Pinay: Remains

[King Ghidorah]

***

Following a brief search - she'd used the burned remains of the fallen forest titan that had once sheltered her people's campgrounds as a landmark - the Oskinder located the remains of her clan's district beneath the mounds of silken ash that filled the clearing. Several hours of mechanically persistent excavation later,  she unearthed what was left of their armory. Most of it was destroyed beyond repair, but after half a night spent rooting around Pinay managed to scavenge a serviceable glaive, and a near-complete set of leather armor. 

When Mothra returned, it found its erstwhile patient kneeling on the floor of the hut with a cold, manic glint in her eye, covered from head to toe in soot as she ran her hands over a ruined leather cuirass; The boiled and molded plates of hardened hide were gray and brittle from their long soak in the hot ashes. Pinay worked by the moonlight streaming in through the chimney-hole in the stick-and-adobe ceiling, aided by her naturally-excellent night-vision as she coaxed the armor back to soundness through subtle acts of sorcery.

The prime's compound eyes glittered, taking in the blackened polearm propped in the corner and the half-repaired assembly of leather mail: greaves and boots, gauntlets, pauldrons and breastplate laid out upon the floor. Struck by curiosity and foreboding, it reached out with its mind and brushed the surface of the elf's thoughts.

Pinay felt the contact, a rush of comfort and concern. She finished with the cuirass and looked up at her benefactor. 

"No," said Mothra, urgency coloring her lyrical tones.

Pinay's eyes blazed. "What else," she croaked. "Could I possibly do?" 

The diaphanous healer shook it's head. Moonlight glittered off the lacquered sticks pinning back its sable hair. "He'll kill you, Pinay. Think about what happened. King Ghidorah is a Prime and a Monster, in the purest and most terrible sense of the word. How do you intend to fight him?"

Pinay looked at her gathered armaments and frowned. The truth was, she didn't really have any plan - just a horrible sense of desperate need. If she tried to leave this heinous crime behind, if she didn't find some way to act, she would die, that much she knew for certain. Something with her face might continue on for a while, but nothing could hate itself as much as that pitiable creature would and still survive for long. And then Ghidorah's work would be complete. 

"I'll get stronger," she said.

Mothra knelt beside her and put a dainty hand on her scarred, ash-caked face. Pinay felt the insectoid hybrid's presence waft through her brain, like silk curtains drifting on a warm autumn breeze. 

"There's nothing I can do to change your mind," it said, breaking the contact and frowning sadly. Its antennae drooped. 

"No," the elf agreed, and returned to her work. Mothra watched in silence, thinking. Half an hour went by disturbed only by the creaks and groans of mending leather and the whisper of the wind outside.  

The peace was finally broken when Mothra came to a decision. It stood up and sighed - a low, breathy chittering reminiscent of a snoring songbird. "I'd hoped you'd be able to grieve, and move on - but I suppose if that's not to be, I'll just have to give you what help I can." 

Pinay put down the gauntlet she'd been cajoling and looked her benefactor in its prismatic eyes. Two-dozen reflections looked back at her. 

"I can't leave this area," Mothra continued. "Ghidorah has made the eastern valley his territory for the time being, and the inhabitants are... shortsighted. I'm going to be needed. However, I can offer you some advice: go to the floating city of Dalaran. If there's a place in the Omniverse with a higher density of clever people looking for shortcuts to tremendous power, I don't think I want to know about it. If you're careful, and you meet the right people, it may be your best hope."

The elf didn't say anything, but a tiny smile flickered across her lips.

***

The next morning, Pinay made a bizarre discovery: During the night, while she'd knelt over her labors, someone had, for lack of a better term, tidied up the clearing. 

It was still a charred ruin, covered in drifts of steaming ashes, but the horrific tableau of bent limbs, blackened bones and agonized faces poking almost comically from beneath the strata of burned debris had been replaced by row upon dignified row of charcoal cairns, each one crowned by a cluster of delicate green saplings.

There was only one person who could have done it, though Pinay couldn't imagine how, and she was too overcome with gratitude to ask; Mothra must have summoned the infant trees, but omnilium wouldn't have helped it gather the bodies and pile the charcoal. For the first time, it occurred to the elf that her benefactor might be more than just a healer. 

She stayed with Mothra for a week, recovering, and preparing herself for her journey, and trying to find a way to grieve. As the days passed and the immediate trauma began to fade, the elf's mind became clearer - but the white-hot core of disbelief, sadness and apocalyptic anger still floated like a miniature sun, undiminished in her brain, flaring brighter every time she went outside. The Oskinder's every thought bent around it now, illuminated by its sickly glow; In the vulnerable moments of repose, when she initiated the restorative meditations which served her kind in lieu of sleep, it would whisper an endless litany of faces and names, half-drowned by lightning and monstrous, childish laughter. For the first four days it was only with her benefactor's assistance that she was able to achieve any rest at all. 

On the evening of the seventh day, beneath the gray light of an overcast sky, Mothra drifted into the clearing following one of its mysterious errands. It found Pinay standing among the graves. She was dressed in her ash-stained leather armor, glaive nestled against her shoulder.  Flashes of padded green cloth were visible beneath the plates: a gambeson, gloves and leggings summoned by the Prime at Pinay's request. She wore a satchel over one shoulder, filled with various supplies - another product of the mysterious creature's kindness.  

Mothra descended, hovering before its now-former patient. Its robes rippled in a breeze which carried the scent of distant rain.

"You're leaving," the healer said. 

Pinay nodded. "I can't stay here anymore, Mothra. You've been helpful beyond reason, but I have to go."

Mothra's antennae drooped. "I'd thought that maybe you'd change your mind after all - that perhaps you'd choose to go to Yggdrasil, to join your cousins in the Green. You're not a Prime, Pinay. The chances you'll succeed - that you'll even survive - are very small."

The elf was silent for a moment. She reached beneath her gauntlet and touched the bracelets nestled there. 

"I have to try," she said, and the ache in her voice made it clear that she meant it.

The healer's lips twitched, the briefest suggestion of a sad little smile crossing its otherwise largely-immobile features. The green circles around its eyes seemed to darken. 

"I understand. Follow me, then - if I still can't dissuade you, I can at least help you find your way. There's a path through this wreckage, but you'll have to watch your step."