Na’omi has never liked working with a group of people. It doesn’t matter if she is related to them, if she thinks about it for more than a few moments, there are very few tribes that she didn’t have some form of blood connection to. She just wants to do her own thing - in her own time.

She had deserted her small pack in the heart of the woods, being nothing but a blur of dark skin and dark red hair as she abandoned them, hoping to hunt down the treasure and have it all for herself. Every dark secret, every witch-y potion, every ounce of magic in its pages. Her mouth waters at the idea of the amount of power that would surge through her veins, she would finally prove herself as one of them, acting as though she hadn’t been seen as a bastard daughter her entire life, as though her father wasn’t human.

Her mind begins to wander down endless paths within itself until she hears the sound of wood driving deep into fresh mud. Her ears immediately perk upwards at the hardly audible sounds, and she quickly brushes her fingertips against the hilts of her daggers, strapped to her thighs. She waits until the coach is just barely within her peripheral vision before she bolts into the road. She grimaces as the driver yanks hard on the reins, urging the horses to slow down, but he isn’t nearly quick enough. It will not be a gentle landing when the vehicle finally crashes to a halt.

The man still holds the dark brown leather between his hands, as if there is any point in attempting to direct the horses who are undoubtedly stuck in the mud, just as much as the wheels in both the front and back must be. He never says a word to her, he never tries to defend himself when she stabs him, getting close enough to him to watch the light leave his eyes. As she closes her own eyes, turning her head to face in the opposite direction, her mother’s words ring out loud and clear. You need to be able, and willing, to look your foe in their eyes when you finally end them. If not for the satisfaction, then make sure that you don’t get a blade in your back at the same time. You should feel good, a rush of adrenaline through your entire body once you watch that last light of life leave their eyes. She still doesn’t this time. She doesn’t open her eyes in the slightest until she hears the sound of something falling against wooden slabs from within the coach itself.

She ignores the dripping black-red dripping from the tip of her dagger, walking slowly towards the door of the carriage, digging her heels ever so often into a patch of scattered leaves to throw the patron off, so they can’t have any sort of advantage over her. She ties her long hair back, tucking the exposed strands into the back of her tunic, knowing better than to leave that part of her head exposed to a potential foe. Keeping her dagger drawn, bouncing on the balls of her feet, adrenaline rushing through her body, she pulls open the door, watching as a ginger-haired woman loses her balance and tumbles out, a handcrafted, legendary, leather-bound book falling from her grasp as she falls.

The book quite literally fell at her very own feet. It lays mere inches from her bloodied fingers. She’s so startled that she isn’t quite sure what to do, she stands still for a few more moments before she lets instinct simply take over. She reaches for the book before she can overthink a single moment more, stained fingers gripping the bound edge tight as if one wrong move and it would slip straight out of her grasp. She scoffs as she lifts the cover, only to find blank parchment underneath. A fucking decoy? She shakes the useless thing in the air as she speaks, the ginger girl looking up at her with a glare in her emerald eyes.

“Your driver died over this useless piece of shit?” What an ignorant, selfish, spoiled, privileged bitch. The woman ignores her. Her eyes narrow in response, licking her pale lips, glancing down at the now dirty book.

“Who are you? Why do you want the book?” The red-head demandes. Not very effectively, it becomes increasingly clear that she has never needed to try to threaten or debate anyone before. Na’omi does her best to fight back the sarcastic laugh that threatens to bubble out whether she likes it or not. There’s just something all too amusing about this. Na’omi didn’t realize she’s been staring at the open book, as if something might appear the longer she stared, as if something might just magically change in front of her eyes. Yet even that isn’t the most impossible thing she had ever heard of the witch who had once owned it doing.

“No matter how long you look at that book, no matter your intent or the power behind your thoughts, not a single secret will be revealed to you. I trust you must know that by now.” She speaks down to Na’omi, as if she didn’t have the ability to slit her throat in the blink of an eye. What could she have possibly done that made the woman so secure in herself that she felt like she could take a tone as harsh as she had, without consequence? Na’omi forces herself to take a deep breath in, calming her emotions to the best of her ability, knowing that she can lose control so much quicker, and in a much more violent and dangerous way than most of the others of her pack.

