Ravensblood Forest before the devil knows you’re dead

Lotte has collapsed midway between the “y” in “Stavanger Bay” and the “g” in “Gyrfalcon’s Keep”.

However, since this is technically her joining thread for Teaghlaigh and I assume she will make it to Ravenblood Forest eventually, I set it in Teaghlaigh’s forum.

I am tagging @Arturo because she has heart eyes for him, but anybody is welcome, of course!

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Fire.

Lotte, child of ice and snow, had sung of fire, alluding to the warmth of the hearth, the flickers of passion, the heady blaze of battleglory — but she had never heard it screamed by the myriad dying voices of both predator and prey. She had never felt it in an acidic lick against her skin. She had never smelled it in the burning stench of fur and flesh. And as she awoke, jolted from a dreamless sleep by all three of these things, she tasted fire upon her tongue — the ash of the ruined sequoias, the burn of venomous smoke within her lungs. She coughed, involuntarily dragging more of the putrid air into her lungs, her argent eyes swollen and streaming as she stumbled blindly through the trees. A fearsome cracking and snapping had devoured all the ambient noise to which she’d grown accustomed, and it drowned out the sound of Deirdre’s command to flee — but as Lotte wove her way unsteadily through the waking nightmare, Starbuck’s rallying cry struck the air.

Turning wildly, desperately seeking the flower dancer, Lotte was swallowed up by another fit of coughing as around her, trees crashed to the ground and filled the air with firefly-like embers. Fire was ravenous, and He closed in on the smoke-and-shadow rogue with nefarious intent, the branches of flaming trees groping greedily for her. “I got a little too close, and my eyes got burned,” Day’s words returned to her in a rush. I wonder if Deirdre was able to heal him, Lotte thought inanely, as Fire cackled and hissed and paralyzed her with fear. I don’t want to be blind! I want to see! I want to live! She was made wild by her terror, but her paws felt rooted to the spot — and it was only when a spindly branch detached from its mother and drew a line of smoking ash down the young wolf’s sensitive flank that she found herself able to move at last.

“Dagfinn!” Lotte cried out absurdly, running haphazardly through the destroyed sanctuary, “Artu — ” and the breath whooshed from her lungs in another fit of coughing and retching. The air around her was black and thick, but Lotte barely noticed it — in her nonsensical attempt to prevent the chronic ocular damage Grayday had suffered, she ran with her eyes squeezed mostly shut. Crashing through the brush, her paw pads blistered and blackened, her dove gray flanks singed and yet aglow with flickers of flame, Lotte realized that there was no way to safely reach the paprika-peppered coywolf. The way she’d attempted to take spelled certain death.

Neither, though, could she turn back.

In desperation, Arturo’s betrothed hurtled toward her love — toward Teaghlaigh. Having survived the razing of Donnelaith, she stumbled across the sand she loathed; yet just after she passed through the protective ring of black rocks at the northern side of the Blackrock Depths territory, she collapsed upon the earth in a stinking, smoking huddle and knew no more. Patches of missing fur along her back, flanks, and tail revealed angry crimson burns and blisters, and the flesh of her paw pads was visibly sloughing. Her sides rose and fell, but the plush quality of her thick pelt was reduced to threadbare bristles. Even the thick fur that formed her scarf-like ruff was sadly diminished, replacing her buxom appearance with an odd fragility.

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The smoke was visible even from Ravensblood and the scent tickled and itched as his black, leathery nostrils as it froze his steps upon his borders. Frantically, he tried to place the territory the wildfire spread through, how close it was and if Teaghlaigh would be in any sort of immediate danger of it. It was what drove the Ceannasach up the Gryfalcon Keep and along the passage he had long ago discovered to carry him safely towards Blackrock Depths and Donnelaith. His hackles bristled with unease as he cleared the Keep and looked to the Bay and then to the Sentinels. If his gaze was hellfire it was nothing close to the flames that he could see licking towards the sky, even with the distance between him and Donnelaith; and the bitter chill of the winter was nothing to him compared to the ice that suddenly pierced his heart and the icy fear that pooled in his stomach as the confusion of the fire wore off and he was left with the realization of what he was seeing. It was horrifying but not so near as terrifying to Arturo as his next thought. Lotte!

Arturo ran. He ran towards the inferno, towards the thick, curling smoke. He ran towards the burning Sentinels, towards the jaws of hell with only one thought: find Lotte…because he had to. Even if the flames brought with them his death he was prepared. His nightingale had become such an intimate part of him, intricately woven into his design that the gangster knew that a life without her was no life at all. He’d lost two Family members and he would not lose Lotte too. Her death was one that he knew deep in the marrow of his bones that he would never recover from and thus he propelled himself faster, his lungs burning from exertion and the tang of smoke as it hung in the air. Luck was with him, with them it would seem (though Arturo did not believe in such things) that a figure caught his attention. A smoking, heap of burnt fur. Her scent was masked by singed fur, burnt flesh and smoke but she was unmistakable even hurt as she was.

