The fire in the corner of Lottie’s hut had burned low, throwing long shadows across the woven walls and bone charms that clinked gently in the breeze. Outside, the wind stirred the trees, but the camp had gone quiet. Everyone was asleep.
Everyone but Shauna.
She slipped in through the curtain when the moon was high, like always. Soft steps, hood up, knife still strapped to her thigh. Her eyes were tired, her jaw set.
Lottie was already sitting on the floor, legs crossed, spine straight, her usual stillness wrapped around her like a cloak. But tonight it looked heavier.
There was something about her eyes.
Distant. Clouded.
“Hey,” Shauna said softly.
Lottie blinked once, then smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“You’re late.”
“Sorry,” Shauna muttered. “Misty had me cornered.”
Lottie nodded, barely. Her hands rested on her knees. Her fingers were twitching slightly.
Shauna stepped forward, pausing in the familiar place just in front of her. Normally, Lottie would gesture. Speak in that slow, dreamy voice that sent Shauna to her knees with barely a word.
But tonight, she didn’t say anything.
Shauna frowned.
“You good?”
“I’m fine.”
Shauna’s head tilted. “You don’t look fine.”
Lottie’s gaze drifted toward the fire. The flickering light made her look carved from something soft and sharp all at once.
“I’m tired,” she said after a moment. “That’s all.”
Shauna didn’t kneel.
Didn’t press.
She just stepped around her and sat down beside her, cross-legged, matching Lottie’s posture.
“You don’t have to do this tonight,” she said. “I mean… not if you’re running on fumes.”
Lottie looked over at her. Something like surprise flickered behind her lashes.
“You’re not here for me,” she said.
Shauna couldn’t really deny that– despite their meetings she still barely really knew Lottie, so instead she just shrugged. “No. But… I’m here. With you.”
The fire popped.
Lottie’s expression softened, just a little. She exhaled slowly.
“I don’t talk to anyone,” she said quietly.
Shauna smirked. “Could’ve fooled me. You give speeches at breakfast.”
Lottie huffed a dry laugh. “That’s not the same. That’s what they want from me. What the wilderness wants from me.”
Shauna glanced sideways at her. “And what do you want?”
Lottie didn’t answer right away.
Then she leaned back slightly, arms resting on the floor behind her. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders.
“I believe in it,” she said, voice low. “The wilderness. The rituals. The path we’re on. I know it’s real.”
Shauna didn’t interrupt, didn’t argue.
“I trust it,” Lottie continued. “But it’s still heavy. Every day. The choices. The way they look at me. Like I’m not a person anymore. Like I’m just the mouthpiece for something so ancient.”
She looked over, eyes a bit glossy but steady.
“I haven’t said that out loud before.”
Shauna was quiet for a long time.
Then: “I think about that sometimes. What it must be like for you. Everyone watching. Waiting.”
Lottie gave a faint smile. “You’re the only one who sees me when I’m not performing.”
Shauna looked away. Her throat was tight.
Was that really true? Or was what they did just another act that Lottie performed? Another performance she endured for her idea of the greater good?
“You’re allowed to be tired,” she said finally.
Lottie’s hand brushed against hers. Light. Barely there.
“And so are you.”
Shauna didn’t pull away.
She let her fingers turn, interlacing slowly with Lottie’s, grounding herself in that quiet touch.
They sat there for a long time, not speaking, not commanding, not kneeling. Just side by side in the glow of dying firelight, their fingers loosely intertwined.
Lottie hadn’t let herself breathe like this in days. Maybe longer. Her lungs still worked, her heart still beat, but everything lately had felt tight—like her skin didn’t fit right, like her bones were too hollow for the weight they had to hold. Every moment in the camp felt like she was wearing someone else’s name, someone else’s title. Prophet. Vessel. Not just Lottie.
But Shauna didn’t call her any of those things.
Shauna didn’t call her anything at all, most nights.
She just came.
Quiet. Angry. Raw. And ready to fall apart in Lottie’s hands.
But tonight, Shauna didn’t fall.
Tonight she stayed with her.
