Rib Bones

We begin with tranquility. Birds chirp in the fertile branches of the Maze of Caliria, their calls answered by other lovers, and the warming light of the morning sun. The Ralhoma River gurgled pleasantly this far north, well before it turned into the southern rapids, still pure from its recent descent in the mountains. We pan towards the riverbank as a lone leaf tumbles from a nearby tree, caressed by the wind as falls, landing on the shimmering stones that mark the Ralhoma's edge.
A feline paw stamps the leaf into the earth, then steps away in a flash, leaving a bloody print behind.
We see Dances with Leaves, her face slack with weariness, fleeing towards the heart of the jungle. A broken arrow protrudes from her shoulder — a shot meant to hinder, not slay — and her flesh has been whipped by branches, the mark of someone running through the woods with abandon. Across her body, the only cleanliness that remains is in her arms, where she holds a newborn Ysoki wrapped in blanket.
The baby's breath is raspy and shallow, its forehead hot with fever. A weakness the village could not afford, and by their laws, a gift to the Ikal Expanse. They had come for him, even as he still lived, and sought to take him into the wild. She had fought, stronger than the elders even weak with labor, and she had fled. Dances hoped that Clouds had not been punished too harshly for interfering — he had stayed behind to guard her escape. His dreams of being chief were gone...
But the past could not be considered now, there was only the future. So Dances ran.
She ran until the sun reached its peak, even as the baby's breath began to slow. She ran as the clouds began to cover the sky, and a storm built on the horizon. She cut through the dens of beasts and directly over brambles, ignoring the scrapes and responding to the howls in kind. But even adrenaline and a lifetime of training has its limits... At the edge of the Khizar homeland, we watch as Dances trips, twisting harshly to land on her back.
An acidic spore swept past on the wind, signaling the beginning of the storm. Dances screamed, but the baby in her arms was silent.
Dances with Leaves: "Unari Dama! Please..."
Dances prayed to the god of the jungle and its spirits, to the Khizar and their wisdom. To the mysteries of Caliria. To the sun on high, and the shadows below...
Like an old film reel missing frames, the Skinny Man both arrives and disappears, sliding closer to Dances with every solid glance. Delirious with pain and fear, Dances does not notice the cold that announces his presence, or the stillness on the wind.
Skinny Man: "Your god comes, little spear. But he won't make it in time..."
Dances with Leaves: "Please..."
Skinny Man: "Shall I bless him, as Unari intends?"
Dances with Leaves: "Unari..."
Skinny Man: "Only Unari? Even now? What a devout woman."
Dances with Leaves: "More... Time..."
The Skinny Man paused in his teasings, his movements now slow and careful, leaning to whisper in Dances ear.
Skinny Man: "I can grant your wish, little spear. But nothing's free."
Dances with Leaves: "Wh—"
Skinny Man: "Sh, sh. Save your breath. It's just the standard rate. Simply take what is offered."
Dances with Leaves: "Un—ri"
Dances eyes flutter, but she lashes out with a paw, and squeezes the Skinny Man's hand.
Skinny Man: "Very well, Dances with Leaves. The shadows of the jungle grant your wish."
The Skinny Man grins, his seamless, pale face splitting into a toothy, red maw. Time slows in a bubble around mother and babe, and the spore storm begins to rage around them. But the trio remains untouched by the acid, even as the vision loses sight of the jungle, and the spores burn in piles along the ground. The Skinny Man stays, rooted like an old tree, magic pouring from his fingertips as he listens.
He waits until the sound of hooves on the horizon break the stillness, and the spores begin to glow with the reflection of silver light.
Only then does the Skinny Man fade, and so does the dream.