Sleepy Fox Hollow damn the dark, damn the light

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Character death

The last several months had been... slow. Clarence had lived just fine on his own, but... he was lonely. Having become accustomed to living with other Nightwalkers and sleeping with Santiago almost every night, he was beginning to feel the solitude wearing on him. 

He'd hung out with the Kingslend wolves for a while. @Cenric was kind enough to let him tag along, after all, and he thought perhaps that might be a good place for him to wait while Valour worked up with the Saints. 

That was where he was heading, now, actually. The former Warlord needed to know that Clarence was still loyal, still waiting, ready to join him again when he was asked. But he wouldn't join the Saints. That was a path he was unwilling to take again. 

It was a pretty day out, he mused as he came upon a small meadow. Warm, but not overly so. The grass was still green from the summer. Clarence would stop for a moment to simply breathe, relishing in the sunshine.

The search for his god had yet to end. Cenric had been around the woods, through the flatlands, and even back up the mountain, and he had yet to find anything worthwhile. It’s unfortunate, but he wouldn’t quit. The Déorwine was determined to bring good news to his family. Soothe their restless minds. Only an extraordinary sign would satisfy them. Célnes’ decision to let outsiders into the fold shook them to the core. Outsiders like-

Clarence.

Germanicus and the boy had been his sister’s doing, but this one.. this was his decision. It was he who led the family to the abandoned forest. Did anyone know of that? If they did, did they approve of that? Knowing them, surely not.
But Clarence was for their benefit.

Cenric pushed through the underbrush and stood by his side. Surprised to see you here.

Clarence whipped around at the sound of his name, but relaxed almost immediately upon recognizing the owner of the voice. "Cenric," he greeted with a smile, tail swishing back and forth behind him as he turned toward the russet wolf. He'd thought he was alone out here.

Red eyes scanned over his companion and he hummed in response. "I'm up here to talk to my old leader," he informed the other male, chest warming at the thought of Valour. Would the former Warlord approve of his new companions? Of them settling in the Haunted Woods? 

"What're you doing up here?"

I’m searching for a more permanent place to stay. The forest they were camping in was satisfactory, but it was not blessed. They would live wherever the High Elk led them to.

I’ve been out for a few days now. I could use a bit of a break. Care if I join you?

Ah, so they weren't going to stay there forever. That was okay, too. 

"Sure!" he agreed easily, stretching until his stomach pressed against the ground. "I was gonna take a break for a little bit, here. The meadow's pretty." 

He paused for a moment before he realized something. "I don't really know a lot about you. Like... about your pack or anything like that," he told him, tipping his head to the side. "What, uh, what do you guys do?"

Cenric had been out traveling for so long, and yet he didn’t feel the least bit of tired. Even when he sat, he didn’t rest completely. Perhaps he was weary before, but he was alert in the moment. The reasoning had yet to be uncovered.

The King would brush it off for now, and smile. What any other pack would do, I suppose. Live and thrive. Nothing unique at first glance. What set them apart from the rest was their relationship with the High Elk. They were closer to him, and thus better off in this world. One would be tempted to go on and on about their glorious god, but Cenric was not one of them. He wasn’t Calhoun, and he wouldn’t dare share that information with someone like Clarence. It was blasphemous.

What about your previous pack? Did you live and thrive like the rest of us, or is there more to it?

Live and thrive, huh? That was... probably the goal for every pack. But were the Nightwalkers like that? They lived, but they had not thrived. They'd fallen apart and broken and splintered and didn't exist anymore. 

"No, we didn't do that," he admitted, resting his chin on his paws. "We were a bunch of fighters. And we did that, a lot. There were some prisoners, too. I didn't see anyone die, but I know they did that too, sometimes." Shame tainted his expression and he looked away. It sounded even worse when he said it out loud like this.

The ugly underbelly is revealed. A group of kidnapping barbarians; scorned in the eyes of god no doubt. Now one of them has wiggled their way into their group. That was no fault of his sister. The mistake, and all the consequences that could follow, are on him.

Clarence is a kindhearted soul, but even the kindest hearts could be corrupted by sin. How ugly was the face that hid behind the mask? What would it take to break it? When would that happen, and who would do it?

One thing’s for certain; Cenric could not allow his family to unveil the creature. Everyone would loathe him until his dying days. The story of how Cenric Deorwine invited in a monster would be told for generations.

That’s no way to live. Cenric stood up and stretched his legs before looking down upon the red-eyed man. I’d love to meet this leader of yours. Anyone who rules over wolves like that must be interesting.

That indescribable rush of adrenaline was crept up the back of his neck. I’m parched. There must be some water nearby. We can drink, and you can tell me more about your former leader.

That's no way to live. No, it wasn't. "That's why things changed. We all split up and stuff, because we couldn't agree on anything or maybe... some of them just wanted to leave." Thinking of Santiago hurt, in ways he couldn't quite put into words. His first love, first heartbreak. Perhaps his only. 

A smile stretched on his maw when Cenric stated he wanted to meet Valour. "Yeah, he's great! I think we're the same age, maybe?" he wondered aloud. Valour was young, too. It really hadn't been fair, what happened to all of them. 

Clarence got to his feet after the other man, eager to follow. That was all he'd done. Follow, follow, follow. "Me, too," he agreed, setting off at at trot toward the center of the valley. "Maybe there's something to drink over here."

Sure enough, standing off toward the middle of the valley was a pool of water. Whether it had always been there or was something created by the ceaseless rain last month, Clarence didn't know. Nevertheless, the boy lowered his head and began to drink his fill of the cool water.

Squabbling amongst barbarians, what a nightmarish thought. What horrid things did they argue about? Cenric did not entertain his imagination.

