Author's Notes: I'm not really one of those authors who strives on the popularity of their story (although I do love the comments and reads that I recieve :] ) but I have noticed that my Faith is Stronger series gets triple the amount of attention than this story does. I was wondering if my readers for this story would have any theories as to why this story is not so popular? Any suggestions? I would like to try to improve it, if I could. 

I know it's very short, but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless! 

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Chapter Thirty-Three

The chants of the jungle littered through the leaves, the ancient language weaving its prayers and blessings. Screams cast an enchanting beat to the tune and drums of war were now beat to signal help.

The thick canopy overhead was like a sweltering cocoon, closing in around her mercilessly. Rivulets of sweat rolled down her body, clad only in a breast band and a loincloth with a leaf skirt that was the traditional clothes of that area. She leans against the tree, hoping for the tight sickness in her chest to release her so that she can continue to hunt for food.

The chants grow louder as she approaches the village, the beating drums like a thunderstorm raging overhead. Her own head pounds with each beat; the screams of the dying and sick adding their own haunting melody.

“Help me” A skin and bone rag latched onto her own skinny arm as she passed towards the center of the village. She shook it off uncaringly, not having the strength of mind or body to stop and bring her closer to the great bonfire for warmth.

A bonfire compiled of the dead. Members of the families still alive continued to drag their deceased to the raging flames and tossing them in, falling to their knees in a mournful wail before getting up to tend to the other sick.

“Help me!” A woman, or at least what looked like a woman, threw herself before Savannah, her long-dead babe in her arms. Her sunken face glared accusingly at the young witch, demanding her to bring it back to life.

“I can’t.” She croaks, unable to properly speak due to the sores in her throat. The woman shudders and her hand falls from the limp stalks of grass that make up her skirt. Savannah bends to pick her up, but stops as her spinal cord screams in protest. She falls to her hands and knees and begins to shove the body forward, unable to do more.

What is left of the hunters come forward as she comes within steps of the bonfire and drag the woman and her baby to their final resting place. Savannah is hauled to her feet, a handful of moss with stale water pressed over her mouth. She drinks greedily.

“Help us” The warriors begin to chant, mixing their words with the ancient tune. The arms holding Savannah drop away and she forces herself to keep upright, gasping for air and trembling as more sweat pours off her emaciated body. She lifts her hands to the thick roofing of the jungle and tries to summon her magic. The chanting gets louder as the faintest purple haze appears over the village.

A rearing anaconda dives straight from the trees, coiling around Savannah’s feet and choking off her magic with a psychic punch that could wake the dead. Savannah screams as loud as she can muster as she falls limp against the snake’s coils and does not fight as it surrounds her sickened self.

Her sunken eyes flutter and allow her to glimpse the snake rearing its head back, about to strike. Her ears tremble from the fainting chanting. Her skin ceases to sweat as the massive fangs dig into her torso, ripping her ribcage apart with an efficient snap, baring her insides to the famished serpent.

“Help us. Help us. Help us.” The chant still sounds as she is ripped apart. She parts her lips in a silent scream, wanting so badly to help but unable to.

“Help Us. Help us.” Savannah lifts a faintly shimmering hand, the violet a final comfort as the breath leaves her body at last. Her head falls limply into the snake and the village’s final words echo in her ears.

“HELP US!”

“I CAN’T!” Savannah jumps from her bed, landing in a heap upon the floor; sweat draining in rivulets off of her body as she presses her head to the carpet in attempt to calm her breathing.

“Savannah?” The door is thrown open quietly, muffled footsteps alerting to someone approaching. Gentle but firm hands grasp her upper arms, pulling her to her feet and onto the bed.

“Savannah, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Scorpius whispers frantically. Savannah pants for breath, her arms feeling frail as they cling to his shoulders.

“I can’t help them, Scor.” She cries into his chest, her tears flowing freely. Scorpius wraps his arms around her trembling waist, holding her tight against him while he leans back against the pillows. He hoped to any gods out there that his mother did not walk in anytime soon. Her treatment of Savannah the last few days has been dismal and full of ice, and though she tried to hide it, Savannah was crushed by it.

“Can’t help who, sweetheart?” He asks her softly. She shudders and suddenly her breathing is slow and easy, her body relaxing against his. She lifts her head to stare at him in confusion and he chokes down a gasp as he sees her eyes, which are a fierce purple, almost glowing with power.

“Savannah, your eyes.” He whispers. She crinkles her brow in confusion before jumping up and away from him, stalking to the window and throwing it open. She leans against it, and Scorpius gets up hesitantly to see what she’s doing.

“I had another dream.” She breathes.

“Do you remember it?” he asks, standing next to her and brushing her arm with his. She shakes her head, taking a deep breath of the frigid night air.

“No, but people were in pain. So much pain.” Her voice cracks and she sniffles slightly.

“What kind of pain?” She touches her chest and shrugs.

“Everything hurt. That’s all I know. I think I’ll go back to bed.” She mumbles; her eyes in a far-off place. He nods, walking next to her until she reaches her bed again. When she’s settled in, he turns to head for the door.

“Scor?” He turns to see her sitting up, beckoning him. He sits next to her, facing her rumpled self. She smiles and kisses the side of his mouth for a burning second, tugging his blonde hair before pulling away, licking her lips.

“Happy Christmas.” She whispers. Scor leans forward, eager for more. She lets him kiss her once. Twice. Three times before pulling away and taking his hand, pressing several kisses to his palm.

“Happy Christmas Savannah.” He murmurs before getting up and heading back to his room. He looks back one last time before closing the door, seeing Savannah as she snuggles deep under the covers, pillows piled around her like a shield.