Hearthwood River rolling girl

@Lachesis, dated to 7/26/17

She didn't even feel like she could move anymore. After she'd run away from her mother's body, Ris had ended up half-in and half-out of an abandoned den near the riverbank. It was hardly big enough for her to fit in, but it made her feel a little bit safer, being enclosed from behind. Not to mention the fact that she could squeeze entirely inside if she felt the need to. But for now, she was laying with her forelimbs and head out, paws stretched toward the water and her cheek resting in the crook of one elbow. Her pelt was still matted and sticky with her mother's blood, though she could easily have rinsed it away in the river if she'd wanted to.

But she didn't. Instead she stared at the rust encasing her paws and flanks, a reminder that her mother would not be coming by to comfort her or help her clean up. At first, that thought had brought on waves of grief and tears and pain, but now that the tears had dried in tacky tracks down her cheeks and the sobs had died down, she just felt tired and numb. She hadn't slept the night before - how could she? - and she hadn't gotten up to eat, drink, or take care of any of her body's needs for the last twenty-four hours. She had thrown up, once, the day before when she'd been running from Kisla's dead body, but since arriving in the abandoned den, she hadn't moved.

Her throat felt raw, her nose was dry, and her head hurt, but she didn't know what to do. She didn't want to do anything. She'd tried to sleep multiple times, but every time she closed her eyes, Kisla's lifeless ones would be staring her in the face. Even to the child, as young as she was, it was apparent that she would never, ever forget what she'd seen the day before. Her mother's spine being broken and lying in a pool of her own blood while that monster stood over her. And then Lekalta running off with it... was her sister even alive?

Dull silver eyes squeezed shut before traveling back down the length of her forelimbs and settling on the water before her. Maybe she'd just lay there forever. It wasn't so bad. She felt too sick to eat or drink, and all the other stuff was pointless anyway. So she just continued to watch the water bubble by, unchanged and uncaring that Kisla Baranski wasn't there anymore.

It seemed so unfair.

His chest felt hollow; empty. His eyes were sore from the sobs that tore through him, but there was nothing left inside he could expel. The loss of his tawny co-lead had hit him as hard as the death of her mate, his closest friend in the Lore. They had grown a lot together in the year that passed after Maksim’s death. Despite their differences they worked well together, balancing each other out in order to lead the river wolves effectively. While he had faith in his blue-eyed sparrow, despite the self-doubt that consumed her, Hearthwood did not feel the same without the river queen. She had stood at the helm since the formation of the pack; he did not know if he could do this without her.

The thought made the back of his throat burn.

Blood still stained his alabaster fur as he dragged his paws through the forest as he selfishly sought solitude. They had buried the fallen river queen next to her mate, as he believed it was what she would have wanted. At least they were together again, as they were always meant to be. “She’s runnin’ free, watchin’ us from th’clouds along with her mate.” The sparrow’s words echoed in his skull but it did not bring him comfort. She had deserved better—not to be slain viciously by a rogue cat.

His thoughts fell to Lekalta and guilt surged through him. Immediately upon burying his friend Lachesis had followed the bloodied trail her daughter and the cougar had left behind. As far as he could tell the river princess was alive and she had successfully led the feline away from Hearthwood. But she would return, just like before. He had to remain hopeful—the thought of losing another Baranski was more than he could handle.

As the trail disappeared Lachesis returned to the Kingswood with a heavy heart, his paws dragging behind him as he headed for the river. The coppery stench was making his head spin and, while he wanted nothing more than to seek the comfort of his family, he knew they would not appreciate him being covered in blood. He did not mind the moment of solidarity, as he knew it would not last.

