kings are dying like flies
07-30-2018, 08:11 AM
The flood had taken Seth entirely unaware as the dwarf eased his stunted body from his den to answer Razi's call. He'd been distracted, wondering why his aunt was calling and not young Ashiel, thinking as well about how the berries in the grove would be getting plump with this rain and wondering whether he wanted to make the trek out there to pick some to try to ferment them on his own, but even if he hadn't been distracted there was no way with his handicapped body he'd have been able to move fast enough to get out of the way of the flash flood. He'd been driven back into his den by the force, slammed against the cave wall, and sucked out again before he'd even been aware of the danger.
He was not a natural swimmer, not with his body crippled and twisted as it was, so it had been all he could do to struggle to the surface for occassional breaths as he was dragged out of the canyon and into the river that meandered down from the falls north of the canyon. It was the most terrifying few minutes of his life, and when he'd been slammed into a log travelling somewhat slower than himself it had ended in merciful blackness.
His eyes blinked open into darkness and pain and for a moment he had the vague and disconcerting thought that his collision with the log had blinded him. A blow to the head could do that sometimes, he knew, and he had a moment to consider that he was probably dead even if he had survived the flood, because why would an Abraxas allow someone who was a dwarf AND blind to live?
His forepaws made a faint scrabbling gesture, his body not willing to give up though pain arced through him at even that small, weak movement. But that small movement sent a startling flicker of bluish light swirling around him, widening Seth's eyes and driving some of the lingering cobwebs from his mind to make him more aware of his surroundings. He was still partly floating in water, his head resting on a rock that had likely saved his life by keeping his muzzle out of the water while he was unconscious, his forelegs and most of the front of his body floating in that water while his hindquarters were twisted and splayed on warm wet sand.
With awareness returning he saw now that rather than being caused by blindness the darkness was caused by the depth of night, a night rendered moonless and starless by thick clouds that still rumbled threateningly with thunder. That awareness brought him also to see that every lapping of a wave against his battered body brought with it a faint blue glow, a pale imitation of the blue swirls his movements had brought. And a startling realization, that he had somehow been washed down river and deposited at the beach on the opposite side of the continent!
Letting the water wash against his aches, he pondered his current situation. What had happened to the rest of the pack? His aunt and her pups? His various cousins, aunts and uncles, and even the mortals who'd given them their loyalty? Had the flood taken them all as well? Was he, by some crazed stroke of luck, the only survivor? He was too pragmatic and not nearly fanatical enough to believe that this was somehow the Fallen God's doing, that they'd lost favor or done something wrong. No, they were as susceptible to natural disasters as any other wolf. Some days he wasn't even sure he believed in gods at all, let alone the Fallen God that spawned them. Death, in the end, came even for Abraxas. He read no terrifying omens in the flood destroying Aurum.
But what was more than a little frightening was the idea of actually being the last survivor. He, the twisted little dwarf, the mistake, now alone completely in the world? As often as he'd bitterly wished that were true, now that it was possible he found himself hardly able to breath - and not entirely due to the undoubtedly broken ribs encasing his lungs. He would be useless on his own. He couldn't chase down prey, he couldn't defend himself, he couldn't...
He took a firm hold of himself, shutting off the gibbering thoughts before they could develop into full blown panic. This was ridiculous. He still had his mind, didn't he? He was brilliant, no one could truthfully say otherwise. He would find a way to survive this. Pain, though something he greatly disliked and tried to avoid gaining even more of, was just another fact of his so-far pathetic life thanks to his twisted and stunted body. The broken bones and deep bruises were debilitating but with the same stubborn pride that kept him moving day in and day out he would push past them. Eventually. For now he just floated, his head cradled on the rock, and concentrated on trying to breath.
He was not a natural swimmer, not with his body crippled and twisted as it was, so it had been all he could do to struggle to the surface for occassional breaths as he was dragged out of the canyon and into the river that meandered down from the falls north of the canyon. It was the most terrifying few minutes of his life, and when he'd been slammed into a log travelling somewhat slower than himself it had ended in merciful blackness.
His eyes blinked open into darkness and pain and for a moment he had the vague and disconcerting thought that his collision with the log had blinded him. A blow to the head could do that sometimes, he knew, and he had a moment to consider that he was probably dead even if he had survived the flood, because why would an Abraxas allow someone who was a dwarf AND blind to live?
His forepaws made a faint scrabbling gesture, his body not willing to give up though pain arced through him at even that small, weak movement. But that small movement sent a startling flicker of bluish light swirling around him, widening Seth's eyes and driving some of the lingering cobwebs from his mind to make him more aware of his surroundings. He was still partly floating in water, his head resting on a rock that had likely saved his life by keeping his muzzle out of the water while he was unconscious, his forelegs and most of the front of his body floating in that water while his hindquarters were twisted and splayed on warm wet sand.
With awareness returning he saw now that rather than being caused by blindness the darkness was caused by the depth of night, a night rendered moonless and starless by thick clouds that still rumbled threateningly with thunder. That awareness brought him also to see that every lapping of a wave against his battered body brought with it a faint blue glow, a pale imitation of the blue swirls his movements had brought. And a startling realization, that he had somehow been washed down river and deposited at the beach on the opposite side of the continent!
Letting the water wash against his aches, he pondered his current situation. What had happened to the rest of the pack? His aunt and her pups? His various cousins, aunts and uncles, and even the mortals who'd given them their loyalty? Had the flood taken them all as well? Was he, by some crazed stroke of luck, the only survivor? He was too pragmatic and not nearly fanatical enough to believe that this was somehow the Fallen God's doing, that they'd lost favor or done something wrong. No, they were as susceptible to natural disasters as any other wolf. Some days he wasn't even sure he believed in gods at all, let alone the Fallen God that spawned them. Death, in the end, came even for Abraxas. He read no terrifying omens in the flood destroying Aurum.
But what was more than a little frightening was the idea of actually being the last survivor. He, the twisted little dwarf, the mistake, now alone completely in the world? As often as he'd bitterly wished that were true, now that it was possible he found himself hardly able to breath - and not entirely due to the undoubtedly broken ribs encasing his lungs. He would be useless on his own. He couldn't chase down prey, he couldn't defend himself, he couldn't...
He took a firm hold of himself, shutting off the gibbering thoughts before they could develop into full blown panic. This was ridiculous. He still had his mind, didn't he? He was brilliant, no one could truthfully say otherwise. He would find a way to survive this. Pain, though something he greatly disliked and tried to avoid gaining even more of, was just another fact of his so-far pathetic life thanks to his twisted and stunted body. The broken bones and deep bruises were debilitating but with the same stubborn pride that kept him moving day in and day out he would push past them. Eventually. For now he just floated, his head cradled on the rock, and concentrated on trying to breath.
