Post by Akante on Feb 1, 2012 1:06:23 GMT -5
Claymore said:
In the treetops,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall...
And down will come baby,
Cradle
And
All.
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall...
And down will come baby,
Cradle
And
All.
He was shaken to the core, his eyes hurt from the sun, his limbs ached from running, his soul was trembling from starting at shadows... he was in a bad place.
But she was worse.
He had been by her side since the blue behemoth had left her here, kindly within the shade from a setting summer sun. Blood caked her fur, and he regularly checked to see if she still breathed—at times he awaited her death, seeing no way that she would possibly pull through. But he had never been good at judging such things, had he? Shouldn't Cue have died, from the heinous injuries inflicted upon him? Still, if the wounds were clean...
He hung shaking over her as he cleaned her wounds with his tongue, gentle caresses that so few had felt. She would likely not remember, unless she drifted in and out of consciousness. What had even happened... his mind was still spinning, putting all the events into place. It was hard to believe that he was out until he felt the burning slabs beneath his feet, felt their grit and the sun-baked cracks. Then he could believe. But it made the realization no easier. He had... never expected to be free. He had never thought...
"Brushfire..." His voice cracked, throat coated with dust. He slumped to his belly and laid his chin on his paws, watching for the rise and fall of her breathing. What would he do if it stopped? What was he even doing? She had fought... well, of course she had... she was strong, and she feared being found out as much as he... didn't she? When he had seen her crumpled there, he just... couldn't leave her. Couldn't leave her behind to her fate.
He wanted her to be free.
But now she was here, and he didn't know if she would die or not. Restlessly, he stood, hovering over her a moment longer. "Brushfire... you hang in there, I'll get something..." Could she even hear him? He shook his whole body as if dislodging ants before he turned and padded a few steps out into the darkening expanse. The scents were thick and different here, and it was no comfort to him. He cringed back for a few moments before he looked over his shoulder at the battered body of his friend.
With a whine, he padded a few more feet into the twilight. He had to find something for her. Food, water, help... anything. He steeled himself and began walking, looking for something that looked useful. His own stomach grumbled, but the thought of food made it roil, and he nearly retched.
Get a hold of yourself, Claymore.
Where was Scythe? Had she been here all along? Couldn't she help? Where was Scythe? His eyes rolled, but he saw nothing he recognized in the flat barrens. Everything was unfamiliar. He nearly passed over the lizard that had been sunning itself but slowly becoming sluggish as the night brought a chill, though its color caught his eye at the last moment. With too much fervor, he scrambled after it, managing to jam a paw down. He had done it, he had a scrambling body beneath his paw, he would be able to provide...
The lizard scurried away, and he lifted his paw, his good ear flicking back when he realized all that was left was a still trembling tail. He wet his dry lips, whining in the back of his throat again, though he dipped his head to collect the tail daintily in his mouth. Even the little scrap made his mouth water, made his stomach threaten to betray him... no.
He grit his teeth and turned heel, carrying the tail back to where Brushfire had been, creeping once he'd come close, almost afraid of what he might find. Still, when he arrived, he found her as she had been. Sighing through his nose, he dropped the still squirming tail before her, watching worriedly, waiting for her to react.
Please react.
"Brushfire..." He called, pleading now. "Wake up."
Brushfire said:
[[yay! i'm so pumped for this roleplay, you have no idea~]]
Nothing had gone the way the Marquis had planned. She now stood at the mercy of the outside forces, bound by the shackles of a seemingly paralyzed body. She lay completely unaware of her current predicament, broken and beaten and limp on the cracked floor of this endless desert. Her body felt the unusual warmth from the sun, though its cruel intensity was anything but welcomed. The angle at which the sun set caused its rays to beat against the fragile timber's back, where the mud and filth began to cake and dry out, clinging to her fur. The dry air that was drawn in through her nostrils choked her aching throat, only to be wheezed out soon enough. Her facial features were still and serene, save for the look of fear plastered onto her sealed eyes, where a bloodied scar lay mangled just above her left eye. Her physical form bore the signs of a fierce fight, a battle for life and death, but only time would tell exactly who had won. Death seemed to creep up and caress the slender she-wolf's form, crimson eyes peering from a formidable place. And there she laid, frozen in between the torture of life and the menacing promise of death.