The two strolled through the hollow, Cenric in front while Clarence took the rear. For once, leading did not feel right. He felt like stalked prey. It’s an unpleasant feeling.

Cenric felt safer watching him drink from behind.

What’s his name? Cenric took one step forward. Where is he now? Two steps. Three. Four.

There was something - something in his voice and the way that he was moving - that set Clarence on edge. He paused in his drinking and angled his ears backward, turning his head to look at the other man.

If it were just Clarence at stake, he would've told him anything. But Valour? He had to keep him safe. And the way Cenric asked those questions made him feel like maybe he wasn't.

"Why d'you wanna know?" he asked warily, red eyes scanning the older wolf over.

Cenric was grateful for Clarence’s aid. Without him, his followers would be more restless than they already were. His use had ran out. He was nothing more than a liability now.

I want to take you to him.

The way he moved was practically snake-like. He slithered forward, struck the neck. The force wasn’t enough to kill, but it was enough to force the man’s head underwater. He’d use the water to suffocate him. It’s much more clean that way, he would argue more merciful.

Clarence knew the posture of someone who was about to attack. But Cenric was quick and Clarence was out of practice, and the blow to his neck was a little shocking. Startled, the spotted boy had his head plunged beneath the surface of the water. It was chilly - colder than it had been when he was drinking it, but that might have also been the panic. 

But Clarence knew how to defend himself. How to fight. It wasn't a skill he was proud of, but it was something he could use, right now. 

The wolfdog gathered himself as best as he could and pushed off backward, aiming to shove his assailant back and get him off of him, for at least a moment.

Clarence fought back against death, as any animal would. The will to live gave him enough strength to fling the King from his back. Cenric flew back, stumbled, regained his footing.

Amber eyes bore into the silver’s face. The mask was broken. Show your teeth.

Cenric leaped forward and aimed for the neck again.

Show your teeth.

Fences, cages, collars, snarling, blood. Torn throats and mangled faces.

"I don't want to," he gasped out, still desperately trying to catch his breath as Cenric dove for his throat. Teeth glanced across the side of his neck and he winced, feeling blood begin to seep into his fur. 

He had to, didn't he?

Clarence staggered backward a bit and lunged forward again, vision growing fuzzy around the edges. There were people standing around in a circle, cheering through the bars as he tried to tackle the other man to the ground. 

How was he already feeling so weak?

The wound on his neck gushed, saturating his fur and dripping to the ground below. A clean hit to the artery, but the boy didn't know that yet.

His teeth sliced through the side of his neck quickly and cleanly. The amount of blood that gushed from the wound was more than he could ever expect. Clarence was painted red, and so was the earth beneath him. When he leapt, he left a river of blood.

Both men tumbled in the dirt. Cenric ended up beneath him. He shoved his paws against Clarence’s throat and belly to try to avoid a bite to the face. It was the bare minimum. Really, must he do anything else? That wound was fatal. The man’s fate was already written.

Clarence pinned the man down, growling and breathing heavily. The crowds were roaring, the metal was clanging as they cheered and slammed their fists against the fence barring him from the outside world. His vision blurred around the edges and his chest ached - why was he unable to breathe properly?

Now would be the time where the crowd demanded blood. He was supposed to kill the man beneath him, tear his throat out and make his death a spectacle. 

But he didn't.

The boy stepped back on unsteady feet, numbness overtaking his body. A hush settled over the crowd, and when Clarence looked up, the fence was gone. The concrete floors were replaced with grass, the roof replaced with light blue sky. 

It really was a beautiful day. 

Blood coated his neck crimson and splattered the grass grotesquely. Clarence paid it no mind. Staggering backward, he settled down on his haunches, still trying to draw breath into his lungs. 

His exhale was a wheezing sound, wet and strained. 

But he couldn't hear the crowd anymore. There was no fence, no cage, no collars or concrete. 

He'd gotten out. 

Maybe it was always going to end bloody for him. Maybe there was some sick sort of fate that would never allow him to fully escape the violence. But... he hadn't drawn blood this time. 

That had to mean something... right?

Everything had slowed down, or... maybe it just felt like it had. Clarence sank down onto his stomach, muzzle resting on the bracelet around his forelimb. He couldn't hear it clinking. 

Would he be missed? @Valour would certainly be alright without him, but... perhaps Clarence's life had had some meaning, somewhere. The spotted boy couldn't see it, now - couldn't see anything, anymore. His vision had faded into darkness and his breathing grew stuttered, rattling in his chest. He was intimately familiar with that sound - he knew what it meant. 

And he was scared, but he was kind of happy, too. He wasn't trapped in a cage. He wasn't cold, or in pain, and he didn't have people screaming at him. His final moments weren't spent in terror and agony on a cold, concrete floor.

No, Clarence's last breath would be drawn while he lay on soft grass, with the sun warming his fur. 

;-;

The bare minimum was just enough. Clarence did not attempt to deal a final blow; perhaps he knew it’d be a waste of precious energy. He slipped off the Deorwine, stumbled back, fell to the earth. Cenric watched him drown in his own blood. I appreciated your help, Clarence, he said as the final breath left his lungs.

And just like that, his soul leaves the earth. It’s second life Cenric has taken. Him and his wretched uncle. Perhaps the two would find eachother in the afterlife and bond over their shared fate and hatred of the King. As long as the conversation was out of the living’s earshot, he did not care how ill they spoke of him.

Cenric slowly approached the body, grabbed it by the scruff, and dragged it into the water. If anyone came across the grotesque scene, his scent wouldn’t be present. After washing as much blood from his coat as he could, Cenric made a quiet exit.

Another problem solved.