted. What little she was able to achieve, again, caused muscle spasms.
“I don’t know how I did it, if I’m honest,” she admits, walking towards the dining table. She places Gutripper down on the wooden table, the soft clank of leather echoing. Priestess comes around to stand beside where Vortex stands, rubbing her back in circles with one hand.
“May I have a look at the sword?” she asks, the werewolf nodding and moving off to the side. Priestess picks Gutripper up, twisting and turning the blade around. She squints, lip furling. Her glowing all-white eyes close for a brief moment, taking a deep breath in, and then back out.
“There is no evil in this sword. No matter how much I search, no matter how deep I focus…there’s no malice. It seems you’ve purged this weapon of the dullahan’s presence.” Priestess takes great care to place the sword back down on her table. The spiritual elk-lady continues- “I recognize this type of sword. It’s no ordinary cursed blade- it’s a transformative weapon.” Vortex cocks her head, ears flopping slightly with the movement. “It alters its form based on who’s wielding it.”
The teal-furred werewolf grumbles, not happy with the answer. “So why didn’t it change when I was swinging it around? It was practically a butter knife in my hand.” That much was true- Vortex’s stature and build made Gutripper, while strong and respected in fear for what it can do, feel more at home as a whittling tool.
“It might be because it didn’t have enough time to bond with you.” Priestess adds. “I’m not entirely certain of its capabilities. You’d need to go to the Barrier’s Blacksmith if you want to know more.” That made Vortex grit her teeth and growl a bit under her breath. “Garriz.” Now that was a visit she wasn’t looking forward to for sure. The minotaur was more reclusive, and didn’t take kindly to her residence in the Beastial Barrier. Why? She doesn’t know- but she thinks he has a grudge against werewolves specifically.
“You both have your differences, but you must build bridges, not moats.” Deciding that this conversation won’t go anywhere unless Priestess shows Vortex the door, she steps towards the entry point and opens it. “But until then, would you like to see how your friend is doing? She did ask me your whereabouts as soon as she was conscious.” Now that got the wolf’s attention. Vortex perked up in curiosity. “She… wanted to know where I was?” Vortex asks, processing this newfound information. Was the fallen siren worried for her wellbeing?
While it was true that she had healed the wolf during battle, Vortex was sure that it was only because she was her best bet to defeat the trio. Especially after witnessing such a grotesque fusion of bodies. She was certain that the mermaid would recover from her wounds and try to find a way back home without much of a second thought. But now, now that she knew there was concern laced in the mix, the least she could do was go over to the tablet lake.
Priestess chuckles, opening the door wider. “Wouldn’t want to keep the lady waiting. Hurry- and take that sword with you. You’ll still need to see Garriz. Tell him I said hello for me, please.”
Vortex grunts in acknowledgement, grabbing the sword off of the table and walking to the exit. Whether she likes it or not, that minotaur might have more answers. She has to at least. Trekking off to the tablet lake west of Priestess’s cabin, Vortex allows her thoughts to be heard. With the siren in such rough shape, would she even recognize her? Scratch that, does Vortex want her to recognize the face? This world was incredibly harsh and scary- never mind being an alien planet from the siren’s perspective. Vortex was an oddity; a rarity, a legend that shouldn’t exist in the first place. And yet, the curse was still cast on her. Holding her free hand to the mound of fur that covered her chest, she rests it against where her heart is supposed to be. The stone that she picked up after the Headless Horseman’s defeat… it erupted out of his chest. Whispers of green slither through the inner cracks of the gem. If she focused enough, she could hear a soft hum come from the rock itself. It might have not been the best idea to store the stone so deeply within her fur, but it was the only place where she could put it. Last she knew, she wasn’t a rock munching mutt. The Barrier’s villagers didn’t need more reason to put a magical muzzle on her.