Her mind still lay in the comforting grasp of unconscious bliss. Her soul floated gently upon darkened fog, where nothing but her cold breath could be seen. A dream, perhaps? Or her immortal soul escaping the endangered confines of her battered body? She wouldn't know, for her mind was currently aware of so little. She knew not of the Raider who had interfered with Brushfire's assassination. She knew not of the fallen Prince, who'd saved her from death's choking grip. She knew not of the hefty blue blackblood who carried for days to the desert. And now she knew absolutely nothing of where she was held, or who watched over her. All she knew was of that dark, glistening form out in the fog. Chills ran down her spine frequently, her sparkling copper eyes glancing with uneasiness as she look from left to right, attempting to see where she was. But nothing was in sight, nothing but that figure ahead of her. Bright silver eyes glowed, narrowed as they gazed heavily upon the timber. Her only reaction was to step forwards, hesitantly at first, only to hasten and trot over to the creature. No distinguishing marks or features were present upon this stranger, none save for the hint of life in those gleaming eyes. And yet Ru came to the conclusion that this wolf must be her savior - her Black Prince - Blade.
She hurried up to him, tail low yet wagging slowly as she lifted her maw up to his. She sought comfort, reassurance, security, from this figure. Though little sign of either was returned. For what seemed to be minutes, Brushfire whimpered and whined - just as her actual, physical form was - and her thoughts pleaded for this shadow to return some sign. And then he sat down, only for the she-wolf to lower herself to the black, cold ground, causing the fog around her to billow up and away. An immaculate tongue escaped the maw of this figure, this savior, and as he ran it across Ru's body, she flinched. Her body twitched, eyes widening as she stared at her wrist, where the shadow licked, to find horrid, jagged scars ripping through her flesh. She gasped, only to feel the air choking her from within. It was then that the tongue moved to her throat, and she could feel scars tearing through her throat, where it had been fine only mere moments ago. Panic overcame the female, tears wallowing in her eyes before streaming down like rapids, pained eyes glancing from her wrist to her thigh, where another tear had been dealt. The throbbing above her left eye caused her to choke on her tears, her sobs withheld due to the immense pain streaking up through her throat. And still, through this chaos and panic and pain, that tongue laced over the scars, the blood, the flesh.
"Brushfire..."
While in actuality, her voice remained unheard, her subconscious spoke back, watching as the blackened, dazzled shadow called for her name. "My Prince..."If she were conscious and able to process thoughts, she'd be able to realize the voice failed to match that of Blade's. But her mind, her soul, took over and forced the connection. And then, for some unknown reason, Ru found herself begging, "Save me." Her voice mumbled her plead, audible for anyone within a few feet radius of the limp captive. The silver eyes grew larger, appearing to glare down at the frail timber. No answer. With her body bleeding to the point where the blood pooled around her laying form, Brushfire gazed up with desperate eyes. She could feel her heart beating unrealistically slow, though her mind told her it was racing. What was happening to her? And why? Before any questions could be answered, the black figure - Blade - suddenly vanished. Disappeared in thin air. The fog swirled around where the figure had previously been, and the she-wolf could only stare, dumbfounded.
What was she to do, now?
The pain in her wrist, her throat, soared to new heights. This sort of feeling was completely unfamiliar to the female, and so her instincts told her to panic. Tears began to burst from her fervently blinking eyes, and as she tried to stand up, chasing after that figure into the darkness, she collapsed over. Broken eyes looked down, only to see the flesh where her wrist injury was rotting and searing off her bone. As she tried to scream in shock, she could feel a burning, white hot sensation striking up her throat. Slowly the abysmal ground beneath her began to rumble, the fog disappearing all around her. And as soon as that fog completely vanished, those silver eyes returned. Alone. Gazing fiercely down upon the mangled and marred she-wolf, bright lights burning behind them.
