Xaviers!

"Not quite," she says as she starts to make the depression deeper, and build the walls up higher.

"I know what you are, Will. What you really are. And maybe you're not mine, but the least I can do is let you be what you're meant to be."

Will looked on with a half-frown as Sam continued to work the clay.

"You're the other side of the cycle, you see."

She starts to shape the curve of the sides of the object, and it's starting to look like a clay pot you might cook something in.

"New things come from you."

"No, Samantha," Will sighed.

"The Morrigan is the cycle. Guiding the spirit along, deciding who lives and who dies. Cycles don't have sides; it's an endless loop.

The Fulacht na Morrigna is a tool, just as Dagda has his Anvil, and Neithin has her Spit. Tréde neimthigedar gobainn. Creation. Transformation. The hewing of raw materials into something special, put to their test through fire to emerge stronger, better, more worthy on the other side. Different tools for different aspects of divinity.

They are nothing without the power of their deity to work through them. And that, I'm afraid, is just a lump of clay."

"Sounds like your tool has grown dull from neglect." Cailleach heckles.

"It would be more than a lump of clay even if I never touched it."

"But the Morrigan is here, Will." She says, closing her eyes and running her fingers over the surface of what she's sculpted, trying to empty her mind of everything but the spark she knows is there, the spark she's touched before.

"No, I mean, I'm here. That's just...worthless clay. It would be like trying to break down the guitar I gave you; it's no longer part of me."

"Not with that attitude. If you've already relinquished it as worthless then it shall be such. The question is what are you willing to sacrifice."

"She did it with crayons and construction paper. Nothing's worthless, here."

Will sighed again. "I mean, I'm not the expert, here. Maybe this is one of those Peter Pan 'clap if you believe' sorts of things."

"If this is a discarded tool, and you say the Morrigan is what gives it meaning then..."

"...then I have to give it meaning."

She reaches under her bandage and winces, her hand coming back bloody.

Then she starts to work the blood into the clay, her eyes closing once again as she tries to feel her way through this.

"Not the blood I would have chosen, but... he struck the wound, did he not? Perhaps he should atone."

One of Sam's hands suddenly seizes up and lashes out to grab Will's wrist, fingernails piercing skin and letting his blood drip onto the clay as well.

"With blood spilled, transgression's debt paid, drop for drop as offal for the Phantom Queen..." she intones and Sam can feel a tingle in the fingertips still buried in the clay.

Will hissed and winced -- the flesh was spongy and weak! Stupid human bodies.

"I can... I can almost feel it. It's right there..." she mutters as she continues to work the clay.

The bloodied clay is feeling warm between Sam's fingers, pleasant.

"Now accept the sacrifice. What you slew is yours, covenant sealed in blood. Take it for yourself."

"We've fought together, Will. We've bled together."

"I'm accepting this. I'm clearing your ledger."

"And I'm offering you this: I can make you a sacred, well-loved tool again."

"And I promise we'll make this bastard pay for doing this to you."

"Do we have a pact, Will?"

Will paused.

"You...you have other commitments. Ones that do not mesh well with me. And I will not be the cause of strife for you, Sam. I will not be an obstacle to your happiness."

"And I won't see you left behind. You're in my care until I can return you to your wife and your goddess."

"This... man, this foolish man, thinks he's taken our measure."

"Let's show him how wrong he is."

"Your wolves would have a thing or two to say about that, I'm afraid.

We shall figure out a way to defeat Lippencott, though. Don't you worry about that."

"I'm already willing to pay this price, Will."

"Let me give you this."

Will drummed his fingers on the counter for a moment, thinking.

"Alright, S...Morrigan. Alright. Let's see what we can do."

"Be as you should be. Be all the possibility that springs from you."

She wraps her fingers around the clay, feeling with her inward self for the ember she knows must be within Will.

"Be the Fulacht na Morrigna."

She imagines it as a breath, blowing on an ember to kindle it into a flame.

The Morrigan could swear Cailleach is pouting at her across the infinite chasm of the abyss.

But she does feel something swell. It's like a flickering candle in a storm but it's there. Not quite here, she can feel it down below, amidst dozens and dozens of little lights, caged and strangled. Test-tubes of some kind holding their powers, though she can't seem to make them budge. The one thing she can sense clearly is Will. Despite the darkness in the room she can make him out, even with his spark still extinguished she can see how to lead him into battle. A metaphorical spear more than a literal one for now.

"It's... it's so close. I can see yours. I can see all of them. I just can't... damn it."

"I'm not...not feeling anything different," Will frowned.

"...I know," she sighs.

"it's just out of reach."

"Well, I suppose it was to be expected. It was just some clay, afterall," Will frowned, sucking on his punctured wrist.

"Let's... let's get you patched up."

"You'll get this figured out," Will said, glancing in the general direction of where he had last heard Calileach.

"I just thought... well, it was a chance I needed to take."

"And it may still pay off. You saw the sparks; you must still have a connection. That might come in handy."