Life Ain't Always Beautiful

He prowled into the room, following the sound of short, quiet breaths in a suddenly silent world. He stalked silent, fur glistening with a coating of blood. He paused just inside the entryway. The sound of breathing had broken off, and there was silence as the hunter held his breath also. Still and listening.

There was a sound so faint, like fur rustling in the wind, though no wind had trailed into the den with him. He turned in that direction and crept forward, closer, closer. His nose was just outside the hole now, and he was forced to bend down far to look inside. There he was met with the horned child - no, woman, small but adult in age. She shivered, tail over her muzzle and eyes squeezed shut. As scared as he had ever seen her. More afraid then when he had found her just outside Deathbelles den, hiding in the grasses, too scared to move as the thunderstorm began overhead.

It was that memory that broke him . the slackness in his eyes fell away, and pain filled it instead. She could not be alive, she could. If she was, then he had failed her in every way imaginable. He had not shielded her, he had not stopped them from taking her. He had not kept them from hurting her, he had rescued her. He had not kept faithful. He had raged and wallowed and sought comfort elsewhere, while she had huddled in the grasp of these men for six long months. No, no. It could not be true.

He wheeled away from her, spinning on his paws, shock and horror lining every part of him. “Zee.” The word was a pained gasp torn from his throat.


"Speech"