Words began to echo, "Brushfire... Wake up." And slowly she opened her eyes, watching as those brilliant, dangerous silver eyes morphed into the pained blue ones. The burning she felt, though not quite as intense as before, caused her to flinch, her face distorting. The world around her was a blur, and she could see nothing but the eyes that focused their attention unto her. For a moment, everything else failed to exist... Until she connected the voice to the face. Claymore.
Eyes suddenly shot wide open, her nose attempting to inhale in shock, only to find herself choking and coughing, gasping for air. Her throat gurgled, her eyes squinting in horror as she found herself unable to calm herself from the state of panic. What? WHAT? As her lungs heaved and wheezed, she took those hurried, hysterical moments to gaze around her, noting the completely unbelievable surroundings. Dirt, dried and cracked, scratched up against her pawpads. The air was unpleasant to breathe, and as she looked over to the west, the sun beamed straight into her eyes. Since when did the sun exist? All this realization and uneasiness occurred within a matter of a couple seconds, and then her eyes turned back to the grey wolf in front of her. Claymore. Confusion was the only term suitable for depicting her thought process, and instantly she kicked out her hind legs uselessly, having hoped to haul herself up. The muscles on her right thigh screamed, sending sharp pains up her spine. A gurgled whimper, scratched and dry, echoed as she whirled her head over to see the cause. Yet as her eyes rested upon the sight of the mangled tear upon her hind leg, the ripping pain just below her jaws, on her throat, seemed to numb every other ache. "Wh--" Words could not escape her head, for they were choked out before they could reach her tongue.
And so she tried to scramble to her paws, failing horribly as each of her scars brutally fought back, preventing her from getting anywhere. Her eyes teared up, darting from the cacti to the rocks to the horizon and then to Claymore. What?
Claymore said:
((Sorry for the wait. :< Will try not to do that again. Getting on top of things, slowly but surely.))
His persistence, his pleading, everything he'd wanted was rewarded when her eyes, before only moving feverishly behind lids, opened. The first thing she met with them were his own, hovering worriedly close, breath escaping him in puffs of excited trepidation as those eyes flew wider. Everything seemed to happen too quickly after that, his body jerking him back without conscious thought before she could possibly jerk into his chin in her wild bid to stand. His jaw had, in fact, dropped, nothing but a choked sound escaping him, words lost for those first few crucial moments as Brushfire rebelled against the strange and painful situation she found herself in.
After those first few moments had passed, he stepped forward again, mouth too dry, but he somehow managed to force words out of it anyway. "No, no... no, Brushfire, don't move so much. DON'T MOVE." He whined, but when she tried to scramble to her feet once more he did the only thing he could think of. Raising a paw, he pressed it down on one of the few non-injured places on her body, and put his weight into pushing her down, trying to keep her there. He panted, clearly uncomfortable and worried, casting his eyes about—wasn't there anybody here who could be spared to help?
Nobody. It was as if they were alone in a desolate world, a sphere all of their own.
"You'll hurt yourself ... more." He pleaded with her, returning his gaze back to her once he'd found nobody. If she did calm, he'd remove his weight from her—if she didn't, he'd simply continue to bear down, whining at her until she complied. "Be still, just be still!"
Once he was able to remove his weight, he again slumped to his belly, laying his head upon his paws and gazing at her intently, looking to see if those eyes were still open, or if they had drifted off into the obscurity of unconsciousness once more. If she proved awake, he'd nudge the meager meal to her with his nose, the line of his brow and the way the corners of his mouth tugged down showing his fear and worry more than words could.
"Are you hungry, 'Ru? Are you thirsty? I haven't found much, but I'll hunt for you... I'll find some water, and you can have all of it." You need it more than me, friend. He cast his eyes away for a moment, ears canting back, displaying his lack of confidence in the matter. "We're in a strange place... it's just us, but I'm going to do my best, 'Ru, and you'll make it through this. I promise that." He owed her that much, and had they not promised assistance to each other? Had they not pledged friendship? He was holding up his end of the bargain, now.
He kept talking, almost babbling in his exhaustion and anxiousness. "You fought really hard, 'Ru, but there were too many of them... and you collapsed. I thought you were going to die, 'Ru, and I tried to carry you... I couldn't leave you there, I couldn't leave you to die like that... but I couldn't, 'Ru, I couldn't, and I'm sorry."
