Thicket of Secrets you're a boomerang, you'll see

<blockquote><ul>naww, it's cool. kiche needs someone to give him the old what for xD</li></ul>

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Even though Kiche had concluded that he was being sentenced to death within this hell — who knew that was even possible— to say that he was shocked when the beast rose and clamped his jaws around his muzzle would be to put it mildly. At that moment, Kiche panicked and bucked, the bridge of his nose slamming up against the inlaid set of carved ivory. Blood was drawn, whether the silent pagan had intended to or not. Kiche still found that his legs were locked, however. They had turned to jello or fozen to stone, or something. And now he had death, he had the very devil staring him in the face, blowing hot, sinister breath into his face. Thunder rippled from the monster's throat. I'm going to die.

No longer knowing what to do, Kiche stood there, his muzzle within the grasp of Satan. Desperately he wished for home, for his masters, for soft beds and fireplaces and even the yappy neighbor children. He was never going to see them again, was he? This desperation swelled inside of him until he couldn't take it any more, and from the depths of him he felt... his own monster spill out of his throat. A growl. A lunge. Kiche, in some strange rage threw himself at his attacker, hoping to push him away. At the moment, Kiche was no longer himself. He did not think and he did not fear. He felt only anger.

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<blockquote>In that one, glorious moment, things slowly started to click into place, and Marsh felt infinitely more comfortable.

Though the creature was larger, Marsh had long established that it seemed to be no real threat. He had subconsciously realised that the thing had no life experience at all. When the creature had frozen in response to Marsh's actions, he had almost felt... disappointed. There was relief that the gibberish had ended, yes, but that left Marsh at an unpleasant impasse. Did he dare release the creature's mouth only to let him ramble again? Should he just kill it and put it out of its obvious misery? No, the latter wasn't acceptable. Dementia was a good reason for a pity-kill, but there was something else at play here. Marsh just didn't understand it.

Thus, when the creature growled back, it was the most heavenly noise that Marsh could imagine. It seemed that shouting had been exactly the thing to do; instantly, the foreigner began to speak his language. Almost taken by surprise - but not quite, he was too good for that - Marsh let himself be repelled, releasing his hold on the wolf without complaint. Oh yes, it was definitely a wolf now. Young, male, and bearing a strange, foreign scent which Marsh did not recognise. Healthy, but alone, and Marsh could nary pick up even a trace of the boy's family or any pack he had once belonged to. How could it be possible to be alone for so long? For the first time, Marsh felt a pang of empathy, believing it possible that the yearling's ill of mind could be caused by loneliness. Acutely aware of his own isolation, it was almost frightening.

Now, though, now was not time for contemplation or pity, now was the moment for action and instinct. As if aware that instinct was the very key, Marsh took a second to recover and let the wolf realise his own actions before lunging again, intending to miss and merely snap his jaws at the other's cheek. If he could incite the wolf to attack again, attack with abandon, then they would be speaking the same language with perfect fluency.</blockquote>

<blockquote><ul>shortttt. fft.</li></ul>

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There was all darkness and shadows inside of Kiche's head. The only sounds was the ticking of a clock inside of his head, timing reactions. No thoughts, no words, no fears. But no matter how in tune Kiche might have been with the wolf inside of him now, he did not anticipate a counter attack. Instincts he might have had, but herculean strength and veteran cunning he did not. Marsh's teeth grazed his cheek roughly, and Kiche jumped back, crouching downwards. Time hung in suspension for a moment, buzzing expectantly. Then Kiche blindly leaped at his opponent, jaws parted widely.

He was going for the jugular.</blockquote>

(This post was last modified: Mar 13, 2011, 08:20 PM by Kiche.)

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<i>woo look at me signed in the right character and everything</i>

<blockquote>This was heaven, right here. It may not have been satisfying to fight with an inexperienced combatant normally, but compared to the past few minutes, it felt wonderful. The wolf lunged openly, his intentions clear but unfocused, and Marsh exploited them by ducking down, offering only his thick scruff to the other's jaws. Lunging, teeth bared but temporarily contained, he turned himself into a battering ram, aiming to take advantage of his slightly lower position and push upwards with his thick neck and shoulders, forcing the other to back away or rear up - either way, he would be met with another faceful of teeth, though Marsh still held back from actually getting a grip. It was too early to try and draw too much blood, this part of the dance was for gauging his opponent.</blockquote>

<blockquote>His strange and silent attacker was not such a fool as to fall for such an obvious attempt at his life. Kiche had no idea how these sorts of things had worked. Beyond those play-fights with his human masters, he had never fought anything before, and even those memories were dark and unreachable. When Marsh ducked, Kiche sailed right into him, but tried his best to grab the closet patch of fur and skin and his jaws and try his best to rip. Just rip, tear, anything he could sink his teeth into would be good. Before he could get a hold on anything but fur, though, Marsh bucked upwards, causing Kiche to rise backwards onto his hind paws, completely off balance. Unable to right himself properly, he tumbled backwards, his paws waving in the air. The impact with the still frozen, hard ground knocked the wind from him. In a daze, he did not get up.</blockquote>

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<blockquote>Short but sweet, Marsh almost lamented the fact that the battle had been won so easily but was too happy that it had happened at all. His effort had produced results far beyond his expectation, but then he was only beginning to realise the extent of this wolf's instinctual detachment. No amount of inner feralness could make up for experience, it seemed. Dropping to all fours, Marsh practically gave the larger wolf space as he toppled backwards, attempting to de-stress the situation slightly.

