The Strength to Carry On
07-01-2013, 04:55 PM
Masqurading as a man with a reason My charade is the Event of the season I hear the voices when I'm dreaming I can hear them say: ~*~ Gargoyle sat, leaning his shoulder heavily upon the cave wall. Or rather's skeleton did, it was hard to say if anything was still animating his torn and weary shell. All he knew was that the cold stone had felt good against the pulsing patch of his neck that had had the flesh ripped clean off. It helped to stanch the bleeding too, at least for the moment. But Gargoyle's head wasn't thinking in terms of healing. His consciousness was buried away beneath shock and pain and bloodloss. He was operating in his most primeval of states, going on basic lupine coding. If anyone so much as came near him it was likely he'd bear feral fangs and snap at them - or would've if he'd had the strength to do so. But no, all he could do was sit and wait for either death or more sleep. Of course, that was when the realm of the living decided to barge into his cave. Not that the Chief seemed to notice much. The rumbling questions of the bear fell upon his tattered ears, but there was no sign he'd heard anything. A wolf's voice was next. A familiar one, calling out his name in a voice so hoarse and worried it might've touched his stone heart on another day. But no, for all appearances, despite all the calls of his name, he was dead to the world. Until... until she came. She didn't have to say a word. As soon as he felt her touch and smelled her scent, his eyes shifted. Slowly, and only slightly at first, but eventually his head swung round just enough to look at his mate. But his head still wasn't in the game. As soon as he saw her, a raspy weak voice, a pitiful sham of his usual thick rumble, threaded out of his throat. "Ocena-" As she had turned to ask the others if they knew healing, he'd moved his head towards her. But as soon as his neck came out of contact of the wall, the blood that it had been stemming back, fell to the floor in a sickening series of plops. In the most distant, detached regions of Gargoyle's mind he was once again astounded at how much blood a lupine body could hold. And how much it could lose before the soul was loosed with it. He winced vaguely at the sight and sounds. There was another wolf at his side now. And this one was - dabbing something on his leg? This wasn't his mate. Where was Ocena?! The wolf was talking, but the words weren't registering. All Gargoyle saw was the hint of teeth when the mouth moved. Was he being attacked again? Was the fight still going? Fine with him! He'd rip out the throats of any who tried to- WHUMP. He'd tried to move one paw, but somehow his whole body ended up moving - not in a graceful step, but in a crumbling fall to the floor that sent up dust and stray snow fluries. Honestly, it was amazing he'd staid up as long as he already had. Yet, oddly enough, after a minute, his vision started to clear. Of course, that meant the pain was more intense, but it also meant he could hear properly again. Now that his body didn't have to work to keep him up, it could devote what scraps of energy he had left to keeping his mind going for however long he had left. He'd slumped to the ground with hind legs still tucked, but with forelegs splayed out rather crazily. His chin had landed on his left arm, not on the wound, but near enough enough to jar the skin sharply. With a low, hissing intake, he raised his head, but only just enough to shift it aside and let it drop down into the dust. "I know that voice," he muttered hoarsely. "That's the rookie." A bit late perhaps, but at least he'd recognized Awaken's presence, albeit in his own way. He raised his vacant gaze to rest on the other male's features. "I'm supposed to bite off your ears aren't I?" It'd probably sound like the nonsensical musings to the others in the cave, but oddly enough it was a sign that Gargoyle was slowly coming back. Carry on my Wayward Son There'll be peace when you are done Lay your weary head to rest Don't you Cry No More |
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