He really meant it.
"I called and I cried for you, for somebody to help and... and... they did." Here he whined in the back of his throat, tail thumping the dirt, not in contentment, though surely in exhausted excitement. "I didn't know... if you would make it, 'Ru, but you have so far... so you have to just stay here, I'll keep you warm when the sun sets. Just don't move. Okay?"
Promise me.
Brushfire said:
[[so sorry for the wait]]
The sounds of her frantic heartbeats were all the female could hear, and it pounded in her head. With her auds pinned back, in fear and panic, her widened eyes remained glued unto the only familiarity she could find - Claymore. Her maw hung open, her lips strained downwards as she stared into his cool, blue eyes in disbelief. Why was she here? And why was he with her? How did she get here? All too many questions raced through her mind, which was now indulged in chaos. As her spine arched, attempting to haul her torso up and, in turn, her whole body, her eyes followed as the male backed off a step. With brows furrowed, her copper eyes did more than enough talking while her throat choked and gurgled on unheard words. The striking sensations from her limbs, her neck, silenced her for all she hoped to exclaim. None of her thoughts or concerns, demands or requests, would be uttered from her lips just now. In fact, as she struggled to move, she felt the tender, scabbing skin begin to reopen, and the dry air revisited the vulnerable wound. With sand in the air, as well as the unfamiliar arid heat, she could do nothing more but want to cry at the level of pain she felt. But no tears found their way into her eyes, and so she blinked fervently, her desperate gaze darting from her companion to the unfamiliar and unbelievable surroundings that daunted her.
"No, no... no, Brushfire, don't move so much. DON'T MOVE."
What did he mean don't move? What was she supposed to do? The painful fluttering she felt in her chest began to numb, and so her gasping breaths started to hollow out. Wheezes stretched out where her pants had once been, and her tail twitched and moved frantically from side to side. To wake up in such a terrifying circumstance caused her to do the only thing she could think of - try and stop it. But as quickly as she'd flown herself up, she felt a shaky paw resting on her lower back - just below the gash on her nape. Her jaws flew open again, a whimper denied as it tried to be heard. While she wanted, craved, to turn her head and look at the fallen Prince in the eyes, to beg and plead with him to make this all reverse itself, she physically could not find herself capable of doing such. Instead she tried scooching herself forward, wriggling all her limbs - save for the broken wrist - to escape this clutch. How could she calm herself down from something like this?
That paw pressed down with a gentle strength, one that hit Ru hard in the heart. She could feel his care and concern, but that failed the change the situation. That failed to stop the pain, the hurt, the confusion. Nothing was different than it was when she had awoken, hoping and expecting to find her Prince there to save her. But instead she looked into Claymore's eyes, wanting to see the strength that might be there, the reassurance that she felt he could not offer enough of. Right now, she had wanted Blade, yet she'd received his brother. As much as she loved and cared for the grey male, he could not suffice for that screaming need, that burning plea, for her Savior. Where she sought stability, she saw worry; where she needed aid, she was offered mere company; and where she wanted reassurance, she felt only guilt. In this particular situation, Ru did not want Claymore here...
"You'll hurt yourself ... more." Such a possibility could not be imagined - how could things be worse? She refused to settle, just yet, though she had simmered down. She now focused on freeing her torso, twisting her spine as she hoped to free herself from his grip. All her attempts were futile, and as she lay there, pathetic and limp in the limbs, she could only glance out at the horizon, where the sun descended closer and closer to eye level. Tears now managed to well up along her eyes, to the point where she could no longer see through them as she squinted in pain. Her frown wrinkled her maw, her lips babbling like a whelp as it cries for its mother. But no sounds other than a raspy hiss left her lips. She could not let her voice, her intense emotions, be expressed through coherent language. "Be still, just be still!" It would only be as his voice was raised that she'd let all her muscles, her tension, let loose. The burning, numbing sensation that had claimed her entire body could no longer keep her fidgeting. She forced herself to interpret the warm throbbing in her wrist, her throat, and her ankle as tolerable, though her mind screamed at her for doing so. Coarse whimpers and whines could now be heard, it one listened very closely, as she closed her eyes. The tears now leaped from her face, landing on the cracked desert floor only to pool for a second and then evaporate.