The blood that clung to his pale fur made it impossible to detect the scent of Risaela, for she wore the same cloak of red. He had not noticed her presence until he flopped against the river’s edge and noticed he was not alone. The defeated leader did not say anything—there was nothing to say. The girl had just lost her mother and witnessed her bloodied body… hell, she was wearing her mother’s blood. There was nothing Lachesis could say that could rectify the situation. So he remained quiet, his chartreuse gaze falling to the silver-eyed cub as he flattened his pale body against the dirt in hopes that it would swallow him up…

stick with those who stick with you

A young deer has been separated from the rest of its herd. Hunt Opportunity

T.T TW - suicidal? thoughts

Her hopes of possibly just fading away into dust by herself seemed to be nothing more than that - hopes. Her mind had fizzled into something resembling television static, and for just a little while, she didn't really feel anything. But then that apathetic bliss was broken by the sound of pawsteps approaching, and fear gripped the little pup's chest violently. What if it was the monster that took Kisla from her? What if it was going to kill her just like it had killed her mother?

But would that really be so bad? It wasn't like she wanted to live in a world without Kisla. She didn't know how to. Risaela had never had to live without her before, so she didn't see how it was possible to at all. So no, she didn't really believe that it would be quite so bad if the giant beast were to just take her in its mouth and end her.

Just as she had resolved herself to her fate, however, a white figure entered her blurry field of vision, and the child hazily recognized her uncle. Under normal circumstances, she would be overjoyed to be in his company - they would race or play or adventure together - but today was not one of those times. His pale fur was covered in the same red that adorned her own, and she could sort of remember seeing a flash of white as she had fled after watching her mother's gruesome death.

That was Kisla's blood on him. He'd seen her die, too.

Silver eyes drifted sluggishly over to the white-pelted alpha from her position in the tiny den. It didn't take a genius to see that he was hurting, too, and that wasn't okay. Lachesis had been there for many of her own bumps and bruises, and had even treated her through that dreadful cold she'd developed a couple of weeks ago. For the first time in her short life, Ris wondered who exactly it was that took care of the snow-colored wolf in return.

It was difficult to stand up - her legs were numb and wobbly from laying down for so long - but she managed. Her pawsteps were slow and dragging as she made her painstaking way over to him. Once there, she plopped down wearily on the riverbank beside the larger wolf and leaned over to start grooming some of the congealed blood from off of his foreleg. Her tongue was dry, and she wasn't really doing much to help the situation, and the taste of the metallic liquid was making her empty stomach churn, but it was all she could do to try and get him to feel better.

And, perhaps, to take her own mind off of it, as well.

He was beginning to wonder if the river was cursed. They had moved north to avoid a fight and to start fresh, but they had endured nothing but misfortunate since their arrival. Amongst the bad was some good. The arrival of the Baranski children. Safety. Unity. But the bad was slowly outweighing the good. Maksim had fallen ill and succumbed to his injuries. He was followed closely by Naia, who had died giving birth to their children; the children that were supposed to raise morale for the river wolves. But they, too, had left the river behind. One to seek out fables spun by a dragon and the other to bring her brother home. That had been months ago—they were both unaware that they had half-siblings in Hearthwood.

Although he had been gifted with two beautiful, healthy daughters he was supposed to have a son. Laddeus Stark. The name made his heart ache. Death had come for the river wolves once more, stealing two wolves from them just like it had the year before. No more, he pleaded silently, his eyes pinching shut as his ears flattened against his skull. Lachesis was not sure he could take anymore heartbreak. It already hurt too much.

His ear twitched as he heard stirring at his side, but his eyes remained closed. He wanted to comfort the little bird but he could not move—his grief weighed heavy on his shoulders, immobilizing him. The Stark had lost a friend, yes, but she had lost a mother. The sorrow that consumed her was much greater than the one that clung to him.

His peridot’s finally blinked open once he felt her little tongue working feverishly on his leg, trying to remove as much blood as possible. It was not right—he was supposed to be comforting him, not the other way around. A whine escaped him as he lifted his heavy maw and pressed a few tentative licks to her forehead, his ears still pressed to his crown.

