Luna Hill hush

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He had blood all over him, clotted scarlet that stained him like blame. No matter how hard he tried, he did not feel clean. He ran his tongue over his slender, frail foreleg and the blood did not go away. He ran his tongue over his lips, and the blood was still there. He just knew it, he could taste it. There was a madness to this taste, a warm satisfaction that was all too good and all too heathen. The vermillion elixir tasted all too much like a wonderful tonic, and all too much like a poison. Toxic fear polluted his veins, choked him, confused him, and sickened him. There was so much blood, not enough blood, too much blood; he couldn't decide.

Hunger had driven him to this. A hunger in his stomach and a hunger in his soul had robbed him of his senses. Hidden in the dark cloak of night, he felt his paws itch and stomach churn. He chased after his nose as it ran away into the night, feeling all the while like he was chasing a nightmare. He chased after his hunger and stumbled across a lame rabbit. It was a gift, a pitiful gift from... Or was it a gift at all? Was there anyone to give gifts to him, anymore? At any rate, there had been this scrap of tawny fur lying in the bracken, writhing and ferocious. The sight of something so lively teetering on the brink of death galled him. At the same time, though, he found it very tempting. After all, he was hungry. He hardly even thought about it.

And now there was blood all over him. In desperation, he suddenly bit down. His teeth sank down into his skin, and suddenly there was more blood. He wept with something between fury and fear, and stared down at himself, wondering at what he was, what he had done. He had murdered, he had slaughtered. He drank from another creature's life, and now there was a river, rather like his own life, flowing out of his leg. He was very tempted to devour his howl leg suddenly, to swallow his whole self up and not have to worry about anything. He was a creature, not a wolf and not a soul, driven by delirium, caught in a mental tempest. Had God deserted him because he was a wolf, or was it because he was a woilf that he had deserted God? Was he damned or was he alone?
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<blockquote>Her body was starting to show signs of her inner depression. The silver, and white glow of her coat was starter to dull in spots, where she was slim she was starting to get thin, and though her eyes sparked with life they appeared empty at times. Did she really have time to grieve for father and child? The day, and night did not have enough time for her. There was no time to sit, and weep. No time to look further for her lost child, and his father. No time to figure out what she'd done, or what had happened. There hardly seemed enough time to enjoy her remaining children, and prepare for the cold months ahead. But Grizzly Hollow was thriving, and she would not let it die. She had come too far, and quite honestly she did not know if she could let another lead above her with what'd she'd been through. Though things were not the best, she was doing what she could, there was hope. They just had to make it through winter, she kept telling herself. If they did the next year would be nothing.

Great haste her long limbs glided under her, and she swiftly cut through the tall grass. She saw the edge of the deer's hooves clip the ground ahead of her, and pushed herself onward. She was testing the deer just to see if she could catch it, or if this one could outrun her. So far she was gaining on the young thing, and her mouth grew moist ready to bite. Once she drew close enough to take a risk, the deer pushed itself further, and Jayse could not go on. Her stamina was shot, and she slowly eased down to a walk watching her could of been meal dissapear into the Thicket of Secrets. Like she'd done a lot of these days she let out a exasperated sigh, said a couple choice words under her breath, and than turned heel to go home empty handed.

Tongue hanging past her canines she panted in quick breaths trying to over come her brief hot, and tired state. Her paws were once again protesting at the miles she'd covered, and the rather rough terrain she'd taken them on, but she kept up a light jog knowing the sooner she got home the better. By unpleasant surpised her nose was struck with a strong knock of wolf's blood, and she slowed her pace, slinking down in the tall grass worried. Her black nose pointed heavenward, and she took a moment trying to decide if what got the wolf was still around, and another wolf or something else. Rabbit was the only other thing, and promtly she set out to see if the wolf was alive or on the edge of death.

First everything was crimson before her eyes, and she felt the hair prick on the back of her head. She took a quick whiff of air, and stopped when she saw the large wolf two yards infront of her. She stared for a time trying to figure out just what she was looking at. Her mind didn't understand, and she reached down and found her courage. <b>"Hey, are you alive?"</b> She calls out in a loud tone, unsure if she'd get a response. Seeing all the blood, she knew one way or another this wolf was not all right.</blockquote>

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The godless wolf peered out at the world from behind his confused eyes, and honestly wasn't sure what he was looking at anymore. Something seemed strange about his vision, it all seemed out of focus, spinning and dipping sickeningly. When he shook his head, the picture wasn't any clearer. If anything, it looked even softer, even more blurry, and it made his eyes ache to look at such indistinct, soft shapes. He honestly felt too nauseous to think anymore, and it was probably for the best. The world faded and darkened and churned and it was simply too much for his stomach to handle. He had always had a rather weak constitution, after all. It was as if the rabbit was jumping to get out of his throat, fighting it's way back to the living, spilling out onto the ground in a repugnant mess.

