Chapter 78: I’m Here
He sunk into the water, a drawn out sigh of reprieve being his only response to the warmth rising up to his chest. Ripples of his descent rebounded from the edges of the expansive tub, the sight giving way to the darkness of closed eyes while he enjoyed the soothing relief he felt in his tensed muscles.
The meeting had gone well enough—not that he fully trusted Toril or Tersa—but with the girls keeping watch over them, he could at least take a minute to relax. Using Kaslin’s pseudonym meant that the two wouldn’t suspect the uniformed Blade of being the same one who was a twitch away from putting a bolt into them, but the bronze-furred female seemed more than amused to be put on watch duty.
Now it was just a matter of seeing how they could make use of Toril without weaponizing the guy. Medical applications, construction, sanitation, and other general uses that could improve their lives all over were available to them, depending on what he was able to do.
It was also another reason to look into glass processing—assuming what he remembered from his school days still applied to alien chemistry. Test tubes, beakers, burners, pipettes, and any number of assorted tools would help him.
So much to think about.
The doors to the bath clicked open to break his train of thought, a silent curse uttered from his lips as he cracked a weary eye to inspect the intruder.
Mama clicked in greeting, happily trotting up with her clacking gait as a small collection of tablets contributed to the sound. He smirked, thankful that he wouldn’t have to answer any questions about his day from anyone, or have to deal with the consequences of his nudity in general. He was worn out enough that even if Sahari and Nalah came in, he doubted he would make the effort to leave. Not like anyone would really say much about it now, though he briefly recalled Harrow’s expression when she saw him.
Quiet scratching was followed by a soft click, his eyes opening from his divergence in thought to a sign held by Mama between her blades, the text small and space efficient compared to the broader characters that Violet favoured.
[May I join?]
His brows raised, his eyelids too tired to follow through with the excitement he felt with her communication. “Yeah, go nuts.”
She allowed the tablet to tap across her carapace upon its release, a pointed leg testing the temperature. She gestured upwards in a mimed request to increase the heat. He nodded, flopping a hand towards the control to convey that he didn’t care if she wanted it a bit warmer. She did, the steam increasing slightly as she incremented it, but otherwise the water remained pretty comfortable.
Mama tested the bath again, happily walking into the tub from the shallow end until she walked past him, claiming her favourite spot on the ledge and laying her tablets on the floor as she got comfortable. Looking at him for a second, she adjusted so that she was close enough for him to rest his arm on, something he obliged absently as he scratched at her scaled stripes. The powerful purr shook the surface of the liquid, sending small tremors across the length of it.
“How’s the English lessons going?” he asked with a prodding tone. The script seemed coherent enough, but the phrase was too short for him to really say much. Sure, he was the main source of her education, but it seemed like Violet was studying with her quite a bit on the side.
Mama reached for the tablets she rested on the ground just past the lip of the tub, her more delicate control of her blades allowing her to lightly scratch at the surface without needing to move too much before tilting it so that he could read it over his shoulder.
[Well, thank you.]
He laughed, not really sure if he was expecting a longer answer. He asked random questions pertaining to life around the settlement, discovering that her English was proficient enough to answer them all. Though, she did have to fudge some of the grammar to make the words work and she often chose concise answers over anything of substance.
Rose and Cobalt were fitting in well, the two finding themselves often involved with the construction work. There was apparently a curiosity regarding the Blades, but Mama wasn’t sure what they expected to learn. Joseph was open to the two joining their cleaning duties and whatnot, if only so that it didn’t feel like they were only being used for their unique anatomy. Though their use was best realised when they were processing the various materials, he didn’t want to rob them of the chance to branch out into other duties.
The topic of Atrox came up, Mama admitting that she liked the artist quite a bit, though some playful prodding shut down the idea of her being romantically interested. Not that he was sure how it would work to begin with, nor what Astra and Ferra would have to say if the guy ended up more than friends with the Atmo.
“Did you have kids?” he asked after a bit of silence, the question coming from nowhere in particular. She shifted her head to look at him, the insect seeming to stop herself from defaulting to a gesture before scratching on the diminishing space on her tablet, their conversation eating through pretty much all of it.