I’m sorry, he wanted to say, but the words never came. It seemed foolish, apologizing for Kisla’s death, as though it was going to bring her back or rectify the situation. The words hung in the back of his throat as he continued pressing soft, comforting licks to the girl’s scruff as he tried to ignore the metallic taste of blood that filled his mouth. 

stick with those who stick with you

Her actions seemed to bring for some response from the white-furred wolf. He raised his head, but she did not look up from her task of cleaning the blood from off of his leg until she felt his tongue press against her forehead. The contact would have brought a whimper from the child, had she felt like using her voice at all. Instead, her ears pressed back and she was caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to absorb as much comfort as she possibly could. She had never hurt this badly before, and she wasn't sure what to do about it. This wasn't some sort of scrape or cold that you could just lick or medicate away.

This was life-changing.

Lachesis had begun cleaning her scruff, ridding it of her mother's blood, and she wanted to tell him to stop - that, even if it was stupid, she wanted it there to remind her of Kisla forever. But she was so, so tired, and she couldn't find the strength to argue against it. Instead, she just started to tremble from the tips of her ears to her toes, the mix of emotions far too much for her to begin to physically handle.

A twig snapped from the forest behind her, and she whirled around so fast that it made her head spin. Her breathing picked up and she lowered herself to the ground, pressing into the snow-pelted man's shoulder for shelter. What if that monster was back again? She thought that, maybe, she could see a flash of tawny in the shadows - only a bit brighter than her own pelt - and she swore that she saw the glimmer of amber eyes in the bushes. She was shaking hard, and her breathing had picked up again, until the culprit behind the snapping twig showed itself.

It was a smallish red squirrel, apparently making its way down to the river to get a drink, skirting the two wolves in the process. Ris blinked a few times, trying to rid herself of the panic that had settled its way into her body, but was only minutely successful. She had never really been scared before yesterday, and she didn't know how to handle it.

Dehydrated as she was, tears still gathered in her dull silver eyes, and she looked down at her bloodied paws, misery etched in every feature - every movement. She wanted nothing more than Kisla right. then. - and the fact that she would never get her back was starting to settle in. She turned to bury her face in Lachesis' fur, closing her eyes and pretending - just for a heartbeat - that the soft hairs that tickled her nose belonged to her mother.

He was overcome with the desire to flee the river—to move the pack elsewhere, away from all the tragedy that had plagued them over the last year and a half. But was relocating the river wolves going to make him feel any better? Was it going to numb the pain that had latched onto him like a starving leech? For a fleeting moment his mind screamed yes! at him, encouraging his troubled thoughts, but he quickly repressed the angry voices. No, it would not chase the demons away. They would follow the river wolves no matter where they went, gnawing hungrily on their heels as they waited for another disaster to strike. Running away, while immensely appealing, was not going to solve anything. It was a temporary solution, and it would not mend the growing hole in his heart.

His stomach lurched at the taste of blood but he continued grooming the child, his ears pressed flat against his crown. It was not just any blood—it was the blood of his friend; the matriarch of Hearthwood. The last link he had to Cut Rock River.

He was the only founding member that remained. Aside from Inna, perhaps, as she had been born a few months after they arrived in the Kingswood.

It was up to him to keep Hearthwood alive. He could not let Maksim or Kisla down, and moving the pack would do just that.

His ears twitched at the snapping twig but he did not react. The ghost remained focused on his task, his licks softening as he noticed Risaela trembling. His forepaws reached for her, pulling her in close as she buried her face into his stained fur. He abandoned grooming her, his chin tucking over her shivering body as he embraced her, hoping to offer her even a sliver of comfort.

stick with those who stick with you

He stopped cleaning her fur and instead wrapped around her, encasing her in warmth and safety and stability that she desperately needed in that moment. The child squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in his un-variegated white fur. She, too, wanted nothing more than to run away - to forget everything that had happened and find somewhere that Kisla had never touched, so that she could be free of any unwanted memories or feelings. Because Ris was sad, and everyone around her was sad, and it was so suffocating that she was finding it difficult to breathe.

Or maybe that was because she had her face smushed into dense fur and body heat, surrounded by summer air, and she was crying.

Again.