It took a good ten seconds or so before she felt the pressure on her back be relieved, and then her she relaxed her facial features just a bit. Her maw was still frozen in a deep frown, and her eyes sealed shut. She heard the shuffle of Claymore's paws against the dusty ground, and flinched - whimpering as the pain struck again - as she heard his body hit the ground. Opening her eyes hesitantly, she'd maintain a steady gaze, her eyes speaking her one simple plea relentlessly. Whether or not he noticed, she could not tell, for his nose pushed some odd twig closer to her. As it almost came in contact with her nose, she could scent the faintest trace of blood and meat on it, yet she could not believe that this thing could possibly be food. Her eyes would look back up to Claymore's, her gaze shaking in sync with her body.
"Are you hungry, 'Ru? Are you thirsty? I haven't found much, but I'll hunt for you... I'll find some water, and you can have all of it. We're in a strange place... it's just us, but I'm going to do my best, 'Ru, and you'll make it through this. I promise that."
"H--" She could not speak, and a cough violently erupted from her attempt to do so. Desperately, she stifled her breaths, eventually calming her fit, though the pain refused to settle. Knowing, for certain, that she could not express her exact thoughts, she looked up with her broken, copper eyes. Hopefully they could do all the talking... She wanted to know how? Just how was he planning to guarantee her life from this horrendous situation? She failed to find any way out of this. Even if she did survive somehow, she knew not of where to go from there. Staying here? An impossible idea - she knew Blade would not let his prized possession disappear without a vicious search set out to retrieve her. Leave? How could she possibly do so? Not only would she be on three good legs, but she could not even see the end of this desert, let alone what might lay beyond it. Would they even let her leave? Her thoughts, so unnerving, would be broken off by Claymore's unsteady voice...
"You fought really hard, 'Ru, but there were too many of them... and you collapsed. I thought you were going to die, 'Ru, and I tried to carry you... I couldn't leave you there, I couldn't leave you to die like that... but I couldn't, 'Ru, I couldn't, and I'm sorry. I called and I cried for you, for somebody to help and... and... they did. I didn't know... if you would make it, 'Ru, but you have so far... so you have to just stay here, I'll keep you warm when the sun sets. Just don't move. Okay?"
Everything was an uncomfortable blue, at the moment. Halfway through his words, she could not even process what he was speaking. Her eyes lolled, rolling to the side before she would blink - placing her gaze back in focus. Her auds twitched, an attempted whimper building up in her throat before escaping her lips through short bursts. Her chest began to heave, her maw opening and closing routinely in accordance with her breaths. Right now, all she could manage to focus on was the stability of her breathing. She tried to find some impossibly peace in the act, though it failed to happen. Just as he spoke, offering his company and warmth after sunset, her eyes slowly opened once more. Why would she need to stay warm? With how hot this desert is, she found it impossible to believe that it could ever get cold here. She tried to lift her head up, wanting to stare at him, question that offer. But she quickly regretted the desire, wincing as the scars on her throat resisted. The torn, crusted skin stretched as she had moved, threatening to tear open the scabs. She hastily plopped her head back on the ground, flinching as she felt just how hard and dense the dirt really was... Alteron was never like this... Teary eyes opened to gaze back at Claymore, the request - the desperate plea - was obvious...
She wanted to be back in Alteron...
Claymore said:
She struggled beneath him and he refused to give way-- how could he make her understand? How could he explain that she was too broken now? He could only imagine the scabs tearing, letting the sand and flies into the wounds again-- he winced, remembering times when he had been beat soundly, when he had felt that pain. You don't understand, 'Ru. Please listen.
She had eventually settled down and he'd relinquished his hold of her almost thankfully. The entire situation set his skin crawling-- he hated it. Still, it was the hand they had been dealt, and he would try and try and try to make the best of it. For her. For him.
