Pachamama slumbered deep within the forests of Peru, where birds chirped while resting on her green strands of hair, and snakes slithered across her grimy, mud-stained skin. When she moved, the Earth shook, plates moved, and forests fell.

Death was there to witness that magnificent sight, mainly as he was the cause of such an occurrence. When he stood on the mound of dirt that he was told was the goddess, and struck his staff against her skin, a surge of dark energy rippled across the forest floor. Birds took flight from their perches, and leopards leaped across the jungle floor in accordance with their prey, all running from the same enemy: Death.

Mud splattered Death's cloak, as he stood on the churning earth. He watched as, once again, the mountain became immobile, and lost the face carved into its skin. A woman with full cheeks and an even fuller figure rose out of the dirt in front of him, but his attention was drawn to the bright, geometric designs woven into the cloth she wore. He drew his gaze back up to her face once again, and she smiled at him.

"It's wonderful isn't it?" she said, pulling at the tassels at the end of her clothes. "My people offer sacrifices in my name, and among the animal and human heads, I sometimes find gifts as beautiful as the one I'm wearing," she commented, as a shy smile graced her face, and a rosy blush took over her freckled cheeks.

Death stated in an offhand voice, "I'm afraid I don't get the type of sacrifices many types of deities get. Death isn't the most admirable spirit people can think of to sacrifice their livestock or prisoners to. I'm much more accustomed to having curses thrown at my spiritual being more than sacrifices, but when I do get sacrifices, it's more death, where I have to bring the soul to the gardens, or the nine hells, depending on the soul's deeds. It's a lot more work for me, so I personally never feel appreciative of the loss of lives that take place in my name."

Her blush turned a deep, splotchy crimson as she stared embarrassedly at the ground. "I'm sorry to hear that," she murmured.

"That's alright," Death cheerily responded. "I didn't come here to wallow in the pitiful stories that befall my existence. I came here for a much more important issue."

Pachamama looked up once more. "Yes..?"

"The girl that we met at our recent meeting, Raven, has escaped my castle. The day she escaped, she told me her name, and for a while, I couldn't place it, but after a few days, it registered: she was my daughter, one I had with a human mortal. I'd like to get her back."

Pachamama knew the girl. She had felt her rise from her grave in an explosion of wet Earth. She had seen her rotting flesh heal, and her staff's runes glow, golden light spilling out of the ancient writing. When she felt her skin, the Earth, shifting to let a dead woman rise, she thought that Raven was a daughter of Life. Turns out, it was just the opposite.

"So what are you requesting I do?" Pachamama snapped. Death wasn't a force Pachamama wanted to make another bargain with; she regretted the first one she made with him, and she suspected the second would be no different.

A swift, harsh wind blew through the undergrowth where they spoke, and Death's cloak billowed upwards and revealed a tan, thickly muscled hand holding onto his omnipresent scepter.

"I want you to... look after her for me."

Pachamama sighed and turned in a full circle, taking in the breathtaking views of the nearby mountain range, the small villages at the bottom of mountains, the few empires built at the top.

"Death," she started, "I'm afraid I will have to reject your offer."

"I haven't told you your reward for aiding me if you accept."

Pachamama gave a dry laugh. "I'm afraid I don't really care what my rewards will be this time, Death. You're an honest being, and I appreciate the fact that you make your best efforts to keep your deals, but I'm afraid I have a rather pesky habit of, well, learning from my mistakes. I know you Death. You make it your job to find loopholes in every possible place, and through those holes, you send arrows of misery to pierce people's hearts. You've ripped families apart without blinking an eye, and you still have the audacity to blame others. I saw what you told Mazu. Next time maybe you should consider conversing with her in her domain, the sea, not the sandy beaches surrounding it, if you don't want to be heard. Life, really?"

A rather stony silence ensued. After a couple of minutes, Death said in a gruff voice, "You don't believe me."

"I'm sorry if I don't believe the fact that Life orchestrates deaths. That's your job, and you do it exceedingly well, unfortunately."

"If I could reverse time, I would, Pachamama. I know your people, the Incas, have left you, and I know the people who have taken over."

"I'm aware, I'm sure your war goddess Athena has helped ensure that you swelled the Gardens of the Dead in those years. I hope that you've at least let them find peace there and that they're not endlessly pacing through your stone cold world."

Death's hood shifted, making him seem like he was cocking his head. "I've never seen you angry before."

Pachamama shrugged her shoulder. "I loved my people, and you took them away, willingly or not. I'll always try to see past one's mistakes and hopefully forget them as time wears on, but sometimes, one can only hope to forgive. I'm assuming this is one of those instances."

Death nodded his head towards Pachamama's slightly rounded belly. "I could make him immortal."

"You know as well as I do that that power lies in neither of our hands."

"But another thing we both know well enough is that I control the beings who could make it happen."

"You don't fully control them, nor will you ever. In fact, she might even have more control over them than you. After all, you're born from only a fragment of her, isn't that right?"

"The Fates follow orders from both of us Pachamama. It's a moot point to argue over."

"You're right, it is. Either way, while I thank you for the offer, I don't think I'd want to condemn my son to an eternal life. It gets quite tedious after a while, doesn't it?"