She pulled her head out of his fur and took in a couple of gasping, sobbing breaths, trying to bring some air into her starving lungs. She choked and sniffled, shaking her head and rubbing her forepaws across her face to rid it of any tears. The girl wasn't sure why, but for some reason she felt that openly crying in front of someone else like that was... wrong.

After she gained a little more control of her emotions, her silver eyes fell to her paws, shamed. Not just for the outburst, but for lots of (unrelated) things that she had done in the past. Leaving the territory, breaking the rules, not being a good girl like Matheo was a good boy. "S-so-sorry," she croaked, voice gravelly and ruined from screaming the day before, from sobbing through the night, and from dehydration.

(This post was last modified: Aug 03, 2017, 04:26 AM by Risaela.)

It was not often that Lachesis cried. He had when he first lost Anastasia, for he had blamed himself for her disappearance. He had cried for weeks after he’d lost her, for he feared the mountain and the snowstorm had claimed her life. When Maksim and Naia had passed the previous spring he had cried for both of them, for the fallen river king had been like a brother to him and the scout had been his friend since his time in Pitch Pine Trail. Even Shade, the leader of the Trail, had earned a few tears from the stoic ghost, for he had been unable to save the wounded king. He had opened the floodgates for Kisla, for she had been a staple in his life for a long time; both a confidant and a friend. If her mate had been a brother to XIX, she had been like a sister, and he weeped for her just as he would have for his own siblings.

His tear ducts were dry with overuse; there were no more tears to fall. He did his best to comfort the sobbing girl, his chin tucked tightly over her body as he embraced her. He did not cry, for he knew he was supposed to be strong for her. While he had lost a friend, she had lost a mother—her loss was far greater than his own.

The apology took him by surprise once her sobbing ceased, her silver eyes desperately avoiding his pools of green. The healer frowned and shook his head slowly, dismissing her apology immediately. “Do not be sorry,” he countered, his own voice hoarse like Risaela’s, for it had not been used much after they buried Kisla’s battered body. He looked toward the river and shuffled away from the tawny Tainn, his features softening as he motioned toward the running water. “Come,” he started as he scrambled to his paws, his legs stiff as they unfolded from beneath his body, “let’s take a bath.” For baths made everything better. 

stick with those who stick with you

Lachesis was kind enough to be there while she cried, holding her and not pushing her away, even though she was pretty sure she got snot and tears in his fur. The silver pup was surprised when he reprimanded her for her apology, and then unexpectedly got to his feet and mentioned taking a bath. Baths were really good, and Ris loved water (even if she didn't like going all the way under), and the idea was tempting.

She got to her paws as well, wobbling slightly from exhaustion, and nodded hesitantly. The child trudged to the water's edge, her forepaws dipping lightly into the liquid. It was cool, which was a nice contrast from the warm summer day. For some reason, it felt like it should be raining - some sort of memorial to Kisla's death. But maybe the world had known about the River queen's fate before it had happened, and all the rain that had happened when Ris was still super little was maybe the world saying goodbye.

Water cleaned things, right? It made things go away, didn't it?

The girl watched as the coagulated blood on her foreleg mixed with the river water and started to liquefy again. The redness was a little blip in the clear water, and disappeared quickly, effectively washing Kisla from her fur. Her breathing picked up again and she jerked her little paw from the current, trembling slightly. She didn't want to say goodbye - and it didn't make any sense, because she wanted the blood off. It was yucky and it was gross and it smelled so bad and Ris was dirty with it on her.

Her head started shaking back and forth, and she tucked her tail between her legs, conflicted. Because even through the irony scent of the blood, she could still smell her mother, and maybe washing it away would be like giving Kisla up to the river forever. Maybe she'd forget her mother. Maybe she wouldn't smell her ever again and find that familiar comfort.

It wasn't logical, but it was all the puppy had.

Risaela snuffled slightly and glanced back at the water. It would be clear to anyone that she wanted the mess off of her fur, and she couldn't lay in it forever. But she most likely would need a little push, or a little coaxing, in order to fully commit to the action.