It was well past midnight when she stumbled her way out of the tavern; like most nights, she was content to drown her troubles in the cups, but on this night, the rumbling of thunder called her to abandon her drink. Some are born to build shelters to weather such storms and others are born as guides to lead the helpless to these refuges so that all might escape harm; she, however, was born to tame what others never could.
Bolts of lightning shattered the ominous darkness of the sky, illuminating her path as she walked, and her steps matched the pulse of the rolling thunder in a complementary beating of heaven and earth. By the time she reached the marsh, the rain had added its own unique thrumming to the rhythmic pounding as its drops hit the land and water, and the wind was howling as though it yearned for a harmony to match its melody.
She took to the rain as though it was her cherished companion, embracing it with arms held open, and she met the wind with her own song; it was a strange song, one with no words that had been passed down from a time long forgotten by most, but it seemed the perfect accompaniment to the storm, as though it was aligned with the very heart of it.
This duet of man and nature was short-lived, interrupted by a sharp, burning sensation on the palm of her right hand which caused her to grimace and stopped the cadence of her song. Her pale green eyes looked to her hand as she removed her drenched fingerless leather glove from it, and there on her palm, where only a long scar from a blade had resided, the brand of a circle with three lines running through it was beginning to form.
“So…” she mumbled to herself as she watched the blood red color of the mark darken from a faint image to one that could be clearly seen, “…it has been done...” She took in a deep breath as she accepted the burden. "Everything comes with a price," she sighed out, "even if you don't realize who'll be payin' for it."
