melancholia

at first, they think it the slap of their paws against wet earth, the squelching cadence of each heavy, frustrated step. the splash of a body hitting the soggy ground doesn’t even occur to them as anything but their own footsteps. but then a figure emerges through the drizzle, a bundle of rain-speckled fur amidst the brown and greys of a miserable evening. curiosity and unease pinprick their pelt, driving them forward until they come to a stop by the huddled creature’s head. brows pinching together, Araneae leans down and peers unabashedly into the thing’s face - then withdraws abruptly as they realise what they’re looking at. a girl. there’s a girl lying at the base of this tree, looking miserable…and is that a mushroom? crap, is she bleeding? panic sweeps through Araneae, and they hop awkwardly from foot to foot, wishing they knew what to do, or had some medical training, or…or something! “shit,” Araneae hisses, another word curtesy of That Woman- and then, because it feels so good to say: “shit!”

for a moment they pace, glaring at the ground and wishing they weren’t so useless. then they return to the girl’s side and try to nudge her cheek with their nose, hoping to gauge her level of consciousness. “er…hey,” they whisper, lips pressed to the girl’s ear like they’re sharing a secret. “psst…are you okay??” they fight down an irritated snort - they’re awful at this! - and try again. “listen, can you stand? we need to get you out of this rain.”

"Speech"