paperweights [Brushfire, Claymore]

[Akante]

Claymore said:

There was an explosion in the forest, as if some enormous bubble had suddenly burst. Dead leaves fell away suddenly, and twigs snapped and tumbled to the ground as they gave out under the sudden pressure. The bird shrieked as it took wing shakily, lashing out in every direction with everything it had. He snapped at it, biting empty air desperately in one last arcing attempt to satisfy his growling stomach. Their pitiful dance ended abruptly, with the sorry excuse for a royal crashing back down on the forest floor and the bird fluttering away angrily. Claymore watched it, half melancholy and half enraged, as it broke through the canopy and disappeared into the sunlight. If only he could grow thick, gray wings and just fly straight out of this hellhole...

But enough daydreaming and resentment. The bony wolf hesitated before he started walking, absorbing the few rays of sun that filtered down through the clearing. However, the faint scent calling him from though the looming trees was far more important than that. The lost son lowered his nose warily, letting it lead him to the nearly devoured carcass, too broken and striped to clearly tell what is was in life. Didn't matter; the few stringy pieces of meat clinging desperately to the bones would serve his purpose. He didn't care who's meal it had been - maybe the Lief's, or a soldier's, or even Mother's - but they were GONE and he was here and so what did it matter.

The primal creature in him caused him to dive at it with a ferocity not normally seen in his gangly dusty body, hunger madness driving him to drool and snarl at the long dead prey. He tore at the scraps of red with a desperate intensity. It wasn't until he had nearly devoured the sorry excuse for a meal did he realize how he must look, somewhere between pathetic and mindless. But the wild shine in his eyes hadn't quite left him, rendering him a salivating monster hunched over a pile of bones, gnawing at the cracked ribs and muttering to himself. Isolation was tearing at him when it wasn't twisting him, the once respectably rebellious Claymore dissolving into something closer to his father or just another mindless beast within the Motherland. He had never realized how much he needed Scythe, needed Mange, until they had left him alone in the silence of Alteron's cacophony. Inside her shivered as he licked the last bits of marrow from the broken bone.

Oh, how far he had fallen.

[Akante]

Brushfire said:

[[You ain't supposed to say that to me. . . considering how badly I can forget roleplays. XD]]

Brushfire knew that Alteron was not what she had wanted. It never had been. But it was what she had. . .

Her brown eyes glimmered with faint hope, re-established in the slightest bit from a pep talk with Blade. It was more of a venting stage for her, blurting out what she had kept secret for so long. And he had listened, as far as listening went for the Black Prince. He responded, with something that had seemed to be emotion. That had definately been one of Blade's strongest moments, in the Sentry's eyes. She had rarely seen him so into a conversation. Of course, he could've been faking it the entire time, and she didn't truly know. But she wanted to feel like someone actually cared, so she pushed that thought away. Blade had cared, and she'd leave it at that. Her paws pounded against the rotting turf as her legs carried her lean body through trecherous jungles. Her eyes blinked, the shine returning to the copper tinges in her eyes. Yes, this female had been built up and broken down countless times. But now she seemed to be learning from it. She was beginning to learn the pointless cycles that Alteron ran through. She was learning how inevitable terror and grief and disappointment was. This was Alteron, and there wasn't any turning back from her point.

Her mouth salivated, the scent and blood of her catch getting to her instincts. It was a habit of the she-wolf to find a somewhat decent eating place before she devoured her prey. And, as common sense made her, she clamped down fiercely on the rat in her jaws. Anyone in these jungles would dare jump out and snatch an easy meal. It was the heart of this pack, this horrid excuse for a pack. Her eyes shifted too and fro, keeping an observant eye out for any potential threats to her lunch. It was hers, and no one else's. She had caught it fair and square. But, then again, when did 'fair' and 'square' count? As far as anyone knew, the Queen wasn't even the rightful Queen. Perhaps the true Queen had been murdered so many years ago, and the brainwashing that Rapier had ordered had its effect. A scowl scrunched up the Sentry's maw, lifting her nose up. And with that motion, a scent drifted past her. Her eyes widened, recognizing whose scent it was. There was a tinge of royalty to it. But she had just been with Blade, so it couldn't be him. And she could recognize Rapier's stench from a mile away. It was male, so it couldn't be Scythe. . . Scimitar and Claymore were the last options.