“Why do you have this anyway?” Na’omi asks, the toe of her boot coming to tap upon the magical book, refusing to believe that it was the real artifact. She will find it eventually, and she will get every crumb of power between those pages. As she waits for the other woman to respond, Na’omi crouches down to her height, reaching to grab the dirtied leather. She hasn’t noticed the sprinkle of freckles that rest against the bridge of her nose and dance just underneath her eyes; not till now. She ignores the obvious annoyance and frustration within the woman’s eyes, the way her equally ginger eyebrows furrow in anger. None of it matters to her.

It doesn’t take Na’omi long at all to realize that the woman is searching for some form of tribal tag on her. Her face markings are much too simple for her to figure out who she is simply based on that alone, and she might have passed as a human without them, probably quite easily. There is no significant difference that one can spot between her and her fellow humanoids. With a sigh, she shifts onto her heels, slightly beginning to regret leaving her little group behind. This would have been over so much earlier.

“You won’t find identification on me, so stop trying so hard. Now answer my question. How did you come to have this in your possession?” Na’omi is growing exasperated now. The woman before her seems to grow even more pale, if possible. She swallows thickly before clearing her throat, eyeing the book in her hands. 

“I’m…” she pauses, struggling for a moment, before attempting to continue. “I was her sister. I’m Eleanor.” She clarifies, and understanding blooms across Na’omi’s face, surprise lighting up her face, eyebrows shooting upwards as she blinks a few times in a row. “Why do you want her book?” Na’omi hasn’t thought about that besides wanting the power. But then why does she want the power. She doesn’t want to take over the tribe, she just wants to be respected. By everyone. She knows deep down that no matter how much power she could hold, there are always going to be people who despise her.

“You tell me. Why am I racing against time and other beings altogether for a journal that has nothing inside it? Some sort of trap? A spell?” Na’omi demands, tossing the book back towards Eleanor. “Is it only for family to read?” Eleanor lets out a single laugh, running her mucky fingers through her hair absentmindedly.

“It’s just as blank for me as it was for you. My best guess is that only the heir can see anything? Maybe her daughters can. That’s where I was headed before you so brutally murdered my very kind driver, they’ve been expecting me for weeks now. I didn’t exactly show up for the funeral last month.” Something about every single word that tumbles out of her mouth just doesn’t surprise Na’omi anymore. How anything surprises her that comes out of Eleanor’s mouth, besides the fact that she also trusts every word to leave her lips, is naive. This is the Mejia family they are talking about. One of the most powerful witch families to ever exist. That power does not come without its downsides, such as all of the remarkable family drama, that seems to suck everyone around them into its orbit.

“I don’t know why I even asked, it’s just a damned Mejia family drama, as usual, isn’t it?” She part jokingly softly says under her breath. Eleanor simply rolls her eyes in response, fully aware that her family is not regarded very highly in these parts. 

“You know my name, shouldn’t I know yours?” She offers, an eyebrow slightly arching in question. Na’omi lets out a sigh, finally letting her blade drop into her sheath on her right thigh, keeping her hand near it just in case.

“I’m Na’omi. You’ll have to forgive me for not giving you the name of my pack,” she all but sneers at Eleanor. Her people have been targeted before because Selene failed in making a peace treaty with their neighbors. Especially her specific pack for some reason. While it hadn’t been Selene who sent the orders, nor had she desired the attempt at causing a war, she still was a part of why it happened. Na’omi feels no sadness knowing that the reason that her sister sat in the mud with the book is because of her death. Then again, Eleanor doesn’t seem to be distraught either. “Are we even now?”

“You killed my driver.”

“Oh yes, I forgot about that. I can take you the rest of the way if you wish,” Na’omi says with a shrug, tugging off her leather gloves from the fingertips. A peace offering, made clear as she drops the worn accessories into the cracked mud at Eleanor’s feet. A promise of safety. They are the only human item she ever owned, and she believes that giving her a human made item, one that would be worn by women like herself, might make her accept her for the moment at the very least.