That said, he did not stay away; considering the victory his (or, who knew, perhaps he could encourage the wolf to continue) Marsh stepped forwards beside the upside-down wolf, placing one fore-paw on the other side of his neck and bringing his nose close to the others, teeth half-bared and ready to strike back if his adversary lashed out... or started gibbering again.</blockquote>

<blockquote><ul>lulzzz, i almost did what you did. caught myself though xD</li></ul>

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There was a groan, lost in a foggy daze. Slowly, Kiche shook his head, starting to come to. What on earth is going on? Slowly the world came back into focus. There was a wolf standing over him. A snarling, angry, hell-bent heathen. In a flash the battle came back to Kiche, a blur of images that made his stomach churn and kilter dangerously. He ached all over, his head especially as he closed his eyes, mad with sickness and self-hatred and confusion. While he had been attacked by that... that monster, he had fought back. Fought back.

No, he really was going to be sick. His stomach turned. Abruptly, his last meal escaped his mouth and sprayed the pagan's face. Kiche groaned again, getting it on himself too. Voiding his stomach did not clear his mind or cleanse his soul, he only felt more dirty. He was less than dirt. He was practically a heathen himself. A long, whimper, a lament, a dirge for the life he had lost, for his innocent erupted from his mouth. What am I, what am I? he thought, I am no better than these creatures, these demons. He had practiced violence, and he would be punished. There would be no way that he was getting out of this hell any time soon. He was doomed. He was damned. Kiche did not stop crying.

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<blockquote>Though Marsh was not prissy enough to worry much over the unfortunate displacement of stomach contents, his nose did complain bitterly, if more for the sudden, potent distraction more than displeasure from the actual smell. Still, the projectile vomit did have one potentially positive effect for the strange wolf, for it had forced Marsh back, snorting, shaking his head. If he had been expecting many things, that was not one.

From there, things continued to get worse. All the progress Marsh had made in forcing the wolf to make sense seemed to unravel, though at least he did recognise misery when he saw it, and he had seen ordinary wolves cry before. Utterly perplexed as to the reason behind it - was it because he had lost? surely not - Marsh felt any lingering anger ebb, only to be replaced again with confusion. Wiping at his face with a forearm, the wolf contemplated how to continue this increasingly pointless and frustrating encounter. It was not pity or sympathy that made him linger, but a sense that there were answers to be had, only if he could find the right way to communicate them.

Huffing, Marsh sat, sensing the fun and sensibleness had come to an end. He did not entertain the idea of talking, for that had not gone down well the first time. Far from a therapist or eager comforter, Marsh knew not how to help the situation save for lay down beside the bawling creature, ears down and gaze forwards. If this had been anyone else, he would not have trusted the wolf not to attack again, but at no point had this creature displayed itself as typical.</blockquote>

<blockquote>

To his surprise, his tormentor jumped backwards, tossing his head about. Kiche had almost assumed he would not mind the vomit on his face. After all, these barbarians did things that were far worse. But here was the cretin, no longer hanging over him, rubbing the bile on a foreleg. Still upset beyond reason, Kiche did not linger long on these observations. Instead, he continued to cry, making unearthly, high pitched keening sounds that he hadn't even known he could produce. They crescendoed and fell and rose again as Kiche was taken by waves of sadness and damnation. He just didn't know what to do with himself anymore.

But now he felt the savage plunk down beside him. That was confusing. For a moment, Kiche stopped his noise making and looked over at the scarred and ragged heathen. "What are you doing," Kiche barked, bitter and hurt. Vaguely he realized his muzzle was still bleeding, since now drips were trickling into his mouth. The metallic taste made him retch again, emptying his stomach of anything that might have survived the first wave. "Just go. JUST GO!"

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<blockquote>Well, this one was going to be hungry before long the way he was going. Having been caught unawares by the first attack, Marsh did at least manage to avoid a second coating. He was still largely preoccupied by the question the wolf had thrown at him, for he was not even sure of the answer himself. Where his reason for being here had once been in innocent curiosity, it was now marred and his patience was stretched. It did not seem that the strange wolf wished to prolong the encounter, either, though Marsh had never really believed him to be enjoying himself.

Still, the blunt demand took him by surprise. Pushing himself up onto his haunches, Marsh glanced down at the poor, wretched thing, accidental pity in his expression.

Pity was a wasted emotion. Marsh wiped it away before he even realised it was there.

His gaze once more returning to a more neutral spot somewhere in front of him, Marsh weighed up the reasons for staying. Now that it seemed established that he would not get the satisfaction of answers from this most disagreeable wolf, he had no purpose here. He was reminded of his choice to only linger a short while anyway, and snorted quietly to himself. Fine. Unsatisfying as it was to leave a fascinating, infuriating mystery unsolved, he could accept when it was a lost cause.

For some reason determined to keep the relationship civil - <i>as if it had been in the first place</i> - Marsh inclined his head at the wolf as a polite farewell, submitting to his wish. Silently, calmly, Marsh just walked away.</blockquote>