[Violet, in a way. And you.]
He rolled his eyes as he matched her chittering with his own chuckle at her joke, a shove proving much less effective than he would have hoped in that he only accomplished offsetting himself into the water, drawing more intense laughter from the Atmo.
A lingering question settled in the back of his mind came to the forefront. “Why me? I mean, I get that you guys were looking for Humans, but it seems like you kinda jumped the gun picking someone for her to look up to.” A pause ensued before he raised a hand preemptively. “Not that I’m against it or anything, just seems like there might have been more qualified people you could have selected for her.”
She looked at him for a moment before regarding her tablet, an apparent attempt to gauge if what she could reply with would fit. She started scratching again, leaning into him before displaying her answer. [You would love her.]
He sat there, stunned, the water rolling up his chest as she shifted back to her cuddling posture.
It was a simple answer, but one he felt oddly comforted by regardless. It wasn’t much of a stretch to picture a dozen people who would be put in a similar situation and not think much of the Atmo. Maybe make friends with them, sure, but he genuinely would put his life on the line if it meant that Violet would be okay, and it wasn’t something he could attribute to just anyone. Even Lilhun seemed to have a fairly neutral reaction to the Atmo at best—at least until they spent significant time around them—so he likely was the best match if that was the main criteria.
It was reassuring to know he was picked because of something that was him rather than just Human.
The doors to the baths crashed open, Jax’s eyes taking a split second to find him. “Bratik requires aid.”
Joseph blinked. “I can’t take a fucking bath, can I?”
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The arrow crashed against the wood, splinters peppering Bratik over the shoulder as he shielded the pack member with his body. The weight caused his leg to falter, the ground rapidly meeting his knee, the shock jolting the protruding projectile lodged into his thigh. He bit back the pain, dragging his wounded friend deeper into cover as best he could as he barked towards the rest of his group. “Ammo!”
“Three.”
“Six.”
“Empty!”
He winced, the arrow stuck shallowly into his chest stunting his attempt to draw a deep enough breath in which to sigh. It was a miracle that they had survived this long, though much of it was due to their weapons holding strong despite the usage. The armour on his arms and legs had already deflected several shots, and the decreasing frequency of the incoming fire told of their enemies' waning surplus, but even superior equipment meant nothing against the sheer numbers they were facing.
“Split your ammo and switch to melee when you run dry,” Bratik commanded, very much aware of how little it would actually do. From what he could tell, they had only removed seven of the twenty-three attackers, but their constant marksmanship and timed shots had dissuaded them from progressing further towards the covering escapees. Though their egress was slow, they were constantly trying to goad them into following into rougher and more difficult terrain, Bratik’s own pace being the main detriment after a second arrow pierced his ankle.
Despite the hindered pace, they had managed some decent headway, the dense foliage and root-laden ground proving to be quite the obstacle for tracking them without wantonly exposing themselves to a barrage of arrows.
The draw-back of their chosen path was that it had reached a point where he was unable to reliably continue, each step proving more and more painful. Every incensed utterance behind them sowed hesitation in their progress.
With his lung being nicked by an arrow, and his right leg all but useless, he had offloaded his excess ammunition to the others of the group and had taken to sheltering the wounded with his form so that he might apply the dwindling supply of healroot to their injuries. It was a constant effort of patching up cuts, gouges, and even severing arrow shafts just to cover the embedded tips. All done while his breathing grew more laboured and his coughing occasionally bared blood.
It was a worrying wound, but the thicker leathers he wore had prevented it from being more than a grisly inconvenience—assuming he didn’t sustain further trauma or strain to exacerbate it. Luckily, field-dressing his group was still within his capabilities.
With only four of them remaining—Sorren and two escorts having left to seek shelter with the Guardian and two more of his pack falling in combat—each strip of the medical flora was proving to be just enough to stave off the blood-loss, though the pain and weakness remained.