“You seem troubled.” Ah. There it is again. Gutripper’s voice broke her train of thought. She places the gem back inside her coat, making a mental note to get a new pouch when she’s back at the nightly market. “Is it the one you were protecting?” Vortex squints at the metal in her hand. She brings it up to eye-level. “Weren’t you the one trying to kill us not even days before? Why are you acting so concerned now?” she growled out. While just a sword, it felt as if it was trying to avoid looking at the werewolf. “That was him using me. I do not move on my own- I cannot act unless someone wills me to,” it reasoned. Despite that, her fur was still bristling a bit at its sudden change in character. “What will it take for you to change your mind?” it asks.
Before she knew it, she was standing at the outskirts of the tablet lake. From where she’s standing, she can see the siren up ahead. Uncertainty returned to her mind; was this really a good idea? Vortex can’t show her face- she can’t let herself be known. Not fully.
“You alter based on who bonds with you, right?” Vortex inquires. The metal rattled slightly, similar to a hum. “Yes. It’s how my last master created this form.” This next question is a long shot, but Vortex wants to try.
“Can you alter my appearance, too?” Vortex had time to formulate theories during the recovery period. She noticed that her form was altered to create teal fur gloves and boots, but only after the lightning power had shown itself. Was it because of Gutripper? The fire did condense down to electricity. “It doesn’t need to be physical. Just… some armor, maybe? You are a sentient weapon and everything.”
Gutripper, if it could, looks up at Vortex. “Armor like what? I can give you a defining helmet if that’s what you need. The Headless Horseman demanded that I give him the animal of swift winds.” The horse was Gutripper’s doing? There appears to be more to this sword than she had thought…
“A helmet will do. Just be sure that it hides my face well.” Gutripper stills for a moment, before glowing with a strong magical energy. Beams of light blue pours out of steel, wrapping and encasing Vortex’s head. Soon, the light manifests into a sturdy helmet. Vortex takes a moment to let the weight settle, using the lifted Gutripper as a makeshift mirror.
The helmet was practical, if a bit flashy. It had slots open for her ears to pass through, yet armored the sides of it so she can still retain her super hearing. Three spikes adorned her lower jaw- two on each respective side of her snout, and one at her chin. Cartoonish zig zags of what she assumes to be teeth separate parts of the armor, yet connect them through magical magnetic bindings. Her neck was now well protected- the plating reminded Vortex that of the ones of the dragons from fairy tales. It looks like Gutripper was paying attention to her previous helmet’s look. This one appeared and felt exponentially better. The back of her helmet was now heavier; she lifted her free hand to touch the source of the weight. “You gave me ram horns?” she asks. “When will I need that?”
“In case you ever need to gouge an enemy of yours.”
Okay, a bit too hardcore for her liking. The memories of many fallen wild deer and boar she had consumed when the nights of transformation became too much were coming back. Vortex prays to whichever deities will listen that it won’t have to come to that.
“I guess I can see your point. Thank you again, Gutripper.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t call me that name. If I am to serve under you… then I want a different title. No more ‘Gutripper’.” For a sentient weapon, it certainly has more agency than she thought. “Do you want to choose your own name?” she offers. Gutripper stays silent, contemplating its answer. “You pick. I do not care so long as it is something else.” it finally spits back. The werewolf shrugs. “Suit yourself. Give me some time, though- I need to introduce myself to the fallen one.” Mustering up a deep breath in, she lets it out and emerges from the bushes and trees of the woods. “Hey! You’re okay!” Vortex calls out, speed-walking to the edge of the tablet lake where the siren resided.
The fallen siren sat patiently, hands folded together, staring quietly at her with wide, curious eyes, yet not quite making exact eye contact with her. She doesn’t really say anything- just tilts her head and looks Vortex up and down from where she was. Vortex ponders this; her height might make things more difficult. She was abnormally large in werewolf standards. Hunching down, she continues to walk over to the fallen siren, crouching until she comes to be less than a meter apart from each other. Vortex lays Gutripper down gently on the dewy grass with it still in her grasp. She adjusts her position so she’s sitting like a dog. If she can look friendlier, she might have a better chance at getting the siren to open up.