A ravenous snarling caught her attention. Her head turned to her left, eyes squinting as she tried to focus through the bushes in the dim light. No luck. Her nose snorted, her tail swished, and she turned her trail to find out who this was. She moved her head to the side, aggresively pushing the shrubs to the side as she walked through them. She opened into the clearing, only to see the fragile body of Claymore. His gray pelt was matted, his eyes crazed, and his maw stained with the recent blood of whatever creature's bones were there. At first Ru froze, taken aback at the feral way that Claymore had attacked what was left of a meal. Her eyes were wide, in shock, and one might say she was scared. Did Claymore contract rabies?
The Sentry gulped, dropped her prey, and scooched it forwards with her nose. Her eyes trailed over to Claymore's blue eyes. They were dull, almost lifeless. She sighed, sitting down out of caution. She wouldn't approach any further, not knowing what was wrong with him. Of course, it could be simply hunger. She could see his ribs! What more reason would you need to scarf down what litter food there was, especially in his condition!? She tilted her head to the side, as if her gaze were turning, too. But her eyes stayed glued to both her rat and to Claymore. He was royalty, whether Rapier wanted to accept that or not. He deserved better than his current predicament. Her chest inhaled deeply, puffing out, and then relaxed as she exhaled. She missed seeing the spirit that had been in so many good wolves' eyes and hearts. . . Alteron seemed to tear that away from them. . .

"Hail Claymore. . . an--" Then again. . . where the hell was his sister? The two were always together. . . inseperable. Taking into note, Brushfire hadn't seen Scythe around. Being a Sentry, she was required to know a lot of everyone's statuses. . . "Do you know where your sister is. . . Scythe?"

[Akante]

Claymore said:

Like a flash of lightning something broke the silence suddenly. He froze, bracing himself against the forest floor. His slightly stained muzzle curled into a snarl as his instincts took over, fight-or-flight mindset pulsing through every inch of his veins. Even as she broke through the shadows and came into his line of site he remained hunched over, salivating and snarling as he stood over his meager meal. He watched with wary, unintelligent eyes as she pushed the fresher kill toward him. The royal sprang forward, snapping up the sentry's hard work with a slight growl. It was only when he caught her eyes, with the rat still in his mouth, did his mad frenzy finally leave him. "Br-brushfire, I-" his voice was wavering, high pitched and cracked. "I'm sorry, I didn't- I wasn't..." He trailed off, cursing his babbling apology. He glanced down at the offering he'd dropped, flicking his ears back in a mix between embarrassment and gratitude. "Thank you for the rat, you know it means a lot to me." His voice had settled, lowered into the gravely speech he had developed.

"Hail Claymore. . . an--"

There was something in the way she was still polite to him, respectful even, that touched him slightly. Brushfire had never fit into the Alteronian mold ( or at least that he'd seen ), something so rare that it comforted him to be able to feel akin to someone else. Well, she was no Scythe or Mange, but... He'd always found her pleasant. Even so, he was already on edge, and couldn't help but notice the way she stopped herself at the end. Who had she been expecting to see? Scythe?

"Do you know where your sister is. . . Scythe?"

He took a sharp breath in, trying to cover it with a quick cough. The lost son focused every fiber of his being to not tense up, to not do anything that would be... suspicious. Did she know? Did Brushfire KNOW? No, no, that was impossible. She must only be curious. Yes, of course, that was it. He let his tail swish behind him to try to release some of the fear twisting into a knot in his stomach, watching her still with wary eyes. "Scythe?" His voice was high pitched and quaking. He quickly tried to drop it back to normal, or to his normal facade. "I haven't seen her lately." As long as he was vague enough, she shouldn't, wouldn't suspect. Brushfire was nice and gentle, but she was not mental superpower like- well, like most of Alteron. Or if she was, she was too distracted by other things.

While his heart was still pounding under his matted grey fur, he had managed to shake off the initial panic - maybe. Paranoia and suspicion was settling in, causing him to lock his eyes on her form. He had forgotten the rat of generosity at his feet, instead just absorbed in making sure, once again, that Scythe's escape would never be known. They could never know. THEY WOULD NEVER KNOW. "Why do you ask?" As if to indicate he could pass on a message next time to see her, as if to indicate he could ask around. But his intent was much more malicious.

He was the son of a chess master, after all.

[Akante]

Brushfire said:

[[Sorry for the wait. Please, please feel free to bump. I have Finals, so I may overlook this, and so bumps do help me. <3]]

Within an instant the gray wolf had reacted with such feral instincts. Brushfire tensed, her tail quickly curling around her body in a desperate attempt for protection. Some protection a sack of fur could be. His growls and fierce eyes penetrated deep into her body, her heart literally shaking. What had happened to him? For a moment, Brushfire had the momentum to call on someone for help. But what help could Hell's demons provide her? They'd merely laugh, ignore her, or perhaps aid Claymore in his savage behavior. A second passed before the brute sprinted forwards without a moment's hesitation, his jaws claiming that prey that she had given him. A mere rat, and yet he had acted as if it were a life-saving meal. Perhaps it was. His lithe body was not supposed to be so. In comparison to his older brother, Claymore might be considered a deceased corpse. He was so thin, so mangled. It opened Brushfire's eyes to the true horrors that Alteron could present itself.
Even the royal kin could suffer as lowly as a peasant.