The fact of the matter was that he had lost a lot and was continuing to lose quite a bit of blood. In addition to that, his body, unaccustomed to the taste and texture of meat, was rejecting it as a food source. The fallen creature was sick, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. There was a cancer in his soul, a cancer that ate right through him to the point at which he was reduced to a deranged, incoherent echo of his former self. In this state, it was frankly a miracle that he heard her at all. Something bounced off of his ears, and at some point he recognized that something was noise, and then it soon followed that those noises were turned into words. Except the words had no real meaning to Kiche, he was so far gone. When he looked up in the direction his ears had pointed him in, he saw only a shapeless, faceless cloud. He merely blinked at her, unable to translate her sentence into something meaningful, unable to formulate a response, unable to figure out what he was.
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<blockquote>The wounded creature did not stir for what seemed like a long time, and saddened her ears pressed against the side of her head. She never liked to see death. The littlest of movement had her attention. She was sure it- he-she whatever, had heard her. She could see faded orange eyes trying to see. Much as her instincts, and self preservation screamed at her to get the hell away, the wolf was once again governed by her heart, and not her head. She darts closer to the fallen wolf, head sharply turning this way and that around the field. She can not see what did this to the creature, and believes he's been left here to die. Standing over the wolf, her eyes fall first to the wound at his limb, and his dim eyes. She had looked into them before, though they once had been more fiery.

<b><i>"Kiche?"</b></i> She gasps, her heart in her throat. <b>"Kiche!"</b> She shouts, as if to steal him back from the grim reeper's reach. <b>"Kiche, wake up!"</b> Muzzle nudges forcefully at his gray peppered mane. She has no idea what's wrong, except he's bleeding and it won't stop. Eyes dart from each spot along his abused body. She feels guility, and worried. She can't just leave him to die. Her head fumbles for a remedy to stop the bleeding. She can't remember what plant she needs, and if she did she had no idea where to get it. She had to get him to wake up. If he fell asleep he was lost. <b>"KICHE!"</b> It comes out as a harsh roar of bark, and words. She shoves her shoulder hard against his. She might be losing time. Instictively she licks his nose, so it's clean yet wet. Strong adrenilene racing in her veins, her jaws clamp the thick part of his neck and she starts to pull with her full strength, attempting to drag him to Grizzly Hollow. <i>Please don't die,"</i> she thinks. She can't have anyone else leaving her. </blockquote>

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Some part of his brain that was somehow still functioning fumbled about, trying to make sense of what was going on, what the words meant. The rest of his brain was shutting down, trying to save energy. Things were going dark, but he could still make out the vague shape of the cloud looming over him. He tried to identify it, but the only response his brain could offer him was: object unidentified. Threat level: do not compute. Staring up at the cloud, Kiche blinked dumbly, trying as hard as he could to make sense of it. Should he snarl? Should he run away? Should he ask for help? His jaws creaked open in an attempt to form words, but all that came out was a groan.

The cloud shoved at him, jarring him roughly. His vision capabilities broke down suddenly, and everything went dark, which made him groan again. There was something on his nose, something wet, and it made him pull his muzzle away in surprise. Then there was something, something sharp in his neck, tugging him. It was obnoxious. Please stop, was what Kiche wanted to say to whoever or whatever was yanking him, but when he tried, what ended up coming out of his throat was, "<b>Hey there.</b>" Faintly, the godless wolf realized that protesting was no use, and he resigned himself to this constant tugging feeling. It would either stop, or it wouldn't stop.
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(This post was last modified: Sep 22, 2011, 10:50 PM by Kiche.)

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<blockquote><i>shall we post at the hollow/forest to keep this moving? </i>
His cream lids shut, and close. She pauses for that one second wondering if he might just wake up, tell her not to touch him -try to rip into her. Maybe she shouldnt be so close to him. She was so caught up in waiting, she was forgeting to breath herself. When his mouth opened, her neck tensed waiting for a snarl of menace. What came out was nothing but a pathetic sound of pain to her ears. She gulped a rush of air, not much caring for the taste that came with it. She kept tugging at his mane, a little grateful he was not as large as he once had. Though sadly that meant he probably was starving. Another groan, she had a brief hesitation hoping he would get up. He still made no move he was ever going to get up again. Damn she wished someone was here to help her, or talk her out of it. She wasn't sure if helping Kiche was in her best interest. Part of her was waiting for him to go all psychotic, and being her luck he'd clamp her throat her something. Then, what could he really do? Hurt her more? Would she feel that?

No, she'd made up her mind to help. If he took it badly well, she'd just deal with that later. She kept tugging, making some progress. The hollow was still a distance, but every step counted. She payed slight attention to his breathing, making sure he hadn't tottally dropped dead. All the while she was wondering if Elettra would help, or prefer to let him rot. Another problem she'd have to take in stride. She heard hoarse his "Hey there." But wasn't sure what he was trying to get at, and only kept pulling him home. <b>"You'll make it,"</b> she muttered through her tight grasp, telling herself more than her unconscious companion.

It took close to an hour, but she dragged him to the edge of the forest. It wasn't <span class='word'>copacetic</span> time, but it was better than nothing. All she had to do was manage some more yards to the borders. Maybe, someone would be there to help...A sudden idea hit her, and she raised her her head, letting go of the ginger male, and raised her mouth to the sky. She sang loudly, and dramaticly a song of help.</blockquote>

(This post was last modified: Oct 25, 2011, 12:12 AM by Jaysyek.)