Still, said siren doesn’t say much. She reaches out for a moment, but stops just as soon as she makes the movement, and looks away, as though embarrassed, all without making a single sound. If Vortex hadn’t heard her speak the first time they’d met, she would’ve assumed the siren was entirely mute. She concludes that this might mean she’ll need to initiate conversation first. Oh well- those public speaking clubs she does for school are being put to work.
“I heard you were worried about me once you woke up. Strange of you to be pushed so far, yet still wonder my whereabouts. I’m right here, safe and sound. Looks like you made it out okay too.” Vortex can at least rely on her canine charm to pull this off. “How are you holding up? Anything hurting? Do you need anything?”
“Ah...um…” The siren fidgets in place. “I’m- I’m fine. Sorry- I’m still a little bit sore, but I think I’m fine now. The, um...the healer I saw, they...they told me to come here. Told me the water would help speed up the healing.” Vortex looks out to the tablet lake itself. “Oh yeah. This lake does have healing properties- especially with the fish that live here. Bioluminescence has more than glow, go figure. I’ve had my fair share of drinking the freshwater. The healer’s name is Priestess, by the way. I’m not sure if she told you that.” “...Priestess…? Like, just Priestess? As in, like a profession? Well...I knew this one guy...wait, sorry, not the point…” The siren still seems to have trouble looking directly at Vortex, seeming to look everywhere else- the lake, the ground, the sky, the trees, the lake again… the werewolf assumes that it must be difficult to look at her. She is a rather intimidating beast, after all.
“We name things rather wildly down here on Earth. Some kids are named ‘Ash’ like the ashes from a leftover fire. I’m certain there’s a princess in one of our fairy tales- not the point.” Vortex furiously shakes her head to stay on topic. “I never gave it much thought on why she’s called Priestess. Maybe she has a name and doesn’t want to tell anyone, much less me. I don’t blame her… taking me in was a dangerous move. Most of the people here in the barrier keep her at an arm’s distance now.”
The siren blinks at her, not saying anything, then shakes her head. “Uh, speaking of names...I never got yours. You’ve saved my life multiple times now. Who are you?” Vortex perks up at that. How did she not notice before? The fallen siren must have not known how to approach her because she didn’t even know her name! “Right,” she sheepishly says, scratching her helmet’s back. “The name’s Vortex. I’m…” she pauses, trying to find her words. Is it for the best that she knows? Heaven knows where she’s from. The least she could know is what she truly is.
“... a werewolf. Down here, that means a… a human who transforms into a wolf when the full moon is out.” Luck would have her be a werewolf variant that was not only inflicted via a curse, but transforms into a werewolf regardless of the moon’s phase. If there was a sliver out, it would transform her just a sliver. Half-moon? Half-werewolf. So on and so forth. She couldn’t bear to look at the siren. With wherever she came from, it could be a horror-filled burden to know.
Instead, the siren’s eyes light up. She stands up (in her case, straightens up) and leans forward eagerly. “Did you say the moon makes you transform? Luna herself??? That’s incredible! I’ve heard of werewolves from echoes of research, but never did I think it’d be real! Oh, everyone back home will be delighted to hear about this!” The fallen siren is now twirling in circles, swimming in the air. That brought on so many questions for the werewolf, unsure of which one to start with. “But… wait a minute… you don’t look like a werewolf. Oh, that doesn’t matter-!” One of Vortex’s eyebrows shoots up to her hair- er, furhawk line. What does she mean she doesn’t look like one!? Sure she’s got the helmet, but the rest of her is clear to see!
Regardless, objecting to that would fall on deaf ears. The siren was still swirling around with glee at the newfound discovery.
“Oh, blessed planets, this is so exciting!! I can’t wait to get back and tell everyone about what...I’ve…” The siren’s voice starts to fall flat as she slowly remembers her predicament- then, she lowers her head sadly. “...Oh…I can’t...”
Now that got Vortex’s attention. She scoots a few feet closer from her sitting position, keeping the sharp ram horns in mind so she doesn’t accidentally hurt her acquaintance trying to offer comfort. “If you don’t mind me asking… how did you get here?”