His snarling subsided, his body easing up ever so lightly. His blue eyes widend, looking into hers.
"Br-brushfire, I- I'm sorry, I didn't- I wasn't... Thank you for the rat, you know it means a lot to me."
His stature seemed to lower, his auds flickering back. At the sign of humanity returning to the gray wolf, Brushfire eased up. Her tail loosened itself from its tight grip on her side. Her muscles relaxed, her legs able to pull themselves out so that she could take a step forwards. Her auds perked directly forwards, her head lowering itself to eye level with the fallen son. Her copper eyes were warm, trying to connect with the true wolf behind the blue eyes. She didn't want to see the beast that she had just seen. She was afraid that it might happen again, without warning. She whimpered lightly, her voice slurring a little bit to make it more calm. Ru could feel her ribcages tensing, her lungs still as she held her breath. She was still expecting Claymore to lash out again, unexpectedly, and without control. She was ready, her legs were tense enough that she could jump back. But they were also loose enough that she might not send the wrong signal off. She didn't want him to know just how terrified she was at the moment. Terrified. . .
"No. . . it's alright. . . I know that you need it. . ."

She wasn't sure of anything else to say. She wouldn't comment on his previous behavior; that was rude. But she also wouldn't tell him of how she felt towards his reaction. One less weakness of hers running about the jungles. She couldn't afford but one more. She knew that, and so she kept her words as they were. Nothing more, nothing less.
And then, as to her question about Scythe, she could feel his tension. A quick and raspy cough signalled her curiosity. But instead, she thought of alternatives. He had nothing to hide, why would he? Perhaps he just ate the rat to quickly, that was more than likely. A small and shy grin stretched across her maw for a mere second after his cough. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared in the first place. His eyes, so tense and cautious. It was as if he were watching for her reactions to his reactions. Odd. . .

"Scythe? I haven't seen her around lately."

Brushfire dropped her head a half an inch. She had hoped that he knew where she was. Some more company, some company that wouldn't rip her throat out. Some company that was of the royal family, yet they didn't loathe her, nor did she feel so submissive in their presence. Plus, Scythe was a female. . . generally easier to talk to. Males could be so awkward sometimes, and usually more brutish. But in such a hellish place, where everyone was cruel, there was no gender distinction. A sigh escaped Ru's lips, her eyes drooping to the ground. Her head barely nodded in acknowledgment.
"Why do you ask?"

Brushfire perked her head up, her eyes widening a bit. Why was she asking. . . ? The main reason was obvious. Claymore and Scythe were always together, and to see them apart was confusing to her. And having Scythe around made Brushfire feel like there was one more person she could trust. One less person who hated her. One more reason to feel all the more loyal to Alteron. She shook her pelt, standing up taller. . . with more pride and dignity. She had just realized how she had lowered her body in submission towards Claymore. Although she saw it as necessary, she also felt the need to have a little strength as well. The Sentry nodded her head, clearing her throat before choosing her words.
"It's just, well, I always see you two together. And seeing you alone. . . it was just. . . different." She paused for a second, pondering, "And when I ask around, no one else has seen her. . . or they simply don't bother to look. . . . . I don't know. . ."

[Akante]

Claymore said:

Claymore felt a itching sensation in the back of his mind, whirling, always calculating and observing, indeed, observing now he was as his blue eyes watched her carefully, like prey, watching every twitch of muscle and ligament in her body, watching how her facials twitched and molded to express, how her eyes watched him and his reactions.

"No. . . it's alright. . . I know that you need it. . ."

Claymore almost to start a sly grin as he watched her express her morbid fear of his feral instincts. But he shouldn't take it out on a sentry that even though he was a royal, he was a lowly peasant rank, not her fault after all, but that again, isn't that what everybody did in Alteron? Oh well, he wasn't to become lowly pawns. No, that was not the plan.

As she started to lower her head, Claymore quirked a ear backwards, snorting loudly as she started to submit.

"What are you doing Brushfire? You insane? Your a sentry."

Claymore snorted loudly as he shook his head at her actions. No, he was not to be like his other mother’s perfected pawns, not to bathe in the glory, he would prove himself other ways. Running, running was the worst option, and his heart almost felt grief, knowing that he’d never see Scythe again, unless he too, escaped. It was too dangerous though, and Claymore would never, he knew he’d never have the bravery to do so.

"It's just, well, I always see you two together. And seeing you alone. . . it was just. . . different."

"And when I ask around, no one else has seen her. . . or they simply don't bother to look. . . . . I don't know. . . ."

