Chapter Text
The long-taloned hand gestured around the small, dank cave, drawing England’s attention to several features that its resident seemed to find particularly worthy of his notice: a large pile of sheep’s skulls stacked neatly in one corner, a crude chair fashioned from long bones and twine, and a cook fire over which a tin kettle was suspended, bubbling away at the boil.
England smiled, and nodded, and pronounced each sight even more charming than the last. Black Annis’s thin blue lips curled upwards in response to his compliments, revealing the jagged tips of her long yellow teeth. There were shreds of meat caught between her front two fangs which England very much hoped were mutton.
“You’ve done a wonderful job with the place,” he said, still smiling even though the false broadness of it was beginning to make his eyes smart. “Very homely.”
Black Annis gave a wheezy chuckle and then bent to pat a spot next to her fire, her iron claws raising small sparks as they struck the stones and pebbles scattered there.
“Come and warm yourself, Albion.”
“It’s England,” England corrected gently. “I haven’t been Albion for a very long time now.”
The wrinkles fanning out from the corners of Black Annis’s rheumy eyes deepened. She looked bewildered, and England worried that she might truly be losing her memory. It had happened to so many of his land’s oldest inhabitants in recent years, stripping away so much of them until all that remained was their hunger and hunting instinct. Once they devolved to that point, there was nothing to be done except…
England didn’t like to think of what he would have to do then, so it was a relief to see Black Annis’s pensive expression begin to lift.
“Of course, of course,” she said. “When you’ve lived for as many years as I have, it’s difficult to separate one from any other.”
“I know,” England said with both sympathy and empathy. He might not have trouble remembering names himself for the most part, but being unable to recall where he’d left important papers or his briefcase, and on several highly embarrassing occasions, his car, was a shortcoming he was very familiar with. With so many centuries of memories filling his head, it was easy for the small ones to end up buried beneath them all sometimes.
Black Annis folded her long, bony legs beneath her, sat down beside the fire, and then motioned again for England to do the same. England studied the rough floor for a while, deliberating, and eventually decided to doff his jacket and fold it up to make a crude cushion. It seemed a shame to dirty it, but creased and dusty fabric could be dealt with quickly enough, whereas the ache of a bruised behind would linger for days.
Once England had made himself as comfortable as he was likely to get given the circumstances, Black Annis unhooked the kettle from its frame and filled two rough clay cups with a measure of the dark, steaming liquid it contained.
“I made tea when I heard you would be visiting,” Black Annis said. “I did remember how much you like it, even if your name escaped me for a while.”
England received the cup Black Annis handed him with heartfelt thanks, but his gratitude waned significantly when he caught scent of the steam rising from it. There was a metallic undertone that was slightly worrying, and became even more so when he took a polite sip and the taste of copper flooded his mouth.
“Delightful,” he said, setting the cup down to one side with careful delicacy to ensure he didn’t spill so much as a drop, even though he had absolutely no intention of picking it back up again. “An interesting blend. One of your own, I presume.”
“A few acorns, a dash of tree bark.” A slow, secretive smile crept onto Black Annis’s face. “And a whole pint of lamb’s blood.”
England’s stomach gurgled unhappily, but he ignored it. Regardless of what his protesting digestive system might have to say on the matter, he’d drunk worse in his time, and he could not risk letting any evidence of the disgust he was feeling show on his face. Black Annis was being as friendly as she was capable of now, but she was dangerously unpredictable, and would be quick to take advantage of any perceived signs of weakness on his part.
“Delightful,” he repeated, and was proud of how his voice did not waver. “It was only lamb’s blood, I trust.”
Black Annis scowled. “Not a drop of anything else. I honour our agreement.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” England said. “For your sake as well as my people’s. They have men and women whose job it is to hunt down those who would take babes from their beds nowadays, you know. They’d find you, drag you away, and bind you in cold iron.”
“Bah.” Black Annis hawked a phlegmy gob of spit towards the fire, and it fizzled into a little puff of steam when it hit the smouldering ashes. “And you’d help them, wouldn’t you, England? You’d take their side over mine, even though I was here long before your precious humans ever were. You’re losing your respect for the old ways. The old people.”
“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” England said, claiming ambivalence he didn’t really feel. He might cling to tradition, and often found himself mourning the loss of past glories, but there were some changes he welcomed wholeheartedly. Humans had enough to fear in each other’s actions, and if he could spare them the added threat of otherworldly interference, he would if it was in his power to do so. “But there are so many more of them now, and they’re much better organised and armed. If you want to keep on living here safely, you’d do best to avoid their notice.”
Black Annis grumbled something quietly to herself, but did not try to argue her point further.
As there were only sheep's' hides tanning on the oak tree at the entrance to her cave, and only lamb’s blood in her tea, England knew she understood that he was right no matter how much she might miss the taste of human flesh.