“...I was looking at this planet. I was standing on the observation deck, admiring the view. I’d never seen anything so blue. And as I was caught staring there, someone pushed me from behind and I fell from the deck, into the atmosphere. Then, the next thing I know, I was falling through the sky, and then you caught me, and it all went to pieces…”
Vortex looks up at the aforementioned sky. Just like before, the spot where the siren had crashed into the atmosphere left a still comical glass crack up there. Vortex is not sure if the stratosphere’s ozone layer might be leaking into the troposphere like that- if that were the case, the planet may have more trouble on their hands than before. She stares at the grass, trying her best to rack up something that can help the siren cheer up. A light bulb goes off, and she digs through her satchel to grab on to it. Once she has a grip, she pulls it out and double checks there’s no fur strands on it.
“I know it’s not much, but I have a honeydew. They’re enchanted to heal wounds and bring a calmer mind. Here, take it.” She passes off the small melon to the siren, placing it in her hands. From that exchange alone, Vortex can see the sheer size difference. Her hand could fully wrap around the siren’s torso if she wanted to. “You know… I never got your name, either.”
The siren is quiet for a moment, taking a tiny bite of the melon. Then, after chewing for a little bit and swallowing, she responds. “Nebula. My name is Nebula. Just Nebula, just how Priestess is...just Priestess.”
“... you’re not supposed to eat the rind of the melon.” That was a bit disturbing to witness for Vortex. Then again, the siren- Nebula- doesn’t know about fruits on this planet. “But you did bite through it like taffy, so I guess it’s not all that bad.” That was enough pleasantries for the time being. Now Vortex needs to sniff out for answers. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?” The siren looks at her, still not making eye contact, but nods all the same.
“Where do you come from? I hadn’t seen any news about an asteroid or UTO coming to orbit in recent nights.”
“I’m from the planet Chelonia. It’s...it’s, um...it’s shaped like...what’s the English word…? ...Slowshells? That’s what it translates to literally…they live in the sea…but there are many types of them…some slowshells can’t even go in water- please tell me you understand what I’m talking about...” Vortex puts her brain to work. If there’s one thing she’s proud of, it’s her connecting the pieces in social conversations. “Hermit crabs…? Wait, no- turtles!?”
“THAT’S THE RYCKECH! (RYE-KEH)” Vortex wasn’t sure what in the world she heard come out of Nebula’s mouth, but based on the inflection, she got it right. “A gliding turtle planet traveling around the galaxy… I’ve heard that before, but only from religious conspiracy theorists. A broken clock is right twice a day, I suppose.” She taps her foot, getting back into her thoughts. The next question should be about…
“Why were your people so close to our planet?”
“We travel a lot. We go between the planets in the solar system for many reasons: trading, politics, sports events, or just for fun. Wherever I visit, I collect a moonstone from the planet- they’re very special to me. Luna is very sacred to us, the Cheloni merfolk.” Vortex nods and takes in what Nebula says. If that’s the case, then there might be more to this graze of chance. If she had to guess, the Cheloni people must have information about a rare phenomenon that Luna goes through. That’s the only reason she can see fitting enough to pass through. Now, for the hard question…
“How long does Chelonia stay during these travels?”
“That depends on why we visit, mostly. We’re here to honor Luna and her special powers here on your planet. She’s one of a kind- to manipulate the big blue you call home’s movement, like a dance of sorts.” Nebula explains, prattling off into a mini-lecture. “There’s a legend in our home that your moon was once a goddess that had transformed to watch over her lover, who had died at sea in her mission to feed her village. It’s said that the tides move the way they do either to dance with them, or to reach out to the skies to be reunited. It’s quite the story if you want to know more.” Vortex nods, incredibly invested in knowing more about the story. But… “That didn’t tell me how long Chelonia will be here.”
Nebula looks away in embarrassment, surprised she got carried away at a time like this. “Oh, haha- right. I think we’re here for around… two heksuhn’db.” Vortex stared blankly, then cocked her head like a confused puppy. “Oh, uh-” Nebula says, “- the common time measurement here is in the Gregorian calendar. That would be around… I think eight months?”