“Lotte.” He choked out her name, turning his back to the inferno as he rushed towards her, fearful that it had taken her despite that she had gotten free. His heart felt like it was in his throat, hard to breathe and hard to swallow but ever so slightly a small measure of relief flooded him as he realized that she was breathing, at least. “Lotte,” He called out to her as he drew nearer, gently licking her muzzle in an attempt to get her to rouse to consciousness. “Lotte.” The gangster choked out her name in a sob, wishing that he knew anything about healing so that he could assess how bad her injuries were, if they were life threatening or not. “Hold on. You have to hold on, Lotte. I need you,” He murmured to her as his own helplessness in this situation sunk in and took a nice swing at his pride (as if he wasn’t already hurting). “I love you Lotte Ansbjørn, you hear me? I can’t lose you.” Not the most romantic way and he wasn’t even sure if she could hear him. This wasn’t a fairy-tale and he didn’t believe in magic enough to believe those words would hold power but he felt the need to tell her, just in case (because maybe part of him was willing to believe if it meant he would be assured that she would live). He did not deign to leave her side, lingering close even as he threw his head back and howled for help to anyone that was near enough to receive his urgent call.

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Though the smoke was a safe distance away for now he still paced anxiously. He would not allow anyone to be hurt, so he patrolled the borders all day to be the first to see the fire if it were to approach. A nervous whimper occasionally left his throat whenever a breeze brought the stench of smoke and burning to his nose. Suddenly his ears perked and he gasped. Arturo! He was calling for help! 


The obsidian of his pelt could be seen darting over the snow as he raced to the sound, seeing a rather upset looking Ceannasach huddling over the body of a burnt Dame " we gotta move her sir. If she breathes in any more of this smoke she will die."  He said in an urgent tone and moved forward. He was not aware that the woman was his leader's beloved so any thoughts of him being accosted for drawing near was far from his mind.


"Help me move her, please? A lively Wolf is hard enough to drag much less an unconscious one" he requested as he bent his head to grab the Dame's scruff.

Chusi, while not familiar with fire, had seen the black clouds and the thick scent of smoke alarming. Never before had it happened - and never would she wish it would happen if she knew what had happened. Even though it was some distance away, Chusi could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Whether it was her feeling the forest burn to the ground or the spiritual connection between her and Lotte, she knew something was not well. Or, rather, someone was not well. so, when the call of her father was heard from in the distance, her body tensed up. Trouble. There was trouble. She had to do something - even though she knew Arturo would disprove of her running into danger once again.

Her feet carried her somewhat lithe frame away - toward the smoke and closer to the filthy stench of burning trees. Nearby the keep where she had hunted her first fox did she spot him; her father, lingering close to a form covered in ash that Chusi knew to be Lotte. Dakarai she could spot getting closer, muttering words that were unbelievable. Death was in the air - the smoke, would it kill them all? Chusi coughed as she drew near to her father.

Lotte...? She whined, not sure if it had been the right thing to say. She turned to Arturo. I am no 'elp at carryin' - I'll run ahead 'n alarm @Olive . She would wait on some kind of dismissal before running back home to find the healer and make sure everything would be prepared to help Lotte the best they could.

A wet-sounding gurgle accompanied each laborious breath as the singed puddle of smoke and shadow began at long last to respond — shallow breathing quickened; blistered and sloughing paws twitched faintly; shuttered pupils seemed to flicker back and forth beneath long-lashed lids. The fallen wolf was as deaf to the cries of the wolves she loved as she was to the voice of the stranger — but when her scruff was grasped between well-meaning and conciliatory teeth, a wild desire to flee threw aside the last remnants of her stupor. In one breakneck moment, the heap of ash and cinder became Lotte Ansbjørn — ungainly and weak, she lurched to a sternal position and tried to tear away from Dakarai’s gentle grip, but in less than half a minute she dropped her muzzle wearily to her paws, panting raggedly. It was not Dakarai she perceived as a threat but the fire itself, so when she turned her head to cough and spotted the sky-high flames, bloodied fluid flecking the sand at her forepaws, she ceased her frantic struggling and frankly stared.