His eyes met hers and in that moment he could truly feel the brunt of her pain and confusion, his good ear flicking back. Where had things gone wrong? She had been whole, not so long ago-- and now she wasn't. She was in pieces, in miserable pieces, and for what? For Alteron? He could see, in her gaze, that it was so. He couldn't understand why. Wouldn't understand why. Was it worth it, Ru? Is it worth your suffering? Still, that hollow gaze screamed yes. He simply stared at her for a time, finding his throat dry and incapable of producing the words that she no doubt wished to hear. His plans of nursing her to health. The inevitable return to 'home'. He wasn't going 'home', Alteron was a steaming pit of offal that he never wished to see the likes of again. Why did she want to go back? Why, Brushfire?
Why did you change?
Time passed. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly becoming aware of the fading light. He rose, feeling the weary creaks of travel and abuse in his joints. "I have to go, 'Ru. I'll find you something before it gets dark." His gaze lingered on her for a time and her turned, murmuring to himself, "Something wet, at least... something wet... why couldn't you do better than a lizard tail?" She hadn't even wanted it.
He ventured off into the desert again, leaving her. He didn't except that she would be able to follow, though while he was near he would look over his shoulder to check-- just in case. If she did attempt, so far as a stumbling step, he would return to try and pressure her down again-- perhaps with a scolding.
If she didn't bother, he would eventually seem just a blurred spec on the horizon.
He wasn't familiar with this territory. He wasn't particularly familiar with hunting. Still, there was an immense cost if he didn't succeed-- if he didn't bring back something, if he didn't do anything right, Brushfire could die. And it would be his fault. Something he could have prevented. So he wound a weary trail, pushing over rocks and snuffling at old burrows. The sun was rapidly setting and he knew he was running out of time. As important as finding something was, it was equally important that he be back to her before the sun slipped below the horizon. Both were critical. Panic began to rise within him and he redoubled his search, starting a few impulsive chases of lizards that easily slipped away from him. Things were looking entirely grim.
That was when he found the eggs.
Sheltered away, protected by cactus needles, a grouse nest lay. This was exactly what he'd needed. What luck, what fortune, what-- oh shit it's the grouse. All at once a terrible racket rattled his ears and wings buffeted him, claws and beak pecking at him and causing him to back away from his prize. He snapped at the whirling enemy and it seemed to screech it's rage, soon coming in for the attack again.
He gave a good fight, and hoped to catch the grouse, though his technical skill was lacking and so the bird, injured but hardly defeated, retreated into a burrow, and no matter how he dug, he couldn't seem to reach it. Again he became aware of the slivered sun, and wheeling he shoved his snout into the nest (receiving several cactus stickers in the process, ouch) and delicately scooped up as many eggs as his mouth could hold.
It was with briars protruding from his muzzle and his teeth carefully cradling the precious cargo that he began his return voyage, trotting as fast as he could without jolting or shattering the eggs. His mouth watered at the idea of them, and he could tear into them and enjoy the yolk himself but-- no, they were for Brushfire.
All of them.
He eventually made it back to her (if she'd stayed put) shortly after the sun had set. The temperature was rapidly dropping-- he knew before the night ended, he'd be able to see his breath on the air. He paused before her and gently-- oh so gently-- deposited the drool-covered eggs just in front of her nose.
"'Ru... are you awake? 'Ru, I brought you eggs. You should eat them. ...You need to."
Brushfire said:
Their eyes met, and yet the only aura that could be seen from her being was that pitiful sense of hopelessness. The feeling of being broken down and defeated, just as her physical form was. With her brows frozen in their upwards angle, exaggerating her fear and despair, she couldn't help but hold that gaze with Claymore. And those shimmering blue orbs kept that gaze, though his helplessness filled in where her confusion took hold. As weak as she felt he was portraying himself to be, Ru could only think of what he might do - what he might think - if he knew everything. Had he known of the treachery she'd committed against him, would he be so eager and keen to help save her, here and now? Would he have even done so back in the fight, where she could've easily perished without a second thought from the others. Perhaps he would've been alongside that black and red she-wolf, with hateful eyes boring down upon the fading Marquis. Such thoughts only caused her heart to tremble, and so her body shivered - not so much from the steadily decreasing temperatures, but rather the realization of what she'd done.
