Crucifiction

the scent of blood draws her forth like a siren song, moving her feet before she’s even registered a desire to stand, pulling her into the sprawling expanse of redwood trunks and dainty fern. the metallic tang of it sets her belly roiling and fur prickling, a reaction she attributes to nausea – whenever there’d been a cut or abrasion back home, she’d hidden away with the younger ones, afraid to so much as look – and yet it’s as though her mind has taken on a dazed, absent quality. she is detached, almost, looking down on her own tawny back as she follows the macabre trail.

and then she sees him: a large, dark figure, barely more than a glint of sharp fang and emerald eye. her heart stutters, almost ceasing to beat…then assumes a rapid pace as he comes to loom over what she registers now as a yowling, blood-splattered lump of fur. it careens her back into her own consciousness – though she doesn’t understand the force that drives her forward, sending her skidding to a frantic halt as her lips pry open and a shout lodges itself from between ivory teeth.

“wait!”

a litany of protests well up on her tongue (what is it he means to do to the creature? can he not see it is in pain?) but she finds herself unable to voice them. as silence hangs between them, she flushes, gripped with sudden sheepishness at her undoubtedly panicked appearance. carnelian eyes seek out the dying creature, however, and something shivers through her. there is just so much blood, sticky scarlet pools of it matting its spotted pelt. she waits for the expected wave of revulsion to seize her…but it does not come. instead, there is a curiosity simmering beneath her skin, urging her closer.

“is it…is it dying?”