He cut the next plant to shape, a flinch in his left shoulder making him drop the knife as his paw refused to respond. He didn’t glance at the new source of numbed pain; he knew an arrow had found him. He just used what mobility he had remaining to apply the bandage to the wounded Lilhun’s thigh and sent them back to battle with a soft prayer to the Hunt Mother. May she carry these souls to the Great Hunt with her blessing, even if he was left to wander the blackness for forcing them.
Shuffling to his feet was an arduous task, the awkward bracing of his left knee with right paw being supplemented by the tree that had taken the brunt of the assault. A pained wave of his paw signalled the retreat further away from the direction his mate had escaped, only two of his members making motion in agreement. The third was pinned to his cover by his throat. Bratik clenched his jaw, weakly hobbling over to retrieve the weapon and arrows to delay the enemy from gaining better armaments for as long as possible.
Shouting increased in volume as the lapse in suppressive fire coaxed courage out of their pursuers, their rushing forms glinting through the foliage. Bratik tossed the quiver as far towards his group as he could, drawing the knife out of the sheath of the dead member so as to arm himself. Tentative cover was taken during a break in the line of sight, a shuddered breath built fluid in his mouth and a painful swallow tainted his tongue with the taste of copper. His leg failed when he pressed himself to a trunk, the rustle of the brush he fell through alerting the passing pack, but an arrow crashing nearby distracted from his location as he landed on his haunches.
At least, he was hoping it would.
“Ah, you live.” The baritone voice sent a shiver down Bratik’s spine. On reflex, he swung his functional arm, the joint caught by an extended foot before being forcefully driven into the ground. A flash of black overcame his vision as a kick to his head stunned him, the impact expelling blood from his muzzle when the desperate gasp of air left him.
Muffled voices of several Lilhuns surrounding him barely pierced the veil of unconsciousness until a pain in his stomach stirred his focus, a sword just barely piercing the skin dragged over his abdomen. His groan of agony was cut short by the flat of the blade smacking his face, a barked question being barely intelligible through the ringing in his ears. “Where is Toril?”
He laughed as his eyes revealed only a silhouette of a tall and imposing figure, the coughing fit spewing more crimson fluid as he spoke. “He is likely beyond your reach by now.”
The male crouched over Bratik, a foot pushing him onto his back, the black-furred visage piercing the night with the shimmer of amber eyes that stared into him with a disinterested calmness despite the blood matting his coat.
“Come now, High Hunter. You have harboured my quarry, and now I seek him.”
“Then search the void,” he replied, spitting red onto the male.
The black-furred Lilhun blinked lazily as he wiped the blood off his cheek, the screaming of a group member drawing fear from the ex-High Hunter as the crouching form seemed entirely unperturbed. “I believe you all will do that for me.”
The male raised his sword, plunging it into Bratik’s remaining functional leg at the knee, the sickening pop of a disconnected patella severing from its muscles garnering the scream of pain. The male smirked at the blood-curdling cries as he twisted the blade, his question delivered in a sing-song voice. “Where. Is. Toril?”
“I do not know.”
Another stab into the ruined leg drew a whimper. “You sent him somewhere. Where?”
Bratik gathered his breath, his vision fading around the periphery. “Somewhere safe.”
A fresh pain in his shoulder was caused by the sword piercing it, the snarling teeth at his face barking in indignation. “I will not play this game, Bratik.”
A rapid clicking sounded through the trees, a chorus of feminine giggling carried through the branches with no determinable origin despite the various sources. “Play? Oh, now that’s something we would love to do.”
“WHO DARES!?” Disturbed and cautious, the male shouted to the forest. A quickly muted yell in the distance was followed by another bout of rapturous laughter. The unsettled scanning eyes of the male failing to find the perpetrator shifted to a tint of fear. Silence overcame the woods, vigil gazes scanning the foliage while careful steps converged the present members. “Blades?”
A closer giggle preceded the slightest hint of heat in the air, a mark the ash-furred male recognized drifted through his snout.
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Bratik’s mind probed him through the pain. He had heard the voice before. He knew that mark. Where? Who?
