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Яikyn So, I’ve never had possessed artifacts before. It’s probably needless to say, then, that the sudden heat which imbues the pendants on my chest, and the annoying niggling of their carapaces towards a different region of the woodland, draws some measure of surprise from me. "What the fuck?" I ask them, stopping to stare down at their round bodies. An ear flicks back, before a deep, unsettling pain in my groin starts to stab and grind about; now both ears are back, and my teeth are gritted, my hind legs almost buckling. "Ah!" I gasp, head bowing down towards my chest, sweat suddenly springing up all across my body in cold-hot chills. As it seems to subside, I look out towards where the necklaces seem to tug me, glowering all the while, and turn about towards that general area, pausing to look back at Duir, to make sure he’s noticed the change in my path (our mental bond still strained). No sooner than my hooves stop moving, though, than the pain is back, with a vengeance; falling to one knee with a pained gasp, I pant as I heave myself back up to all fours. Better go, my buck remarks with concern, and so we do. I’m not surprised to find him at the end of our path. Still, the sight of him makes my whole chest fill with icy water, which then seems to harden into metal, which spreads rapidly across all the rest of me. Coming to a stop among everyone else arriving, trying to find a place with those I know (my daughters, especially, if they are here), just in case shit breaks bad, I listen to what the murderer has to say with a grim, cold expression. I try to not remember what he did. I do, anyway. Same as I remember Ming Yue, starved, dying, saved by my God from this one’s fetid land. An aggressive frown finds purchase on my face. I hear his request to learn of the land and want to shout at him: What other choice is there for us, now?! He knows that, though. He’s a God, after all. That what we must do to survive plays into his hand so well makes my stomach roil with dark anger, impotent and useless against a force that had smote those who’d given me my power to begin with. That bleak reality, this feeling of weakness, makes the anger grow hotter, until the metal within me becomes molten, and starts to swirl. in every heart a hole

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