Ayla shook her head curtly and pulled the hood high over her face so that it was hidden in shadow. “I don’t want your help, Ariadne.”

The goddess bristled with irritation and a trail of cold frost appeared on the ground between them. “I’m not asking if I can help you. I am telling you that this rampage is at an end. So far nobody has been harmed, but that is more a matter of luck than any caution on your part.”

“You cannot stop me.”

“As I said, I will not stop you. I will not contain you. I lack the long term interest and perhaps, the sensitivity. I am not a redeemer. I know myself well enough.” Ariadne curled her fingers in the air and mist rose from her fingertips. “I know you well enough too. I have known you from the beginning, and I have seen this descent coming. You will not be allowed to inflict the pain you carry on the world about you, Ayla.”
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Ayla was burning. Had been burning for a very long time, but now the flames were made visible, roiling on her flesh of her palms as she strode through dusky woods. Behind her the remains of a smoldering village glowed like a hot coal on the horizon.

She was wrapped in a heavy gray cloak, hood up, head down as she waded through the ashy wood. She did not look like the famous witch who had once been known for endless acts of good and mercy. She looked like a tall specter of anger and flame, moving through a world which was slowly charring around her.

All was not well with Ayla. And all was not well with Lesbia.
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