It registered when the ripping clacks led to a watchful guard being pulled into the cover of trees, his gasp cut short. Of course she would arrive.
“The one who dares is more than a mere Blade,” Bratik managed through pained chuckles. “And I believe she considers it an insult to be called such.”
“You remember me, Bratik,” the female affirmed, her amusement all but overwhelming from above. The male pointed his sword upward, faltering at the sight of a burned skull boring holes into him as the female hung upside-down from a branch, two long tendrils with pointed ends hanging limply from her back. The skull turned like an avian inspecting its prey.
“Who are you?” the black-furred male demanded, his words clipped and growled. The female giggled, her tendrils shaking from the movement.
“Who are we,” she corrected playfully, her form slipping into the branches soundlessly when he haphazardly swung his sword, her voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. “We are what slay those who draw our Blademaster’s ire, low one. Seen, yet unseen. Heard, yet silent. Acknowledged, yet unknown.”
A progression of voices permeated throughout the forest as the assailing pack regrouped, flashes of silver hoarding them together as they took turns speaking, each sounding as loving whispers from the Void.
“We are ghosts that lurk in the shadows.”
A male barely deflected a projectile originating from a tree, the item splattering a dark substance over him as the slightest hint of a skeletal form mimed amusement before it slipped into the branches, not even the slightest rustle of leaves informing of their existence.
“We are spectres that stalk from the edge of perception.”
The cracks of a whip garnered cries of pain whenever the assailing pack tried to advance. Manic laughter echoed as flashes of silver originated from random angles, males and females alike bearing wounds and instantly shattered bones when they failed to notice their attacker in time.
“We are phantasms that still your claws.”
A flash of a shadow kicked a sword from a male’s paws before it disappeared into the brush without a sound, several more being disarmed in such fashion in rapid succession as the form darted between trees.
The frenzied giggling resurfaced from multiple angles, the five speaking in unison as soft clicks resonated outwards. The bone faces appeared and disappeared for fractions as gold eyes filled with joy regarded their targets with rapture, each instant stretching forever as the smell of fear and blood began spilling over the forest floor.
“We are Wraiths; the last thing you’ll never see,” the voices promised softly, their tones turning malicious. “Let’s play, low ones.”
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“Almost there!” Harrow shouted ahead to Joseph, the Human still running with only sweat slicking the fur on his head back. He grunted in affirmation.
They had sent Tel and the ‘girls’ ahead to find Bratik with the order to cause a rout, the rest of the pack not being able to traverse the trees as proficiently. Although Joe was against so many of his personal pack going, no one wished to tempt the Hunt Mother by denying a male who had helped them so. Only Jax and Pan remained in order to organize the security force in the event of a hasty retreat requiring covering fire.
Based on how long it took Sorren to reach them, Joseph figured it would be a ‘half-hour' for them to get to where Bratik had sent away his mate. Far too close for comfort, which quickly became the main reason that the Grand Hunter had allowed most of them to accompany him. Mi’low stayed back to arrange for some of her members who had assisted with the last medical emergency to ready the makeshift clinic.
Harrow herself was of two minds in going; part of her not wanting to leave her mate behind, while the other was unable to pull herself away from her friend when she knew he was going into a dangerous situation. From what they were told, there were about fifteen people assaulting six, and even with the tools that Joe had given them, there wasn’t a lot of hope for the whole situation. If Tel couldn’t find them, or if they had already fallen, then they would let the rest know so that the pack could keep an eye out for what the group was going to do next.
The worry quickly became unfounded as they came across the first corpse—one of the trade caravan having bled out from multiple arrows and a large cut across his chest. Joseph drew a breath, a deep sorrow radiating from him before it muted, his gaze hardening as he suppressed his emotions.
The further they progressed, the more bodies they discovered amongst the ravaged trees, projectiles and splinters of wood telling of conflict. Scores from swords and nicks from claws. Blood splatters and paw prints from those fleeing after clutching their wounds were all illuminated by the moonlight, the odd arrow embedded into a tree casting a slight shadow.