That’s right Brushfire, you don’t know, nor will anyone ever know. Sorry to do this to you…

Claymore snorted and smirked at her last words, it made it easier for him, easier to puncture the unknown in her mind and make it permanent, no matter what anybody else said, she’d trust his words over anybody else, because well, as she said, he was always around with her…until lately. Though for a minute, Claymore did express the same sorrow she showed, Claymore made it disappear with a wave of his paw as she stood back up after she spoke, Claymore himself quirking his ears back up and coughing once more, chuckling.

“Exactly, nobody bothers to look. Nobody cares about us Brushfire, don’t you know that? Nobody, why should even you care?”

Oh that was priceless to his mind, perfection in the art of drawing her attention away from the matter at hand, and questioning herself instead of him anymore. Trying to break him down mentally was gonna be tough, in fact, he was pretty sure, not even Scimitar could do it....for now.

[Akante]

Brushfire said:

[[Thank you, Shikome. <3 I'm assuming his words are only the ones NOT in bold? Correct me if I'm wrong, please.]]

Brushfire almost began to feel uneasy. Claymore was most like his father, the most witty of all Alteron. Shrewed in the mind and quick on his toes. The peasant eyes the Sentry with a sense of tension that almost sent shivers down her spine. But she refused them passage to her nerves, her head straining as she kept herself calm and under control. What was there to be afraid of, really? It was just Claymore, one that she knew she had no reason to fret. Her forepaws shifted, watching as his grin slid across the grey fur on his maw.A crude smile, actually. Her eyes blinked, starting to feel uneasy. This certainly wasn't the Claymore she had remembered. He was something else. Someone who was sketchy and scared. But what was he scared of?

"What are you doing Brushfire? You insane? You're a sentry."

Her head shot up abruptly, eyes wide. What was he talking about? What was she doing wrong? It took her a few seconds to realize that the respect must not be natural to the prince. She backed up a step or two, out of respect, and out of fear as well. This new face that Claymore was wearing did not bode well with her. But instead of rather rebelling, she'd give him his space. Clearing her throat, she stared at him. Studied him. This was bayond wierd. . . this was unnatural. His lips uttered a short grin, it slid across his maw, wide. His head shook, and his eyes went blank. he was in thought, thinking. She watched him, articulately. She was curious, now. Intrigued. She'd figure out what was wrong. She wanted to. . . she needed to. It seemed as though she had stepped into a trap without knowing it, and it was either submit to the poacher or fight back. Fight or flight. Her heart fluttered, her blood paced, and then she stared at him once more.
She was going to fight back.

"I am a sentry, as you are the son of the Queen. Royal Blood. . . "

Deny it if he wished, he could not push the truth away. It was solidified in her mind, and it was why she had bowed in the first place. She showed her respect to all Royalty, even the abused. She started to take a few steps, drawing nearer to the prince. Her eyes didn't leave his mangy body, her paws treading carefully on the ground. Making no sound. Her tail followed close behind her, repeating the motions her body made a few seconds after it had done so, creating a flowing effect. It was a very natural thing for the timber to do, but she hadn't the pleasure of doing it lately. The stress and constant fear of where she was and what she was doing always encountered her. She couldn't escape it, she couldn't hide from it. Fear was inevitable in this damn jungle. Brushfire knew that all too well. But here, she felt a little more confidence. She had rank, yes, but that didn't apply here. She wasn't among the savage, cruel beasts. She knew Claymore too well to know that he was not one of them. He had his own mind, his own way of working. He was different. She was different.
They had something in common. . .

“Exactly, nobody bothers to look. Nobody cares about us Brushfire, don’t you know that? Nobody, why should even you care?”
Brushfire's auds flickered. He was trying to hide something, or perhaps he was truly that fearful of the pack. Had he really been that horribly scarred? Beaten to the effect of a pup who screams out when the authority is away? When only the nice nanny is nearby? She sighed, taking his words in. Yes, no one seemed to care much. No one cared when there was a fool nearby. No one cared when the kind fell and crumbled. They only cared when there was a reason to be feral, a reason to be cruel. They sought out the suspicious. They attacked the ones desperate to flee. They killed anyone they pleased. It was the way of the pack, and anyone inside of the pack's borders sure as hell knew this. If they didn't, they were either buried in the ground under the rotting soil, or their name was already marked there. Alteron was about life or death. Choose one, and you've most likely chosen the wrong option. Life is death in Alteron. And death is freedom. . . The sentry knew that all too well. . .
But she felt annoyed by his arrogance. Had he no faith in anyone? Was he truly going to believe that there was no flicker of hope on the horizon? She'd beg to differ.

"I care because you, me, and Scythe are one of the few creatures with life in this damned pack! We have hopes, ambitions, the need to see something brighter behind the next turn!" She was almost yelling, frustrated that someone she cared for had fallen, "And if you've lost that, Claymore, you may as well be rotting with the soil beneath your paws. . ."

Perhaps a little bit too harsh. . . but true all the same.