What would happen, now?
As she contemplated telling him, his gaze grew stronger, as though he were asking her questions as stressed as her own. Widening her stare, she let body language take over where words could not be uttered. If he wanted to speak, then let him do so - he had nothing holding him back, unlike her. This silence, so cold and unnerving, kept her all the more uneasy than it may have been should a conversation be started. Whatever exchange of words it should be, she wanted it. Anything to fill this tugging silence. As each second passed, ticking away with a disheartening clank, she could only feel her heart growing heavier. But before anything could happen, a sudden shift in the quiet calm of the dry desert. The grey male moved his body, perhaps stretching his aching limbs - a mere wish in the she-wolf's mind. But quickly those light grey paws heaved the lanky body upwards, and like a pup to its mother leaving for a hunt, Ru slurred a raspy whimper. Her forepaws curled out from underneath her form, cautiously planting themselves upon the crusty earth, though not daring to raise herself up. What's happening? He wasn't leaving her, was he?
"I have to go, 'Ru. I'll find you something before it gets dark." No! Her maw opened in defiance, though only hoarse gurgles of words could be heard. Her objection would not be able to communicate itself to him verbally, and so she would resort back to body language. Her tail thumped desperately against the desert floor, spurring up dust. She scooched closer to him, using her good forepaw as well as wriggling her torso. He couldn't leave her, could he? She knew nothing of this place, of this world out here. And then he turned, his body just as soon trotting off into the distance. Desperately she hissed her whimpers and pleas. Attempting to ignore the pain, if only for this one time, the tiny timber shuffled her body awkwardly from side to side, slowly moving herself forward. A curt gasp could be heard periodically, her face wincing in pain everytime her right wrist bumped up against something, or even as the skin on her throat shifted. "Cl--a--!" But his figure had already vanished, yet still she scooched herself after him, hoping that he had stopped somewhere up ahead. Why would he go, without giving her anything? Nothing but her pain and guilt to think about, and the worries of this unknown and dangerous terrain. She knew she couldn't possibly be welcomed here, and so that brought all the more threats and insecurities right in her direction. Claymore... how could you just leave her?
After half an hour or so the she-wolf gave in, and so her body lay in a rather awkward position about thirty feet from where the Lost Prince had left her. Her gaze did not waiver from staring down the endless desert, waiting for that little figure to reappear over the horizon. But minutes passed, and no one appeared. Every twenty seconds or so, Ru would attempt to yelp, to howl, to whimper. Anything to catch Claymore's attention, wherever he'd gone off to. But as the minutes continued to tick by, and with her throat growing horribly uncomfortable from the dry air, she submitted to the wrath of the desert. Slowly - to ease her pain as much as she could - the female curled herself up, her face tucked in between her forepaws. With her tail wrapped around her body over to her belly, she huddled herself together, attempting to recreate the familiarity of resting in Alteron. There she would rest in her makeshift den, the thunderstorms raging outside, and yet she'd remain dry and safe curled up in the corner. Though here should could not breathe in the rain. She could not taste the air that the plants exhaled. Here, Brushfire could smelt nothing - nothing but the threat of death upon her.
And there she lay, refusing to budge until her only hope had returned. As uncomfortably as Claymore's presence made her, Ru could not deny how desperately she needed his company. Though, as she drifted in and out of consciousness, the wolf could not stop herself from becoming audibly numb to the shuffling of paws as the grey male returned. His route led him off track from where the passed out she-wolf lay, though as his pawsteps drew closer, perhaps he had seen where she'd moved to.
That dark shadow appeared, the rolling mists and fogs swirling around both Brushfire and this other being. Back in pristine health, where no scars nor marrings had touched her, Ru stepped delicately up towards the figure. Come back to me, please. Each step she took, the creature somehow seemed further away. Tears began to glisten as the built themselves up and streamed down from her copper eyes. Suddenly she lay on the ground, her legs curled in, her head resting on its side, looking up at those gleaming silver eyes. Come back... But it disappeared, just as before - the ground quaked, the fog vanished, and suddenly Ru found herself staring into weary, blue eyes.