“This way,” Joseph pointed slowly into the forest. Harrow tipped an ear.
“Why that way?”
The Human’s cold eyes softened for a moment. “He wanted to lead them away from the settlement.”
Her ears drooped at the muted sadness in his voice, wanting nothing more than to hold him close and offer a soothing touch like he did for her. His demeanour stiffened as distant sounds of combat filtered through the foliage—his aura colder, yet still hesitant as he pulled his crossbow from his armour, Sahari doing the same. Harrow readied her bow, her rate of fire and accuracy superior with the weapon compared to her attempts at using the larger version. Nalah adjusted the bag that held their medical supplies on her shoulder, hopes of not needing them dashed thoroughly. Now they just prayed they had enough.
They followed the carnage, the occasional faltering of their steps happening when they stumbled upon more fallen. Joseph looked sicker and sicker with each they passed, going so far as to stop and gather himself after stepping on a body. It hurt to see him so distraught—a sentiment everyone seemed to agree with, especially Sahari, yet he continued on with pain in his eyes.
The sound of the Blades giggling broke the otherwise dull clash of iron, the signature sounds of Tel’s ratcheting mechanism whirring and Kaslin’s whip neared.
“Welcome, sir,” Scarlet called, her form dropping from a tree with her disturbing armour that mirrored the Grand Hunter’s. Joe flinched at the blood splattered on her, though the female showed no signs of being bothered by it. If anything, there was a slight rasp to her shallow breaths, her pupils dilated and tail thrashing as she fought to remain idle.
“Find him?”
She bowed, a paw extended somewhat behind her. “Faye is seeing to his wounds, though much damage has been done.”
“How bad?” he asked, his voice strained.
Scarlet’s head tilted, the visible portion of her ears drooping slightly as her voice took on a disappointed tone. “Though she was able to confirm he will live, it will be with great difficulty. I believe it best if you were to confirm it yourself.”
Joseph looked like he wanted to take off in that direction, his advancement paused by a glance towards the sounds of screaming, his face taking a sickly hue. “What about the other group?”
“They are being driven back, but I am sorry to say that they are more stubborn than we would have hoped,” she admitted apologetically, her tail slowing its movements. “May I request an amendment in the order?”
“Don’t kill if you don’t need to,” the Grand Hunter stated firmly, his gaze averting from the surrounding bloodshed. “I don’t want this to be the message we send.”
“They will return,” Sahari explained, laying a paw on his shoulder. Joseph shrugged it off firmly, a slight hesitation showing through his eyes as he walked towards where Scarlet gestured.
“Then we deal with it when they do.”
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She giggled, her daggers swinging in wide arcs modified by the branches and claws she held at precise moments as she leapt through the trees. Below her, several Lilhuns suffered cuts and wounds from her weapons as she allowed them to duck and weave, her orders being to drive them away and to only eliminate those who refused to. It was a tiresome restriction, but her Sheath commanded it, and she would heed his wishes.
Kaslin passed next to Tel with a wink, the surprisingly lax bronze-furred female quickly redirecting to the ground to snap her whip at the feet of the slower members they were chasing. Her laughter and goading remarks were unbecoming of their chosen moniker, but they were asked to put on a show, and a show they would give.
Though they tried to keep it subtle, Tel knew the ‘girls’ were keeping a tally of how many they were given the privilege of testing the lethality of their new weapons on. So far, the number was fairly low, but she herself was in the lead with four being removed by her paws, two of which requiring a more personal touch, if only because she had misjudged the terrain.
The group they were hunting down now was what remained of the stragglers who had seen fit to break from the pack. Hopes were that the screams and subsequent silencing would instil fear into what remained of Hasen and his kin. It worked to a degree, but the male seemed more stalwart than she would have liked, something she noticed when Kaslin had decided to shatter a leg with her blunt-tipped whip before giving the male’s skull the same treatment for slowing the chase.
Seven remaining, by her count.