[Akante]

Claymore said:

"I am a sentry, as you are the son of the Queen. Royal Blood. . . "

Claymore's eyes studied Brushfire's face, and he realized she was in agony. Perhaps she thought he had become....different? Much different? Indeed, he had. Another mask had come about in his findings of masks, and this mask, this mask taunted him when it was not worn, it drove him nuts, called him foolish, weak. Called him a nanny in a teasing manner of his rank he had earned with hard work and dedication. It said he would never be a shadow, too weak to be one.

You are a waste of Royal Blood than, a waste of a son. Weak, pitiful....you could not be a King of a herd of horses, let alone wolves.

Claymore's eyes widened, and he'd gaze up at Brushfire. "Did you hear that?" he'd whisper in a feverish manner. It was obvious the male had in fact, fallen, fallen so far and so deep, that he couldn't get up, without....a little help.

"I care because you, me, and Scythe are one of the few creatures with life in this damned pack! We have hopes, ambitions, the need to see something brighter behind the next turn!"

Claymore's widened eyes of fear would gaze up at her as she spoke, and he shook his head. His blue eyes flickered, flickered with a malicious spark, before it sputtered and died, leaving his blue eyes completely void of any life in them.

"There is no love in Alteron, there is no hope, only death and rotting flesh."

His tone spoke in a robotic manner, as if he was repeating what he had always heard in his head.

"And if you've lost that, Claymore, you may as well be rotting with the soil beneath your paws. . ."

Claymore would seem to snap out of it, however, as she spoke those last words, and he'd shake his head once more.

"S-ssorry."

The male hung his head in shame, sitting down immediatly and than falling even further to his stomach, letting the wet mud splash about him, his head tucked in between his fore-paws.

"I've lost sight of that hope, Brushfire. Scythe? She has hope, has made that turn, and has a better life."

There, happy? He just admitted it in a way, Scythe? She had left, and he had so dearly wanted to go with her, he did. But they would know, would know if he and her was gone at the same time. Thus he had to plan carefully, had to join the ranks, and it was killing who he used to be, obviously. A beast had arosen inside of him, and he was becoming....a monster.

"Not that I don't care anymore, believe me Brushfire, I do, it's just....it's nerve-wracking. It's lonely....and....cold, so cold."

The male would pause on his ranting, and gaze back into her eyes, his mind going a mile a minute with different thoughts, chaos was evident in his features. He truly had fallen deeply into the abyss.

[Akante]

Brushfire said:

[[Dear god, I've got this one Drav. Too good to pass up. D:]]

The sentry was still, almost afraid of what she had done. Her words had been strong, they had been fierce. They had been true, but maybe Claymore wasn't ready for the truth. Her eyes were calm now, still. Warm. Copper fire stared at the prince, eager. . . waiting. She wanted to get a response from him. Now. But all he was doing was staring, watching. A small shiver went down her spine. Was the sly shadow of the King about to slip out? Attack her without a second thought, as he had done to her catch? Keeping her nervous thoughts to herself, Brushfire stared back at the grey male, intent on not giving in. Not giving in to the arguement. . . not giving up on Claymore. He deserved that much. . . and more.
Eyes looked up at her, lost and pale, "Did you hear that?"

Her head backed up an inch, but her body remained still. Heard what? Had she heard what? Eyes widened, fearful, concerned. Swallowing deeply, the Sentry took a step forwards, closer. She was now no more than three feet away from the neglected royalty, and her head was level to his own. Her neck craned, keeping the level consistant as she looked into his cold eyes. There was a story in there, waiting to be heard, waiting to be told. She whimpered softly, comfortingly, and whispered with a still maw, "I hear only what you tell me, Claymore. . ." No. She hadn't heard anything. He hadn't said anything. Perhaps there were words running through his mind, and his conscience wanted him to tell them aloud. But he didn't. It showed strength, that did, but it also showed uncertainty. He couldn't seem to trust himself. . . The Sentry sighed, looking to her right and left, and then behind her. No one was around, at least no one that she could see or scent. Not a single smell that stood out to her, none that were stronger than the rotting vegetation. As if that said anything. She looked back at Claymore. "Is there something you wanted me to hear? Anything. . . ?"
Please. . . tell me. . .

But before she could even complete those words, his voice stuttered his despair, "There is no love in Alteron, there is no hope, only death and rotting flesh." He took in her fight, her challenge, "S-ssorry. I've lost sight of that hope, Brushfire. Scythe? She has hope, has made that turn, and has a better life." . . . what? "Not that I don't care anymore, believe me Brushfire, I do, it's just....it's nerve-wracking. It's lonely....and....cold, so cold."