Lottie let her head tilt back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling of woven branches above them.
“I don’t sleep much anymore,” she said.
Shauna didn’t respond right away. Her thumb brushed against the inside of Lottie’s wrist, small, thoughtless, grounding.
“Because of the visions?” she asked.
“Because of the expectations.” Lottie’s voice was hoarse. “I close my eyes and I dream about fire and hunger and hands reaching for me, always needing something. And when I wake up, it’s the same thing. Just quieter.”
Shauna turned her head to look at her. “Do you ever wish you hadn’t… become this?”
Lottie gave a soft, bitter laugh. “It wasn’t something I became. It’s just something they decided I was.”
Shauna’s mouth tightened. That was too familiar. Too close to the bone.
She looked away again, voice dropping. “Yeah. I know what that’s like.”
They fell into silence again.
But this time it wasn’t heavy.
It was soft. Full of the kind of quiet that only comes after confession.
Shauna pulled her knees in, resting her chin against them. Shauna hesitated, but something about the safety of the campfire lured her in, the hour making her more willing to speak so vulnerably.
“Do I make it worse? That feeling?”
She was staring at the fire like it had offended her. Jaw clenched, voice rougher than it needed to be — like she was already mad at the answer, even though she’d asked.
“I mean, for you,” she said quickly, before Lottie could respond. “All this wilderness bullshit. All these people wanting something from you every hour of the day. And then I show up at your door like clockwork. Just wanting more.”
Her mouth twisted. “Am I just another weight?”
Lottie didn’t speak right away.
She didn’t deflect. Didn’t rush to soothe or fill her with empty words in the way that others might.
She just looked at her.
Shauna didn’t know why she asked.
Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the way Lottie looked tonight—tired, worn thin, eyes heavier than usual.
Maybe it was the way it felt to be seen. To matter.
That was always the problem.
The silence between them burned.
Shauna gave a dry, bitter laugh. “Okay. Cool. Got it.”
“You didn’t let me answer,” Lottie said softly.
Shauna shrugged, tight and defensive. “Didn’t seem like you were going to.”
Lottie shifted beside her, angling her body toward Shauna completely now. Her voice was still gentle, but more certain.
“You don’t make it worse.”
Shauna didn’t look at her. “Doesn’t mean I make it better.”
“You do,” Lottie said. “Not because you pretend to believe in me, or because you follow some version of me the others made up. You’re not here for the prophet. You’re here for me.”
Shauna scoffed, her voice bitter. “Yeah. The me that kneels. That cries. That needs.”
“Yes,” Lottie said without flinching. “And the you that fights. That challenges me. That doesn’t let me hide behind the voice they all want me to be. You’re the only one who treats me like I’m still human.”
Shauna bit the inside of her cheek.
“You let me protect you,” Lottie continued. “But you also give me something no one else does. Something real. Not faith. Not fear. Just… this.”
Shauna turned her head, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and defiance.
“This?” she echoed.
“You,” Lottie said. “All of you. Your need, your sharp edges, your silence. You come here and you let me see it. The worst of it. You don’t hide from me, even when you want to.”
Shauna’s voice cracked despite herself. “I hate needing it.”
“I know.”
“I hate that it helps.”
“I know.”
Shauna looked down at their joined hands—when had that happened? When had Lottie’s fingers tangled gently through hers, holding on like she meant it?
“I just…” Shauna swallowed. “I didn’t want to be more pressure. That’s all.”
“You’re not,” Lottie said, firmer now. “You’re not a burden. You’re a choice. Mine. Every time. You’re… one of the only things that remind me that I am real. That I am not just stuck in an endless loop of visions that I can’t get away from.”
Lottie took a deep breath. “Everyone else wants something from me I can’t always give. They want certainty. Meaning. Answers. And I try. I do. But sometimes I don’t even know where I stop and the wilderness begins.”
Shauna didn’t say anything. Letting the silence sit between them, then she leaned over, just enough to press her shoulder into Lottie’s. Not fragile. Not weak. Just close.
Just enough to say she heard her.
Lottie let her lean.
Let her stay.