She started doubling back to regroup with Faye and the enfeebled Bratik, the male in a poor state. At a mere glance one could tell he was barely avoiding the grasp of the Void, his legs useless and left arm damaged beyond repair. It would almost be merciful to allow the male his release, but she stayed her paw, knowing Joseph would be hurt if she were to do such without his explicit command.
A shift in the wind told her that her mate was close, his delayed arrival curious, but expected, given his poorer night-vision. She tried to ignore the building heat from her exhilarating game compounding with the knowledge that her outlet was closing in, but she still felt her mind grow hazy as she allowed her subconscious to manage the physical subtleties of navigating the trees as her body sought its other.
A few heavier landings on branches slowed her approach, a glance around catching glimpses of Lilhuns that had not been cowed into retreat quite yet as they rallied around Hasen. As vexing as it was to have them still breathing the same air as her male, it was a higher priority to ensure the direct area around Joseph remained safe. She fought back the quiet growl as she continued, an ink-ball spiked with spices thrown to mark the targets for the others before she left.
Finally smelling the blood and seeing the dim glow from the healroot applied to the ash-furred male, Tel perched herself fairly high up where she had been when she had discovered the male in the first place, a rustling nearby making her anxious as Joseph broached the brush with his crossbow at the ready. He lowered the weapon as the rest of the pack seemed to be breathing quite a bit heavier than him, the contrast drawing a chuckle and a fidget of her thighs as he slid to the downed male’s side.
“How is he?” Joseph asked Faye, his paws hovering over the numerous wounds as he tried to determine how he could be of assistance.
“Unconscious, but breathing. We will need to move him to a better environment soon.”
“I can haul him,” he reassured quickly, a paw waving to disperse the pack to keep watch. “What about the fuckers who did this?”
“The others have taken to driving them away while I assisted here. Apologies.”
He ran his claws through his hair as he sat on his feet. “No, no. I’m very thankful you did. We need to get out of here, though. Now.”
Harrow stumbled next to him after her short lap, crashing to her knees as ragged breaths strained her lungs. “I need... Oh, Hunt Mother... I need a bit...bit to catch my breath.” Her eyes registered the mangled male. “Oh no.”
Joseph grimaced at her acknowledgement of the injuries confirming his own worry. “What do we have back at the base that could help?”
The orange-furred female struggled to speak as she deepened her breathing. “Uh, for this? Not much. Your painkillers, I think. That’s about it, and we don’t know how it’ll react with us.”
“Fuck.”
A crack of a branch nearby caused Tel’s heart to stop, her idle infatuation with observing her mate detracting from her duty. The ‘Wraiths’ should have been keeping the others busy. Not wanting to chance his safety, she took off towards the sound to eliminate the enemy, only to find the area she suspected the noise came from to be empty.
Unsettled, and more than irritated that she couldn’t see what had caused the disturbance, she set about regrouping, only to gain sight of her pack from a distance. Her heart stopped.
There was no warning, just the sheer adrenaline that coursed through her as she watched an unexpectedly stealthy male swing his sword towards Harrow and Faye, the latter bounding out of the way on reaction.
Harrow, in her exhaustion, had no such cognizance. Joseph however, did, and he used it to tackle the female out of the way, shielding her body with his own.
She launched herself downwards as the weapon pierced his armour.
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She tried to fight off the burning in her lungs as she passed through what little medical knowledge she had from perusing requisitions and assorted reports, failing to remember any uses for what few exotic compounds they had remaining in their stock. None could help with this level of injury, assuming they didn’t kill him outright. It was a guessing game she knew Joe wouldn’t want to play.
Though she was the one to identify what was used to heal Jax, Harrow knew that they had long since run out of the coagulants and bone-growth stimulants. From the looks of things, healroot was the only thing keeping Bratik alive, though there was no saying if it had been applied too late to stave off what blood-loss he had already sustained, or if something important had been damaged internally.
The arrows laying to the side of him were deeply stained with the life-sustaining fluids, and the placement of the bandages telling of where they had been removed. None of the locations were promising, several suggesting life-long complications.