Brushfire was still now. Silent. Cold. Her eyes were still wide from his comment about Scythe. She was gone, now? Having a better life? She made the turn for some hope? What did he mean by that? Her first suspicion was death, and she couldn't shake that thought off. Had someone killed Scythe? had she done it to herself? Worry clouded in the Sentry's eyes, and her heart was weighed down. The rest of Claymore's words seemed to slur, having little effect on her. What had happened to the sister? His own sister? Whimpering, both in fear for Scythe and for Claymore, Ru took those last few steps, closing the gap between the two. She sat at the side of the male, making sure her warmth was there for him. Making sure that he knew that she was there. She was there, and she would be there for him. She rested her maw on his nape, gently. Her eyes stared off into the distance, resisting the tears that tried to seep through. Claymore needed support, strength. And so did she. She wouldn't cry on her account. . .

"I'm here for you, Claymore. Nothing is pointless when you've got someone to live for, when you've got someone to look for. . ." It hurt her, but she said it, "As for Scythe, I hope that her exit from this hell was quick and painless. . . no one deserves to suffer when trying to flee from such torture. . ."

[Akante]

Claymore said:

[[LOL hell ya, I agree, it's turning out good ]]

Claymore was literally lost, the old claymore she had known, was tossed away most of the time, hardly seen anymore. His faces, his masks, they had caught up to him, wiping his mind, no, not his intellect, but his cares, his thoughts, some kind of....transformation in literal sense. He was going through it still, however, thus why he had stopped it from rearing it's ugly head, despite it's persistence. Thus why he fell on his fours and whimpered softly, so softly that not even he could hear himself. As she leveled her head and kept a strong willful gaze into his own blue eyes, he gazed back, with a slight warm grin towards her. He had to tell somebody, somebody. Surely Brushfire he could trust....surely.

"I hear only what you tell me, Claymore. . ."

Those words had done it in, he frowned. So, he had been giving into insanity, he was hearing voices, changing attitude, and his goals of being a mere watcher and finding an excuse to go find a pup and cross the borders, was down the drain for that reason. He wanted to be a warrior, sink his teeth in fur and flesh and rip it piece by piece by using his strengths, intelligence and speed, for that reason.

"The voices, Brushfire....they've changed me, changed me from what I was." The male would turn his head away in shame, ashamed of what he had said, of what he had become, somebody completely different.

"Is there something you wanted me to hear? Anything. . . ?"

Claymore's bitter laugh could not be missed.

"How can you hear it Brushfire? It's in my head alone, but it sounds....different than of my own mind. It's like...a completely different person is in there, and only pops up when I'm miserable or when I'm being down-talked, or when I feel like a battle is coming on. I hate it, but what can I do to fix it? Kill myself? No-"

He would turn his head upwards as Brushfire suddenly stilled at the news of Scythe, as if she was in mourning and also in sorrow for Claymore. Confusion wasn't there, as was surely to be expected from such mis-communication. Claymore would keep silent, awaiting her response. As she closed the space and seemed to try to comfort Claymore, a very unusual feeling of relief and comfort actually flooded through the grey male, and the whispers, they halted what had seemed like centuries of them going non-stop. He felt....as if Scythe was here. The male stuck his nose in the mud, and tears ran down his cheeks, body slightly shaking as he silently sobbed. Oh how horribly, how horribly he missed his sister.

"I'm here for you, Claymore. Nothing is pointless when you've got someone to live for, when you've got someone to look for. . ."

Claymore wouldn't stop crying right now, but there was a hope now in his life, perhaps things wouldn't be so dark for the lost son, the shadow of alteron, the second best prince. Perhaps things wouldn't be so bleak, he'd have at least somebody to turn to.

"As for Scythe, I hope that her exit from this hell was quick and painless. . . no one deserves to suffer when trying to flee from such torture. . ."

Claymore's head shot up from this however, flinging mud perhaps a bit on her legs, his head twisting as far as it could to get a good look in her eye, his own eye showing defiance and a bit of outrage. His tone sounded incredlious.

"Her exit was quick and painless, I saw to that Brushfire, what kind of brother do you take me for? I sacrifice my chance at freedom, and give it to her for a safe and unknown exit out of this jungle, and you claim that she dies? Hardly. My intellect has not faltered Brushfire, do not think I would let my sister suffer such fate, though I might have to, I welcome it at this point."

As long as his sister would be safe......as long as his sister would be safe.

Nose would once more dig into the mud, and tears would start to fall silently, his body shook no more however. Oh what a ruins he was in....

[Akante]

Brushfire said:

Brushfire wasn’t sure if she knew this one before her. It sure was grey, Claymore who attempted to be himself for a change in this jungle, like she as well could rest her worries and drop her hands down for a moment and let herself be her. The secretive, loving and quiet person, a gentle flower growing in between the darkest of it all. It was not that special to her, him right now. Later they would look back on it, remark that this had truly been a special rare moment to share their true selves with anyone. But this Claymore was different as she had known him. But slowly the mask fell and she could. recognize him. His face, his eyes and she smiled as she saw it all return to him. She saw his weakness in heart, his beloved sister, he saw his strength to keep on living.

