we didn't start the [FIRE IN ABAVEN]
Epitaph Tears streamed down the dark male's cheeks as he struggled his way from the Thicket. He'd been tending his new garden, as he'd been so busy doing over the past few weeks, when the storm had begun to roll in. The change in barometric pressure brought a renewed ache to the joints of his crippled leg, and he'd been forced to sequester himself in the shade until he regained the strength to move back to his shared den with Miss Shaye and the girls for the remainder of the storm. Unfortunately, he hadn't been allowed the luxury for long. Just as the pain had devolved into something bearable, a flash of incandescent light blinded him. It was a fair distance away, the contact point impossible to pinpoint through the tall grasses. He knew the scent of smoke well enough to sense the immediate danger. Rising to his paws had lost him a few precious moments of headway from the flames as they licked at the dried grasses. Panic welled in his chest, exacerbating the pain of the acrid smoke scraping its way down his trachea and into his lungs. Long, thin limbs propelled him as fast as his aching joints would allow. Where were the girls? Miss Shaye? The whites of his eyes were stark against the darkness of his pelt- they burned as the harsh smoke grated against them, and were soon stained pinkish-red. His mind flashed briefly to his lovingly tended herb garden, and he felt an intense pang of sorrow at its loss. He had been working so hard on it, with young Motif. They would have to start all over again. The Rapids were far ahead, the rush of water inaudible over the roar of the fire behind him. It was gaining on the lame male, and he panted harshly against the impossible heat. He needed to find the den, and make sure the girls were safe. They had all parted ways this morning, unaware of the danger lurking well beyond the horizon at the time. His paws ached with the strain of pushing his body further than it could feasibly move. Something to be dealt with later, when his life and the lives of his family were no longer on the line. The previous safety of the thicket was being overrun by flame, and soon enough it would close in on the Rapids. As the greenery grew more lush, fed by the waters of the Rapids, the flames seemed to slow their consumption of the foliage all around him. The smoke was still unbearably thick, but as he moved he could feel the heat lessening. He began to gain a lead over the raging flames that chased him. The familiar scenery around the entrance to the den was beginning to grow within reach, and soon enough he was able to poke his head into the entrance. No one was present. He could, however, hear a great commotion beginning to meet his ears over the crackle of fire. Hope flared in him, and he felt his strength return. They must be there. They had to be. Limping his way towards the dangerous waters of the Rapids, he could see at least a dozen wolves gathered along the banks. His acidic gaze travelled further down the length of the river, and figures could be seen dotted along the waters. The most prominent in his attention, an unfamiliar creature. As his attention fell upon it, the piercing wail of a very familiar youngster rang through his skull. He'd seen mountain lions, but this was not one of them. Worse yet, his gaze landed on his precious niece in its grasp. Tattered auds tipped towards his skull, tail tucking instinctively between thin hind limbs. Exhaustion was pulling at him body, mind and soul. He heard the rumbling vocals of a feline very much on the offensive, and felt his stomach drop. His limbs were leaden, fear sending his heart into a violent, lurching staccato. However, he was able to pull himself the few feet towards the small group, facing the lion head on but still a few feet away from the strange wolf who seemed to share his motives. "Whatever you want in exchange is yours, please turn over my niece." he pleaded, throat raw from the smoke and head fuzzy with the strain. Motif's features were streaked with tears, and the male wanted nothing more than to console her. To pull her close and clean her soot stained fur. He wondered, suddenly, where Poem was. The two must not have been together when the lion had taken Motif, and so the other child was still absent. |