His left leg had been rendered useless unless they could perform advanced surgery, something that was beyond their capabilities. His right leg was a stronger case for recovery; though with their current medical technology, he would never walk unassisted again. His left arm was difficult to gauge—the healroot covering most of the shoulder meaning that she had no way to identify the severity of what was hidden.
Regardless, they needed to get him back so that they could do a more thorough examination.
The pounding of her heart from the extended exertion covered any sound, but Faye snapping an ear in Harrow’s direction, followed by her reflexive jump backwards, told her that something had gone terribly wrong. It was only when she was tackled from her kneeling posture by Joseph that the shadow of a male swinging his weapon entered her vision.
The sword would have decapitated her.
Instead of meeting her end, she watched as the weapon tore the back of the Human’s armour through a seam in the plates, the smell of his blood and crimson droplets floating through the air seeming to slow time.
She didn’t register Tel’s almost feral yell, nor the subsequent slaughter that befell the male and two others that had gotten too close without notice, the scent of death mixing with the alien hemoglobin's iron oxidizing.
“Joe?” she prompted, pushing against the form that had embraced her as violence replaced the quiet ambience, his weight pinning her to the forest floor. When he only drew a shuddering breath, her heart renewed its rapid pace.
“Joe, come on. Get up. You’re scaring me.”
His grunt breathed life into her, the warmth in knowing he was still alive quickly drained by his words that overlapped with a long forgotten feminine voice. Despite the language difference, the message was the same.
“I’ll be fine, just make sure the others are okay.”
A memory of soft orange-furred paws, much bigger than her own, stroking her cheek as pain radiated from a sorrowful gaze. A promise given that was never kept. An expected return that never came to be. A feeble visage masquerading as a comforting presence as ribs shown through matted coat, sunken sockets holding weary eyes. Knowledge that they were lying, yet trying to preserve the hope in the one the words were meant for. A certainty that they were leaving them for good.
The cries that were never answered, the ever-present aroma of smoke replacing dreams of reunion.
Feeling her head grow foggy, her breaths failing to draw sufficient oxygen, she became hysterical. Bratik didn’t matter. The fresh corpses no longer existed. The passage of time was but a suggestion as her vision narrowed. She could only hear her own crying as she tried to hold onto him, the sounds echoing and muffled as panic set in.
It only barely registered with her that paws were trying to pull her away from him, her body lashing out on instinct as her mind ran circles trying to hold onto her loved one, lest they too never return once she allowed them out of sight and touch. She didn’t notice the cuts her claws inflicted on Sahari as her flailing inadvertently denied treatment of the large gash on his back. It was only when she had fully positioned herself over him that the overpowering scent of his blood caused deep panic.
She had to stop it.
Having no easily identifiable methods, and far too little presence of mind to use what she might have access to, she hastily moved the clothing and armour in her way, her bleary eyes seeing only a long red blur where there shouldn’t be.
Whether it was because she was so distressed, still viciously protective, or simply not impeding anyone, she was left to attend to the male’s injury. Though it likely took a while, she eventually cleaned the wound, the metallic taste on her tongue both stinging and soothing as a part of her calmed knowing she had tended to it. That she had done something she could not before. That she wasn’t merely waiting for someone else to.
Seeing that she had completed all she could, a grey-furred paw ripped her from Joseph, the subsequent panic renewing the incoherent pleading as the mild distance between them seemed like chasms of space. She didn’t hear the warning Tel gave her, her eyes and ears focused only on the breaths the male continued to take, however pained they were.
Eventually, she was released, either due to frustration with her unresponsive state of mind or her managing to actually free herself upon seeing Joseph be assisted to his feet. Regardless of why, she quickly clung to him again, her breathing only settling when his scent was all she could smell, his warmth passing through her paws. His soft embrace in return eased her heart rate, allowing some modicum of sanity to parse his soft words, his whispered breaths tainted with fear delivering accented Lilhun when she couldn’t focus enough to recognize English.
Words she yearned for so long ago.
“I’m here, Harrow. I’m okay. Let’s go back.”
The wails of a once abandoned kit were all she could respond with.