"The voices, Brushfire....they've changed me, changed me from what I was. How can you hear it Brushfire? It's in my head alone, but it sounds....different than of my own mind. It's like...a completely different person is in there, and only pops up when I'm miserable or when I'm being down-talked, or when I feel like a battle is coming on. I hate it, but what can I do to fix it? Kill myself? No-"

She hushed him and were shaking his head. No, no he was so wrong, it was truly not anyone-anything inside his head that could change who he was. Claymore. Claymore the pure unwanted soul, the last of all to be offered any good thought and chance in life, like his sister they had both been lost and without anything left to see, but Claymore had strength to live on.

"Only one can change who you are, but they can also change you back. Claymore" She put pressure on his name to indicate that she was talking about him. He was the only one who could make himself different, see and realize, change to become different and it was so much differently from what he might had known. Brushfire saw him cry and she gently lay her head on his shoulder. Claymore.

"Oh Claymore. Dear-dear Claymore. You are the strongest in heart of us. Stay strong my friend."

"Her exit was quick and painless, I saw to that Brushfire, what kind of brother do you take me for? I sacrifice my chance at freedom, and give it to her for a safe and unknown exit out of this jungle, and you claim that she dies? Hardly. My intellect has not faltered Brushfire, do not think I would let my sister suffer such fate, though I might have to, I welcome it at this point."

She didn't know what to reply or say. She stayed there with her head on his crying shoulder as she sighed in dispair of what they both had become, inherited, learned, taught and regret in life. What were their life now? What was it becoming and where would it be going? It seemed to be something far away from her right now, right now Claymore was close. He was present. She cried too now. She just had to. They were the lost ones, the fallen of the jungle that natured too much, asked for too much.

It was asking them to change.

[Akante]

Claymore said:

As Claymore came to, he saw that smile, a very rare thing seen on Brushfire in Alteron, pointed towards him, and relief. Clearly relieved that she had brought back someone she knew, out of the dark, and into the light to set him anew on his path.

"Only one can change who you are, but they can also change you back. Claymore"

Claymore listened to her words, and noted the emphasis on his name, and that just sent the male into a toil as he cried even harder, his shoulders shaking as he groaned out in misery and seemed to almost moan in pain.

"Than I have turned into what I least wanted to, and it is my own fault. How far can I fall, before I can rise, Brushfire?"

The male cried out in agony, burying his nose deeper into the mud.

"Oh Claymore. Dear-dear Claymore. You are the strongest in heart of us. Stay strong my friend."

As he heard those words, somehow, it gave him hope, and the feeling of her head on his shoulder, gave him the comfort he needed, but than he saw her too, starting to cry, and his heart was ripped in half. Mange, Scythe....and they were stuck here, in this despicable hell. It almost caused him to grow angry, but than came fatigue, and it hit him, hard in the chest, causing him to feel like almost....

Almost like he couldn't breathe.

The male staggered heavily as he tried to breathe, in the stifling air, but soon he moved to gaze up at Brushfire who was looming over him in a comfortable way, crying along with him. A true friend she had been for many years, and still he was learning from her. It amazed him, how Rapier and Scimitar could actually believe they could never learn from each other. They were wrong, in that aspect, as so proven to him today.

"I miss her too Brushfire....I miss her too."

Almost groaning in misery as he stated this, pureposely trying to bury his whole head in a mud-hole he'd create. Maybe if he'd just suffocate, the pain would stop, so waht if he had a heart? Several others did too, why must he suffer?

[Akante]

Brushfire said:

"Then I have turned into what I least wanted to, and it is my own fault. How far can I fall, before I can rise, Brushfire?"

For a moment she stayed silent. She didn't know what to say now, she just watched her friend as he in despair cried and she could only pat and nuzzle him to feel better. But what did it help and matter? She was no Scythe or sister, she was just. Someone he knew as a friend, recognized by name and scent, not by blood like she would wish so. Her heart shattered every time she saw his tears as she snuggled her head under his, rubbing his chest with her nose to comfort him, and maybe herself as well.

She was crying too, losing her mind to see her dear friend in this scissor she wanted to help, she wanted to jump to her feet and lead him out of this hellhole, but did she even have the courage? Did she even have the strength, the heart to do such act? She was loyal, she was a slave to Alteron and it's royalty. Royalty. She looked at Claymore, realizing he was a prince, a loyalty. She could, she just had to find the strength the power in her heart that Claymore had held for his sister. She swallowed.

