The journey back to the cottage was an exercise in self-control. Each step, guided by the familiar tap of the despised stick, was a testament to the iron will that kept Lyra's weak body moving. The world, once vibrant and alive in my beast form, was now a tapestry of sounds and scents, each detail carefully cataloged by my mind: the distant bleating of sheep, the sharp call of a crow, the comforting scent of woodsmoke growing stronger as I neared Noldor. My heart, Lyra's heart, pounded with a mixture of exhaustion and cold, calculating anticipation.
When I reached the cottage door, a heavy sigh of relief escaped me, though it was Lyra's body that produced it. I fumbled with the latch, my fingers, soft and small, clumsy after the power of claws.
The moment the door creaked open, Elara's voice, sharp with a mixture of fear and fury, cut through the quiet. "Lyra! Where in the Fates' name have you been? I woke to an empty pallet! My heart nearly stopped!" Her footsteps, quick and agitated, crossed the room. I felt her frail hands grab my shoulders, shaking me gently.
I allowed Lyra's body to tremble, making her voice small and tremulous. "I… I don't know, Elara. I woke up… and it was dark. I was so confused. I just started walking. I think I was trying to find the moonlight. I just wanted to feel the air." I let a sob catch in my throat, a perfect imitation of a terrified child.
Elara's anger instantly dissolved into overwhelming relief. She pulled me into a tight embrace, her old frame trembling. "Oh, my lamb, my poor lamb! You wandered off into the dark! Alone! What if you fell again? What if a beast…?" She broke off, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Thank the Fates you're safe. Thank the Fates."
She led me back to the pallet, clucking over me like a distressed hen. I allowed her to fuss, to check for injuries, to wipe away the phantom tears from my face. This was Lyra's role, the frightened, blind child. And for now, it was my shield.
As Elara moved about the cottage, preparing a warm broth, I lay still, my unseeing eyes fixed on the ceiling. My mind, however, was far from the simple comforts of the cottage. I was already planning.
The night's excursion had confirmed several critical truths. My full power was accessible under the full moon, a temporary but potent weapon. Queen Isolde was a dangerous sorceress, her dark magic a direct threat. And Noldor held a subtle, benevolent magic, a quiet counterpoint to Isolde's malice, a power I needed to understand and, perhaps, co-opt.
My immediate challenge was the blindness. While my other senses were heightened, direct observation was crucial for strategic planning. I needed a way to move freely, to explore the village and its surrounding forest without drawing suspicion. Elara's fear, while a nuisance, also served as a convenient explanation for Lyra's dependence.
How to gain freedom without alerting the old woman? I pondered. How to learn more about this 'old magic' and its wielders without raising Elara's suspicions or, worse, drawing the attention of Queen Isolde?
Kaelen. The boy was simple, easily swayed by a childish plea. His concern for Lyra was genuine, a weakness I could exploit. Perhaps more 'walks' were in order, carefully orchestrated to allow me to glean more information. He had noticed my odd behavior, yes, but he was a boy, not a sorceress. His suspicions were easily dismissed as childish confusion.
I also needed to assess the 'old magic' more closely. My senses as Zalara had felt its diffused presence, but as Lyra, I was limited. I recalled the area where the energy felt tended. Perhaps that was a place where I could begin to find answers, or a way to locate its primary wielder.
The smell of the broth, thin and earthy, wafted towards me. Elara returned, a bowl clattering gently as she placed it beside me. "Here, lamb. Drink this. It'll warm you."
"Thank you, Elara," I whispered, forcing genuine gratitude into Lyra's voice. I accepted the bowl, my fingers closing around its warmth. For now, I would be the good, obedient Lyra. But beneath the facade, the queen plotted, the predator waited.