“Why do I have to do this?” I stood surrounded by pots of smouldering… stuff. Each pot holding a different substance, the smoke from them wrapping around me.
“Because. You do.” She was waving a fan of feathers around me, making sure the smoke from each pot wafted through the feathers of my fledged form, touching me everywhere at least once.
I grabbed her hand and glared at the feather fan. “This.” I shook her hand stiffly. “This isn’t mine to do. Nor mine to be done.”
She pulled her hand out of my grip. “They’re your feathers. I don’t exactly have the equipment to do this, you know.”
I took a good look at her, and realized, she’s me. But not just any me, she’s the Snake Dancer. When Snake taught me his dance, he said I would not be able to call the snake regalia at will. It would only come, when needed. Nor would I be able to remember what I did as a Snake Dancer.
But here I am, Weaver Raven-fledged, watching Snake Dancer guide the smoke of the pots swirl around me. One pot was sweet. One pot was bitter. One pot was earthy. One pot was light. None of them was identifiable.
I tried to see the scene from Snake Dancer’s point of view. Each time, I would get confused and forget what I was doing. I blink and I would be Weaver Raven-fledged again.
“Knock that shit off. We haven’t much time to prepare.” Snake Dancer was not amused at my attempts to see through my her eyes.
“Prepare for what?”
She stopped waving the fan of black feathers. “Seriously? Fucking seriously? I know we put it on the back burner, but did you fucking forget completely?” Snake Dancer sighed. “Yes. You did. You have to. That’s how you protect yourself. Fuck. This is going to hurt more than I thought.”
Snake Dancer came around and stepped in front of me. “Just remember, Weaver. You chose the bitter glass.” She took apart the feather fan and placed the borrowed flight feathers back where they belonged. She pulled the snake skull headdress down so her upper face was covered.
She stomped a step. I heard the sound of something like hollow gourds falling against each other.
She stomped another step. The pots shattered, spilling their smouldering contents into a circle around me.
She extended her arms and shook them, making her suddenly feathered regalia shimmer. The sound was like scales sliding over time-worn granite, like the sound of a rattlesnake’s rattle.
The sound dropped my awareness into a darkness.
…
When did I lie down in my bed? I remember stretching, and then… and then…
And then I remembered what I tried to hide from myself.
It’s going to be a long night.