“You think? That’s not reassuring,” Vortex snips, her lips pulled into a grimace.
“Translating time measurements is not easy! It was a miracle I could learn your pile-up language you call English!”
“Okay, that’s fair,” she says, putting her hands up defensively. “I’ll give you that. It’s not easy- my first language is Spanish, so I get it.”
“... There's...there's more?” Nebula squeaks in disbelief.
The werewolf counts off a few she knows on her hand, then curls her hand inwards when her mind drifts to the world.
“... about hundreds more, give or take?” Vortex answers, uncertainty pitching her voice higher.
Nebula blinks, and then gives a discouraged smile. “W-well...on the plus side, you’ve beaten the record for most languages I’ve seen spoken on a planet- which previously belonged to what you call Jupiter, with about 75 languages, including regional dialects! Yaaayyyy…!” Vortex didn’t need her super senses to tell that Nebula was downright terrified at how many ways humans can speak. Confirming life on Jupiter should have shocked her more, yet she’s speaking to a siren from outer space.
Nevertheless, she needs both of them to get back on topic- the sun was bound to be coming up in a few hours. Her future talk with Garriz wasn’t lost on her mind. Last question… she has to make it count.
“Do you know how you can get back home?”
The siren opens her mouth to answer, but stops. She looks down, not saying anything, trying to come up with something, anything, but silence hangs in the air. Vortex feels the melancholy set in, the air becoming thicker with it. She’s not sure how to reassure the siren- what could Vortex possibly do to bring comfort to this situation?
“I’m sure you can’t… stay here. You’ve got a family back home probably worried sick for you,” she mindlessly adds, trying to keep the space occupied with sound. Suddenly, she feels a pulsing power come from her waist pouch Wiggling her hand through it, she finds that the stone left behind by the Headless Horseman was glowing brightly. It caught both of their eyes- instead of its sickly green, it permeated with an ethereal emerald hue. The inside was swirling and wriggling about. It can’t be the soul of the dullahan. Gutri- the blade said it no longer serves him. “What is this?” “Where did you…” Nebula started, reaching out to touch the stone. “How did you find a moonstone so far out here?” This is what a moonstone looks like? Vortex was sure it would look more naturalistic than whatever this was.
“That headless man dropped it when his body was turned to dust. Are you telling me that this is a moonstone?” How could something as beautiful as this stone come from the depths of such a vile, unapologetic monster like that? Not only that, but… the moonstone felt calming. Like it was emanating healing pulses, clearing her senses. She doesn’t hear that nagging voice in the back of her head demanding she hunt for wild, raw meat. No desire to mark territory wherever she goes. No need to howl out. It was… nice.
That trance was broken by Nebula’s voice. “This kind of power is one I’ve seen come straight from the slowshell’s most powerful lake- in front of the tallest tree! We use them to direct our planet where we need to go, no matter if it's a new moon or planet. It guides us- okay okay, maybe we can get me back home after all!!!”
“You- you’ll need to explain to me how this works on the way to Garriz. I’m running out of moonlight.” Vortex swiftly glanced at the moon, starting to sweat bullets. She has to return to her human world. Nebula reels in her excitement for a brief moment to nod, her webbed ears bouncing up and down with the movement. “Right! Er… if you don’t mind me asking, who is this… Gerritz?”
“Garriz. He’s the local blacksmith. I still need to know more about the weapon that rider left behind.” She reaches over to grab the blade’s hilt, still not adjusted to its small size. “How to get ‘bonded’ to it, what I should do with it- that sort of thing,” Vortex elaborates, standing up to a slouch. “I have to get going. Will you come with me?” The werewolf did not add that she was nervous about facing him. Granted, she is taller than him by a foot or two, the manner in which he carries himself intimidates her all the same. Having someone else there might work out. Maybe. “Well… I’d rather not be alone right now. Where are we headed to?” Nebula says, ‘swimming’ forward to Vortex’s side.
“Off to the east. Follow me. I do want to ask, how is it that you can float like that?”
“Oh! My teachers explained to me that this is possible through something called ‘gravitational pull’...”
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