“Do — Donnelaith — ” Her once glorious voice emerged from her ravaged throat in a hoarse croak that shocked and frightened her, and she turned from the inferno just in time to catch Chusi’s form vanishing in the distance and register Dakarai’s unfamiliar presence. A strange, feral urge to ward him off billowed within her aching chest, but she stilled it at the sight of Arturo — nestled tightly beside her with love and panic tangled together in his brilliant citrine gaze. She turned back to Dakarai: “Perhe?” came her cracked and guttural query, but before the dark wolf could answer Lotte nodded mute acceptance of his presence and turned in a state of utter vulnerability to Arturo. “Donnelaith,” she repeated, a sob hitching in her aching throat as she coughed and pressed the crown of her head into the Ceannasach’s chest for comfort. “Arturo — Arturo, kaikki on poltettu — Deirdre on poissa — kukkatanssija on poissa — Donnelaith on poissa!” she croaked brokenly, moisture leaking in ash-blackened rivulets down her cheeks. “Dagfinn, missä Dagfinn? Arturo, alä jätä minua — Arturo, se sattuu, sattuu — ”

The ragged, phlegm-clogged state of her voice mortified the terrified girl; idiotically she tried to escape its echo, staggering to her paws in the shifting sand. Mindless of her singed flesh and bedraggled appearance, she shambled vaguely in the direction of Teaghlaigh, her raw and sloughing paws leaving a trail of garish bloody prints behind her. She made it only a few feet before she allowed her legs to buckle beneath her — and then, forlornly, she did a very un-Lotte-like thing: she burst into tears.

sleepy post is poop but i wanted to get this up before i went to bed.

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It took Arturo a long moment to even noticed Dakarai as he fussed over his unconscious beloved and when he did both notice and acknowledge the dark male’s presence the melanistic gangster had to take a few more seconds to remember that he called for help simply because there was nothing else that mattered to him in these moments that ticked by achingly slow other than Lotte. There was nothing more important to Arturo than Lotte. If he lost her here and now then his own life was forfeit. Worthless. Dakarai’s voice broke through the white noise that buzzed in Arturo’s ears struggling to make sense of the words the other spoke. “We don’t know the extent of her injuries,” Arturo was quick to shut down Dakarai’s logical talk of moving her. Arturo did not want to hurt her further by moving her — not without the presence of a healer. Chusi appeared on the scene and Arturo’s fierce gaze fell to his daughter, silently pleading with her to find help. To find him someone that could take care of Lotte. Chusi answered Arturo’s silent pleas by offering to and then running off to find Olive. It took two seconds for Arturo to realize that Dakarai had grasped Lotte by the scruff. The resulting snarl that tore itself from the gangster’s throat low as his hackles bristled, his teeth snapping together sharply to get his point across that he did not want him to put his teeth anywhere near Lotte.

Lotte woke up and stole his attention from Dakarai except when she wrenched herself from his grasp. Arturo ghosted forward a step, towards his nightingale as his hackles smoothed and the transgression and his irritation with Dakarai was entirely forgotten as Lotte turned towards him, more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. “Lotte,” The smoky timbre of the gangster’s accented voice was a soothing coo. “Lotte.” He breathed in her scent, still her own under neath the scent of smoke and burnt flesh. Greedily, he drank it in, gently touching his muzzle to her neck as she pressed the crown of her head to his chest. She was speaking in her native tongue and Arturo was helpless to understand it knowing only his own name, Dagfinn and Donnelaith. “Lotte it’s ok, you’re safe. I’m here,” He promised her. “Save your strength—” but she was up and away before he could finish his sentence. Arturo’s gaze sought Dakarai worriedly for a moment before it went back to Lotte as he followed after her, reaching where she’d crumbled and where she sobbed.

He neared her without hesitation, dropping his head to gently nudge her cheek, drawing his tongue across her fur the taste of ash lingering upon his tongue. Words failed the Ceannasach whom had never before seen Lotte so vulnerable. He offered her his presence, his strength and his love in the silence that gripped him content to simply hold and be near her until she was either well enough to get to Teaghlaigh or until Chusi returned with Olive.

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Stumbling backward and uttering a shocked help, he avoided Arturo's sharp teeth and bowed his head. Thinking over the woman's -Lotte's-  language he realized it was surprisingly familiar. "tyyni miss, et satuta itseäsi entisestään." he said softly as he approached the two of them. He kept his posture subordinate and friendly to show that he meant no harm to the burned and distraught women "et voi auttaa heitä, jos teet vammoja pahempi." He said in a more serious tone of voice. Turning back to Arturo he offered the man a nervous smile "she speaks Finnish. It was one of three main languages in my Homeland. We need to put snow on her wounds, to soothe the burned and irritated flesh."  He explained quickly and offered a way to temporarily soothe her wounds.



He then realized that what she said was probably important " She said Donnelaith is gone" he said somberly, his eyes looking over at Lotte with sympathy. "Nimeni on Dakarai, haluan auttaa, jos annat minun." he offered his assistance with a soft tone, not wanting to risk upsetting this poor woman any further.