"'Ru... are you awake? 'Ru, I brought you eggs. You should eat them. ...You need to."
What?
Looking up at the other, it took the timber a second to realize where she was, again. And then the aching pain. A sharp wince, and Ru rested her head back upon the ground, her eyes looking to her legs. The scars. Why? A whine slurred from her frown, and while she lay there, wanting to just curl up and have everything fix itself for her, an undeniably enticing scent drifted past her. Turning her head and brushing against the dust, she looked and saw four small eggs laying directly in front of her. Those she could recognize as food, unlike that odd twig. Almost instantly, her mouth began to salivate - who knew she could produce any more water under these conditions? As she shuffled herself closer, her maw opening to enclose over one of the eggs, her eyes shifted up towards Claymore. Would he just sit and watch? As she shattered the egg between her teeth, quickly slurping the viscous nutrients down her throat while spitting out the shells, her tail thumped against the ground. In accordance, she nudged over a couple of the eggs to the male.
How could he expect her to hoard the food, when he was in just as much need as she? As horrible and confusing as this set of circumstances was, this brief moment seemed to be as if they were back home. Home. In Alteron, where she could whisper soothing words, and everything could be fixed. Here, her words were unavailable, but oh how she wanted to fix everything. To chase away this ravenous guilt? This shame?
She wanted it, so.
Claymore said:
((I didn’t notice this got replied to so quick. Sorry. >_>))
He watched her eat, some of the weight lifting from his shoulders as she was able to handle the eggs, was willing to take them. There was a sense of satisfaction and relief at being able to provide for her, to ease at least some of their troubles. He was no grand hunter, and he had provided her with no feast—but this would be enough. For now.
He watched with what might have been pride in another situation, until she nudged two of the eggs towards him once more, the shells collecting dust from the cracked ground as they rolled. His muzzled tipped down and he looked at the speckled eggs for a moment before he looked back towards her. Generosity and giving, even in normal situations, was difficult for him to grasp. Under the circumstances, his brain couldn’t wrap around it at all. After a moment his paw lifted, gently rolling the eggs back to her.
“No,” He said, meeting her eyes. “These are for you, ‘Ru. I’m… no healer, but you’ve lost a lot of blood… you need them more than me.” His gaze lingered on her for a time, trying to impress his view on her. He had been hurt before, and he knew—the body craved nourishment then, more than any other time. It needed to replenish itself. Her body needed it beyond a doubt. If she hoped to be whole again, she would eat the eggs.
He would eat another day… another day. It had always been that way. Why change now?
Rising to his feet again, he heaved a sigh and moved closer to her, the chill already cutting into him. How could a place so hot cool so quickly without the sun baking it? “Eat, ‘Ru. I’ll eat tomorrow.” He didn’t know if that was true or not, but if it convinced her to polish off the eggs, then it was good enough for him. Pausing near her, he eased himself down next to her broken body, trying hard to not injure her further as he curved his body to hers, lending warmth for the long night ahead.
Then, tenderly, his tongue began to clean the wounds he could reach once more. The dirt was in the air here, and if they wounds were going to heal well, they needed to be kept as free as possible of the contamination. The taste of her dried blood was revolting, but he carried on as before, meticulous to the details, knowing that for now, she relied on him. That was enough—he would do what he could, what he needed to do.
Between wounds, he would talk, his voice gentle, even if the words were not. “I thought you would die, ‘Ru.” His body shivered slightly in the falling temperature, lacking the necessary insulation to keep him warm—in that, he would have to rely on her as she relied on him. “But now you’re awake, and I’m not going to let that happen to you. You’ll be okay.” This, said more to reassure himself than her—though if she took comfort from it, well enough. “When you’re well, ‘Ru, we’ll find a place to be… we’ll find Scythe, maybe we’ll be welcome here.”
How could he know that she feared that outcome?
“Won’t that be nice, ‘Ru… won’t it be nice, all of us, free… when you’re well.”