“I don’t trust you,” Eleanor admits, eyeing the gloves that lay at her feet, waiting for Na’omi to lean forward and pick them back up in the icy cold air. Na’omi can’t help but let a snort of laughter out as she watches Eleanor’s every move.

“You say that as if I’ve never heard that sentence in my entire life. None of my markings are easily visible to the human eye. Yet, I have a feeling you know who, and exactly what I am. Am I right?” Eleanor refuses to make eye contact with the girl, yet admittedly nods in return. Eleanor had put two and two together nearly as soon as Na’omi had given her name. She mentally promises she won’t out the girl once in town. Deep in thought, weighing her options, Na’omi tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, before pushing herself to her feet.

“Go ahead, get back in. Take your precious journal of yours. I’ll take you the rest of the way, in return for protection once in the heart of town,” Na’omi insists. While people might not immediately attempt to kill her for merely existing in the town, she knows that a decent amount of the people there will definitely be afraid and at the very least lash out in some violent way towards her. Na’omi has no clue why she’s even offering to take her the rest of the way. The journal is of no use to her without the heir having unleashed it, and it’s not like she can do anything else while in town.

She just has an urge, an instinct to offer her aid. She glances back at the entrance of the forest from the side that they are on, surprised to not see a single dark figure within the very heart of it. Her group must have gone back to the pack, any minute now her mother might come find her and take her home.

It’s either go home, or continue on into town, and maybe find a life of her own, somewhere between the home she’d grown up in, and the place that was home to the people like her father. Maybe she’d try to find him. It really isn’t much of a choice. Become chieftess, a role she never wanted to play, a role that she had barely been raised to perform before so many innocent lives had been taken mere years ago - or go find her father, hoping that he might let her stay with him, maybe even argue on her behalf against her mother. She makes her decision. There's no rescinding the offer now.

She can’t help but feel the pace of her heart quicken, anxious that Eleanor still might reject her anyway. A small smile blooms on Eleanor’s lips, glad to have come to an agreement much quicker than she would have thought. A small bit of tension releases as Na’omi lets out a breath of relief at the soft smile that the woman offers her.

“What about getting the carriage back upright? That seems a little necessary for you to keep your promise to me, doesn’t it?” Eleanor says, gesturing towards the tipped over vehicle. Na’omi wordlessly walks over to the carriage, gesturing for Eleanor to follow.

With few words, she instructs Eleanor to do just as she is, as they both grab a hold of the edge of the carriage, and pull. Eleanor’s arms burn as her heels dig into the hardening mud, a few strands of hair falling gently into her face. Na’omi doesn’t feel nearly as much strain as her human counterpart. This makes it so that she is able to pull harder, watching as the coach begins to tip upwards, getting closer and closer to upright as she drags the carriage away from the edge of the cliff with little help from Eleanor - through no fault of her own.

At some point, she yanks so hard that she doesn’t realize her own strength, causing Eleanor to jump back, away from her. She quickly runs to the other side of the carriage, and begins to push, lifting the other side, finally getting it back onto its wheels, far away from the sticky mud. Eleanor believes that Na’omi had barely exerted herself, until she can just barely hear her heavy breathing, as she comes to stand next to her, scanning the town below them.

The two women stand there for a few more moments, but those moments are just long enough to be able to start seeing the sun setting, beginning to ever so slightly paint the surrounding silver-grey clouds with streaks of golden yellow. Na’omi inhales sharply, pulling herself back into her surroundings, stopping the cycle of guilt inducing worries and thoughts. She shakes her head gently, before turning to Eleanor.

“Are you ready to leave?” She asks, as she walks over to the now upright carriage, and pulls the rusted door handle to open the passenger door. Eleanor offers her half of a smile, before walking her way, and accepting Na’omi’s outstretched hand to help her get in safely. A million and one questions race through both girl’s heads, their journey seemingly similar, but neither knowing how they would most assuredly come to an end.