NO NO NO! She couldn't she was too weak, such a pathetic creature, she was not worthy to be a sister to him, not worthy to even call herself his friends for her discourage, her cowardliness! She cried even more as tucked her head closer toward his chest now, clinging to him, suddenly realizing why, why she couldn't find the strength to help him out of this hole.

She couldn't let go.

"I miss her too Brushfire....I miss her too."

She snapped after air, held her breath. He missed her. Of course it was his sister and she was just selfish now. Her heart skipped a beat and hammered toward her chest. She realized it hurt and she breath heavily in and out between her sobing. Then she rose to her feet and bit her lip. It was it then.

"You have hit the buttom. It's time to rise." Pause.

She moved her paw swiftly over her eyes removing any trace of tears. She was done being a coward to her friends, she was going to prove her strength within, like Claymore had, she was going to protect those dear to her, she was going to rescue him and make him shine.

"I. I am going to help you. Like you helped Scythe. Come." She turned, like there was no time to waste in the jungle she headed toward the nearest river, to catch a drink, to plan. to plot

What the hell was she doing?

[Akante]

Claymore said:

Claymore just kept crying, those tears wouldn't stop as he cried along with Brushfire, his voice ached, and it felt as if it was on fire. His eyes swam with tears and dripped to the muddy earth below his paws. A weak despicable creature?

Claymore was no longer that, but the male was finding strength, as she spoke such comforting and true words. As she laid there, snuggled to him and pressing to his chest, he closed his eyes and took a deep inhale before jerking his head out of the mud, letting it drip onto her pelt as he gazed down at her, nuzzling into her fur and inhaling her scent. It calmed him, enough at least to stop the crying, but not the pain of his sister missing. It only dulled it.

Blinked however, as Brushfire moved out from under him, after inhaling and holding her breath. His blue eyes searched vainly for a emotion to come from Brushfire, and he gazed up at her, as she spoke.

"You have hit the buttom. It's time to rise."


Claymore gazed down at the ground, exhaling a large amount of air as his tail slid to one side, tucking it around his side as with a grunt, he rose, with shaky legs, he rose. Another deep breath given, as he'd breathe in and out. He'd note her wiping her tears, and Claymore gave her another smile, and nodded. As if to say, lead the way.

"I. I am going to help you. Like you helped Scythe. Come."

His eyes widened as she said that last bit, stunning him for a moment as she started to pad off, causing him to have to run to catch up beside her in stride. His blue eyes still searched vainly in her face for any hidden motives behind this. What was she saying eh? What the hell was she thinking!? Surely she wasn't about to....about to plot so that he could escape, like his sister? He couldn't leave her with that kind of trouble, no. And his mother would notice if he was gone....he knew that for sure. And if his mother didn't notice? Scimitar would, he had no doubt the male already knew Scythe was no longer around, and probably figured she had died off.

At least he had tricked them.

[Akante]

Brushfire said:

She had lead him deep into the jungle looking over her shoulder every other second her brain was pulsing telling her to run and escape the nightmare she had entered. She held the pace, she kept walking, pacing up to hide further, leaning over to check the ground's scents, when had someone last been here? Long ago. She spun around as she stopped standing in front of him she watched him, he was nervous. And she could understand that, she understood he was scared, it was not an easy task she had put on to herself. But something in her head spun like a crazy dance knowing that Claymore had to go, he had to go after his sister. His sister was all he had in this life. She knew that because once, once someone else had been all she had. She swallowed and let it leave her mind. Ridge couldn't be present in such urging matters.

"I patrol the borders. As a warrior you are there to protect me. Once we are alone you run. If anyone asks I say you sprained you leg and went back and I continued to walk."

Why? Why was it so easy to plan a rebel attack toward something she was supposed to love and glory in her life, she was supposed to love Blade, honour him and protect him with her life. Her heartbeat betrayed her to think she was calm, but she was hating. Hating herself. She was going to put herself and Claymore into danger with this. She lowered her head and looked away. She wasn't going to argue it she wasn't planning to run details with him. It was a simple escape plan, an excuse a runaway. Betrayal. It fling and flashed in her mind. She was going to betray the loyalty, Blade the one and only kindness left here that wasn't a tore and ruined blackblood with an open heart. She wanted to see Swiftkill again soon, she wished to see her and tell her of her action to lighten her heart. hear the good words and be told she did the right thing. Because nothing felt right anymore.

"6 hours from now. I see you at the southern borders that lean against the cold mountains." She didn't feel ready to betray to ruin. But Claymore needed to keep his promise, run and find what was his and his love. He had nothing here had he? A warrior rank, a rank to protect something and someone he loathed, hated and had no love toward, when his sister was running freely and probably looking for him, searching to find him and calling him wherever she went. She turned her head one last time. She was going to betray Claymore. All she could hope was that she could keep her mouth shut long enough for him to escape.

far, far away.