Oskar lay on the ground, the burning agony of his groin slow to fade while Oksana leaned against the wall over him. He should have expected the blow, Oksana hadn’t ever been sparing in such attentions having never been given better, more honorable tools to use. That didn’t mean he appreciated the skill she’d acquired in such matters. Nausea flowed through him, momentarily blotting out the massive guilt he felt for his part in all that had happened. As the pain receded, but did not leave him, the guild swelled up to fill its place. He heard Adrian’s words and let out a groan that was only partly the pain. 

He curled tighter and wanted to scream again. There was no way he could tell anyone what happened. They would string him up, rightly so. He wasn’t certain what he wanted but to die at the hands of his friends and neighbors was not one of them. Did he deserve it? Undoubtedly, he was a freak who had foolishly betrayed everyone he knew, by accident. But the dead and dying and the grieved wouldn’t be comforted by that little detail. He wondered what it would be like to fly? He knew a spot on the mountain, high up, about two-thirds of the way to the Witch, his mother’s house. He used to go there and watch the hawks playing and soaring on the warmer currents of air. How would it be to join them? If only for a moment? 
He sobbed and began to straighten himself out. He was a coward and a fool and while he thought that he would give flying a try because of this, he wasn’t such a coward that he wasn’t going to try to right what he could before he leapt. 

Oksana was reluctantly led off by the sharp-tongued healer for whom she had a strange respect and no small fear. When Chiudka was about Oksana always looked like someone was coming at her with a comb and suggesting she use it, which was to say recalcitrant and terrified. Oskar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, realizing he hadn’t yet told his sister of their Father’s state. He did not think he could tell her what his father had said about the witch, though he couldn’t think how he could avoid it either. 

He turned towards Adrian, not quite looking at him, he couldn’t but with the dimness in the room he thought it might be hard for the wounded man to say for certain. 

“My father…” he began, his voice high and rasping with pain. “He said something had happened with the witch. We should go see what she can say of this.” 

If she were still alive. He shuddered to think of the fear in her voice when she’d called out for him to run. What had happened? What had the priests done? Where were they? 

“Oksana.” He said to her, looking away from the angry young man to the angry sister his voice catching as he called her name. He had to tell her this at least. Her hot, angry eyes flicked up to him. Pain making her snap even more than usual. Poor thing, he thought to himself. She was as lost as he. 

“Father…” how could he say? What words would ease the sharing of the horrible truth. “Father’s dead. They… those things got him.” 

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Oksana eyed Chiudka suspiciously, certain the woman was going to give her something terrible to drink and send her clever tongue waggling at Oksana with some truth, some tale that would sting as much as the medicines her father typically applied. Speaking of Father’s, what was the woman doing? Did she even know what she was about? As Oksana knew, it took more than a desire to know something to have the skill.

“No,” Oksana said stubbornly, foolishly. Her skills with lying clearly below those of the would-be healer. “I am fine. I just need a drink.” 

She was done being weak in front of these people. There were people hurt and dying and she just had a few cuts is all. Nothing worse than what she typically did to herself when trying to skin something. 

“See to the hurt ones if that’s what you are about.” 

She didn’t move though, she stayed where she’d been led to the spot behind the table. She sat but did not remove a stitch of clothing or admit any weakness. She understood it was obviously a lie and that everyone could see through her ruse, but she couldn’t be any way other than what she was. She could not bend. She would admit it was easier to play at being fine when one was not on one’s feet and one was hiding behind a wooden barrier. 

She heard her Brother addressing Adrian who’d looked nearly as angry as she felt. She felt a little bad about hurting him, she’d just been so angry, so done with everything she’d reacted without thinking. Poor Oskar, he would love her no matter what and so in many ways he suffered. She was a terrible sister, she knew this. 

She pushed away the tea that Chiduka tried to foist on her just as her brother addressed her, his words not at all cushioned. Perhaps it was his way of paying her back? She wondered about Oskar sometimes. So quiet, so clever, but the wonder was fleeting in the rush of emotion following his un-cushioned truth.

It was one thing to always be a disappointment. It was another to understand you would never be anything but. Her Papa was dead. Gone, killed by whatever the things were and she couldn’t ever, ever make him proud. That she wasn’t like to have done so ever, didn’t matter in the face of never being able to. The death of possibility felt more real to her than the death of her Papa, it was easier to face somehow. 

She didn’t scream, not like Oskar had. It was a day of impossible things in Adishi. The Witch who was ever present, powerful and unchanging was gone and Oksana, stubborn, angry Oksana slumped on the stool and began to weep. Broken and defeated in a way she never would have expected.