pour a little salt, we were never here

In this confined space, the smell of infection is hard to miss. The bite wound delivered from Eldra throbs steadily, but she can not bring herself to care enough to look at it. She's not slept easily since she'd somehow arrived in this life, and the events of a few days ago had made any kind of attempt at restful sleep impossible. The death of the nameless man plays against the backs of her closed eyelids, and when she manages to keep them open long enough, in the shadows that stretch into the den. @Vengeance keeps her fed, and at his command she chokes down whatever meager amount she can bear to stomach. 

The days bleed together, and she wonders at the cruelty of fate, or circumstance, or random chance that would have her live again, only for this to be her life. The constant terror is exhausting to keep up, and she finds herself afloat in a dull apathy as she noses over the herbs Vengeance had brought some days ago. The few that remain are wilted, save the castor beans - their spiky casings remain an almost cheery red shade.

the staff team luvs u

This content is not visible to non-members.

the staff team luvs u

She'd always loved the scent of rain, but it is of no comfort now as she draws in the scent of it. When next she flares her nostrils, there comes too the unmistakable scent of Vengeance, and dread settles like a stone to the pit of her stomach. When he eclipses the den's entrance, new herbs dangling from his maw, she can't find it in her to feel a fresh rush of terror yet again; she's far too tired. His disapproval is evident, and her gaze turns to the damp eath, tail curling close. 

"I'm sorry," comes her murmured apology, "It's deeper than I thought." Her gaze remains on the ground, not moving to accept the new plants yet, but fixing her gaze a moment on the soft red of the castor. "I need help."

the staff team luvs u

This content is not visible to non-members.

the staff team luvs u

It is utter exhaustion that has this task become possible; the cold cut of terror is something she knows intimately well, now, and she is not swayed from her sudden decision by it. She pulls the castor close, freeing the beans from their red husks with careful workings of her fangs, and depositing them at her paws. Bramble adds to the three beans a few sprigs of fresh marigold, gaze roving to the man's chest as she pushes the bundle in his direction. 

"You — you need to chew it, into a paste. Then put it on the wound." She withdraws slightly, still unable to meet his gaze. She does not remember when last she had; it is the lantern-lit one of a monster, a murderer. She does not know if the castor would even affect him, large and otherworldly as he was. If it didn't — she supposed she would die at his jaws at some point. The castor had been her downfall and now her hope; all Bramble can do is wait, and ignore the curious prickling of her gums where it'd touched the plant. The castor had killed her once, and now, perhaps, it would save her.

the staff team luvs u

This content is not visible to non-members.

the staff team luvs u

For the first time, her gaze traces warily upward, to rest on his muzzle as he draws the herbs toward himself, and begins to chew. A new kind of fear stabs into her gut; she didn't really believe she'd manage this at all, and now that his mouth began to foam, her mind went blank. She'd no real plan besides this, save —

The lump of plant matter splats to the ground, the roar of an accusation following a moment later. She lurches unto her spindly limbs, huddled low atop all 2 and 3/4ths of her legs, as he barrels into the burrow with all the single-minded force of a train. A scream tears from her maw as fangs collide with the side of her ribs; she scrambles forward and sideways, yellowed teeth tearing down her side as she does. A desperate, scrabbling bid to exit the hollow follows, sides heaving as she manages to slip just beyond the burrow's exit, her one trace advantage of being small. Lunging messily forward, there is no hope or elation at this short-lived escape; she can only remember her last attempt, and that of Sam, which she seems to be replicating perfectly. Still, there is no option but to enact part two of what has to be her worst-construed plan ever: run.

---

@Grayday :))

the staff team luvs u

This content is not visible to non-members.

the staff team luvs u

The road was lonely, long and bleak. Grayday found it harder and harder to find joy or wonder in this waking dream. He missed his family, his wife. He wanted to go home, to wake up.

But whatever strange place this was that sleep had taken him to, it was holding fast. He could not rouse himself, nor could he make the world bend to the powers of his mind, in the way dreams were sometimes malleable in the moments before waking. He was beginning to think that this wasn't a dream at all, but the alternatives were so strange and so terrible that he dared not entertain them. That is, until he came across a familiar scent while walking through the woods.

“Cutie?” he whispered when he found her scent among blood and fear and — yes, there it was — death.

The male broke into a run, flinging himself blindly through the trees and undergrowth, in the direction his niece had retreated some unknown time before. The scents grew and festered in his nares; this wasn't a dream at all — it was a nightmare.

(At the back of his mind he remembered, she is dead, she is dead, she has been dead for months, and when he thought back to his last waking moments, all he knew was fire.)

And then, at last, he saw movement: the young woman that had become of the girl, and a dark figure snapping at her heels.

“Run, Keeney! Run!” he barked, aiming to barrel straight into her pursuer.

the staff team luvs u

She is aware of the beast snapping at the air just to the left of her hind limb, and she lunges painfully forward, whites of her eyes glinting. It's suddenly impossible to draw air into her lungs, and then she is in the snow, breath impossible, and barely has she pulled away from the dead and swollen thing that had once been her body when something is tearing into it, into her —


Another erupts toward the scene, barking out a command as he crashes not into her, but veers behind her and toward the beast. It takes a moment, but she registers first the words and then the voice. Jolted, yet with no time to absorb the sudden flicker of memory that plays in the back of her mind, she crashes onward, slowed by her injuries but all too eager to obey as she makes for the edge of the wood, hoping desperately that her path would not intersect with any of those who too wandered this wood.

the staff team luvs u

This content is not visible to non-members.

the staff team luvs u

It had been some time since Grayday had been in a fight. The lynx, he thought, when he'd lost one of his eyes. But that seemed a lifetime away, foggy and uncertain. He had been fighting for his children, he remembered, and now he was fighting for her.

The dark beast was foul-smelling, and even fouler to taste. Grayday marked this only at the back of his mind, and was otherwise consumed with the urge to stop this towering adversary. To stop him, and to keep himself out of harm's way in the mean time. So he was savage in his blows, teeth seeking to rend, and then light on his paws when he tried to dance out of the way. Not all of his parries and thrusts panned out as he'd hoped, but his main goal was achieved:

She was getting away.

When Grayday got the chance, he chose a path and ran, perpendicular to the ghost from his past, hoping to draw the stranger off her trail. He would double back as needed to harangue the other male, if he tried to go after the girl instead.

Let me know if I should roll back or change anything!

---

the staff team luvs u

This content is not visible to non-members.

the staff team luvs u

Thank you! <3

---

When enough of the fight had gone out of the other male, Grayday was quick to make his escape, swinging wide around the territory to try and pick up Keoni's scent. It was not long before he found it, but it felt light eons when his wounds sapped his energy so rapidly.

Limping, bleeding, and still gasping for breath, Grayday set out after his old friend's daughter, determined to catch up and lend whatever help and strength he could. But, underneath this benign desire, Grayday wanted answers — what was happening here? Where were they?

What were they, if the last thing Grayday had known of her was that she was dead?

the staff team luvs u