Pachamama saw his shoulders heave, while he just sighed in response.

"So this is your final answer?" he questioned once more.

"Yes."

She blinked once, and he was gone.

As she was about to envelope herself in the dirt once more, she felt a certain girl moving across her skin.

"Raven," she breathed.

Pachamama closed her eyes, and she envisioned the girl walking across corn fields, making her way to the building where the humans made bread. She bought a few loaves and put it in a sack. Raven did not hold her staff, and no raven perched on her shoulder as she made her way to the burial grounds.

Outside the cemetery, fields of wildflowers grew in abundance, and Raven bent over to pluck a handful of colorful, fragrant flowers. Once inside the small wooden gate that separated the cemetery, Raven traipsed over to a patch of rectangular dirt; an unmarked grave.

Raven gathered her skirts and kneeled while placing the flowers on the grave. She closed her eyes, while a lone tear escaped her long, sparse lashes, and dropped onto the freshly turned dirt beneath her.

Pachamama felt the dirt of the grave churning, and a stick and some other substance escaped her skin, just like Raven had a few days earlier.

Raven opened her eyes and tightly grasped her glowing staff in her right hand. Another slippery, black substance rose from the ground and formed a raven with a pair of the silkiest wings Pachamama had ever seen. It flew up to rest on Raven's angular shoulder, while she took some of the dirt from the grave, squeezed it, and let it slip through her long fingers.

She gazed at the raven on her shoulder while stroking its wings. The bird let out a long screech and flew towards the docks. With one last look at the grave, Raven turned and followed her raven. She walked through the fields once more, almost as if to avoid going through the town.

Once she reached the docks, she waded through the fishermen who were piling their respective catches in wooden crates. Pachamama could no longer see the girl as clearly as she could while she was still on land.

"Humans and their obstructive creations," Pachamama muttered irritably. Pachamama immersed herself once more in the dirt and she reappeared in the forest Raven had crossed early. She briskly walked towards the pier that Raven was sure to embark from, and by the time she got there, she saw Raven sitting in a small fishing boat while people had gathered around her in shock. Her staff lay at the bottom of the boat, while the raven roosted on the edge of the boat, preening its luscious feathers in the dazzling sunlight.

Whispers raced through the crowd, and more and more people started to gather at the docks, while Raven started to untie the boat. A trembling fisherman started, "Margaret, your husband -"

"My husband was a lovely man while I was still Margaret Scott, but people change. It's been a couple of months since you've buried me in the ground, and I don't think many dead women come back just to be under their husband's rule once more."

Another man yelled, "You still haven't paid for the boat, witch!" Raven scanned the crowd with a keen eye and pulled a weathered pouch from under her shawl. She opened it and held it out to the raven. When it still didn't look her direction, she made a quick clack with her tongue, and it gazed at her with its beady eyes before snatching the cusp of the bag and flying high into the air above the crowd, dumping its contents over the people. A dusty substance swirled through the air, and people began to faint when they breathed in even a speck of the matter.

Pachamama knew what it was. It was dirt, dried dirt from the banks of the river Lethe, a river located near the nine hells. It's said a full-body dip in the river could wash away every memory the creature had ever accumulated in its mind from birth, but Pachamama had never seen it herself.

The goddess held her nose and watched as the bodies began to pile on the battered docks. Raven sat rooted in place until the dust had affected every last person that was there. Her raven flew down to meet her once more, and she smiled at it as it placed the bag in her hand and cawwed once more.

She stroked the small feathers on its head before getting up to untie the rope keeping the small rowboat anchored in place.

Suddenly, a dark woman in a slender dress with a large bag in hand strutted up the length of the jetty from the direction of the nearby town. Pachamama watched as she stepped over the bodies while keeping her gait confident and steady. She watched as Raven's head bobbed up, changing her focus from the rope to the stranger nearing her. Her eyes slit, and her body language reflected a newfound wariness within her.

The women stood at the edge of the pier, holding out the bag to Raven. Before taking it, Raven asked her in a gravelly voice, "What is it?"

The woman answered in an accented, ringing voice, "People traveling on long journeys should take more provisions than bread that'll last for a week if used wisely, correct?"

Raven's eyes widened a hair's breadth, and the woman held out the bag to her, her broad grin unfaltering.

Raven steadily grabbed the bag and turned back to get into the boat. In her hand was a pinch of dust, ready to pelt out from under her fingers, but the woman on the docks held up her hand and said, "Raven, time does not forget."

The slender, short woman, turned away from Raven with the slightest of smiles on her face, leaving behind an astounded Raven, her jaw hanging slightly ajar.

As she exited the dock, the woman saw Pachamama peeking out from behind a tree and sent a wink in her direction.

Pachamama could feel her heart beat faster at the sight of her visage.

She would know that face anywhere.

She watched as the woman confidently strode past her, heading in the direction of the town.

Pachamama then craned her head towards Raven, who was sailing off into the distance, but she could no longer focus on the girl. Only one word kept running through her mind.

Kali.

And with that last haunting thought, she buried herself in the Earth once more.