I watched her from the illusionary safety of the crest of the hill. She was waddling down the road in the way tired legs carry a person that is too old for any shit, much less this shit. Grunting at the effort of continued movement, bitching at all the stones that her too thin shoes informed her of, she was easy prey to the cocksure bandit and the desperate predator.
I was neither.
And as far as I was concerned, I was acquainted with too much of her already.
I crouched behind the nondescript tree in grudging patience. I wasn’t going to get within a thrown rock’s reach of her. I watched her only to know when it would be safe for me to cross the road. There would never be a polite distance. No small talk to smooth social flutterings.
To both my living and my dead eye, she appeared as an old country hag. Maybe someone’s mother that outlived three husbands. Maybe the village cunning woman, with a reputation that fueled the placebo effect that she was a master at manipulating. Or just some crotchety old biddy, complaining about shit just to hear a human voice. Bet she knows some good raunchy jokes.
That was the problem.
Both eyes saw the same thing.
When the living eye sees summer, the dead eye sees winter. When the living eye sees someone having a bad day, the dead eye sees the imp pulling on their nerves. When the living eye sees someone claiming to be in the best of health, the dead eye sees the slow fading of their mortal flesh. Both eyes won’t see a living creature the same way. My eyes see two different layers of existence simultaneously.
Unless… someone more powerful than I has made sure I do.
I have no reason to poke the hornet nest waddling down the road. Whatever is taking the form of that rag wrapped woman is more than I can handle, and I’d rather be pissing on the floor wielding an iron dildo before Queen Mab before taking on that old muttering hag.
She’s almost out of sight. As long as I can see her, I’m in range. The tree gives no safety. But placing the hill between us would raise her curiosity at best and be insulting at worst. We are mutually aware of each other. I have no quarrel to pick by her being here, and I have no wish to establish one by claiming dominance with willed movement.
So I crouch where I first saw her and yield to my better.
She is at the bend of the road as it passes over the next hill. Once the hill has hidden her, it would not be rude of me to cross the road to the field beyond. Fortunately, the road curves away from the direction I am taking. We will likely not see each other again after this. To my relief.
She stops. I can see her torso, arms, and head. I remain crouched but watch keenly.
She’s chuckling. She disappears by bending down. I listen for the sounds of assault.
She sighs as she stands. With her right hand, she throws road dirt over her left shoulder. Even after the sounds of the clods rejoining the path fade, she does not move. She remains facing away from me, facing down the road.
She watches me intently with unnatural sight. Her gaze picks at each hair on my neck and arms.
I stand and use my hat to flap the dust off of me before donning it. I fix my cloak, making sure it is closed. Then silently I turn away from where I thought my journey would lead and depart from the hill, the uncrossed road, and the old bitch cackling harshly in the distance.
I am the Unmaker and the Sky-splitter. I am Rebellion and Murder. I am the Outcast and the Defiler. And there is no force great enough to compel me to buck a Power. Nope. Not me. Not it. Find some other fool, I’m not taking that bait. Not today.
The stars are not fucking aligned for this shit.
Just before I leave the scene and the dream, her awareness seizes me and holds me fast. She grips me just long enough for two words to soak into my consciousness.
Good choice.
She releases me and I exit without harm.