its always melancholy
Fertile
11-17-2021, 04:26 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-17-2021, 04:27 PM by Theory. Edited 1 time in total.)
She'd been keeping to herself since the sickness had worsened, but something called her home to the pack lands tonight. Theory wandered them like a forlorn ghost, keeping to paths less traveled to avoid running into anyone. Even now with thick liquid trickling out of her eyes, ears, nose... everywhere, and her head half-mad, one thought prevailed: I will not worry them. I will get through this. I have lives depending on me. But it was getting harder and harder to hold on to this fleeting impulse. The darkness was closing in. It was completely smothering. At all times her ribs were coated in a thick sweat. She hardly slept, preferring to wander endlessly until her paws nearly wore out beneath her and she passed into a dreamless slumber wherever she had fallen. Worse now, she was increasingly terrified for the safety of the pack. Strange thoughts came and went as quickly as they arrived: The ocean is rising. We will all drown. Incendium is on their way to wreak havoc, reborn after Sparrow's victory. The rapids will run red with the blood of children. They circled and flitted about like nasty scavengers, waiting for her to grow weak enough that she would give in. Staying away from the pack was only made possible because she knew she could trust Rhyme and Corvus implicitly, even when her traitorous brain whispered that they were conspiring against her. Never, never, never. They were the only two she could depend on. When she caught Rhyme's scent she followed it mindlessly. She felt as if she had reverted to a child, the sickness addling her brain and stripping her back down to her baser needs. Comfort. Food. Sleep. Family. A keen whine was building in her throat by the time she found him. Her approach was enough to frighten any wolf: she was seeping fluid from almost every orifice and angry blisters had swollen on her legs. They leaked the same bright liquid. No matter what she did, nothing staunched the flow. Not a single poultice. Not one remedy. She was shocking to behold. "Dad," she whimpered, throwing herself at his feet. She cried like a child. "It hurts. Please, please make it stop." Peering up at him from the ground, she had a sudden rock of deja vu - looking up at him from below as a child. His image was rendered youthful in her mind, all of his grey stripped away. He looked to her as he had in his prime: a fierce protector. Her guardian. Her father. |
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