Perhaps due to shock and exhaustion, Lotte’s outburst was short-lived; although tears continued to course down her cheeks in dirty rivulets, she grew unnaturally quiet and still in Arturo’s embrace. He gave her exactly what she needed — a safe harbor to shelter in and an anchor to ground her. Tipping her head back to look in wonder at the Ceannasach for a prolonged moment, Lotte allowed her moonbright eyes to drift slowly shut, a new set of tears spilling over as she issued a soft, hiccupping sigh. “Sinä olet täällä,” she croaked, her small, triangular ears flattening in displeasure at the grotesque ruin of her voice. Lurching unsteadily to her paws, she distanced herself from her protector and coughed — a great, wracking paroxysm that dislodged the fluid from her lungs in a viscous pink-tinged spatter. Embarrassed, she covered the evidence with sand before turning back to Arturo — and Dakarai. Her expression was quizzical and bewildered, her intuition dull and sluggish, but eventually the glimmer of a smile shaped her lips.

“Hauska tavata, Dakarai,” she intoned. “Kiitos avustasi.” Turning then to Arturo with the ghost of her old vivacity writ upon her black-masked face, “I have come early to Teaghlaigh,” she joked lamely, but the cheerful expression she tried to maintain crumbled at the edges as she lamented, this time in the common tongue, “Arturo, everything is gone — everything is burned.” She trembled, and the heavy weight of her weariness caused her long legs to splay in a knock-kneed, ungainly way. She looked toward the forest of ravens with a certain urgency, and uttered with uncharacteristic nervousness, “Is — is there room in Teaghlaigh for a bard who lacks a pleasing voice and a scout who lacks sound paws?” Acknowledging the gravity of her wounds was embarrassing and painful, but the singed songbird had little choice in the matter. She looked ruefully down at her singed flesh before regarding the wolf who held her fate alongside her heart within his powerful jaws — fully aware that she was asking Arturo’s Family to accept her on promises alone, but completely unaware that Dakarai had done the same and prevailed.

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There was an untempered flare of …what was that? jealousy as Arturo witnessed Dakarai commune with Lotte in her native tongue: a beautiful gathering of syllables and words that made no sense to Arturo but were easily the most lovely thing he’d ever heard because they came from Lotte. For a moment, the gangster looked between Dakarai and Lotte who was coughing nearby, his red-orange gaze as feral and hot as a wildfire as he processed his irrational reaction to their shared language. He could not commune with Lotte in her native tongue and in a rare instance of insecurity within the gangster the coywolf wondered if that would work against him. Surely, Lotte already knew that he could not speak her lovely words! and still she chose him. Arturo’s look was sharp at Dakarai as the ebony male explained that it was Finnish and one of three languages of his natal pack, as if Arturo needed to hear how accomplished of a linguist Olive’s beau was (because that wasn’t helping Arturo who was suffering silently through an untimely and unfortunate bought of insecurity). He knew why this was, simply because he had given Lotte the most important thing, something he had never given Duana (whom had been a fling and eventual lover but only out of his duty as father to their children): his heart. Lotte was his strength but she was also his weakness. She alone possessed the power to raise him up or destroy him and leave him to ruin. Dakarai’s suggestion did not fall by the wayside and Arturo looked to his beloved nightingale with a softened inquisitiveness in his gaze. “I am no healer, nightingale, but Dakarai has a reasonable suggestion,” Arturo praised the ebony man, offering him a glimpse out of the corner of his eye before his attention gravitated back to Lotte. “Will you let us try? See if it eases your pain?” Her physical pain at least. As for the emotional: Arturo wasn’t even sure where to begin.

“Lotte,” Her name left his lips softly, a low, affectionate whine, uncaring that they were not alone but instead in company. He would not hide Lotte or what she was to him from Teaghlaigh: he had no reason to. Just because he had not been forthcoming about his love life didn’t meant he didn’t have one; and though it felt undeniably good to be reunited with her this was not how he had wished it to happen. Not at all. He bowed his head so that he might, very gently, nudge the underside of her chin, offering her cheek a lingering press of his nose and a few affectionate swipes of his tongue. “You will heal, nightingale,” He murmured with confidence and knew that even if she did not, even if she could never sing for their children that her place was beside him. It was her’s rightfully and even the mere idea of turning her away appalled and sickened him. “Never doubt that your place is beside me, Lotte. It is where you rightfully belong on a throne crafted only for you.” He murmured (perhaps a bit poetically) in hopes of reassuring her that he and Teaghlaigh would accept her.

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Dakarai returned the woman's smile admiring how even in such a horrible situation a person could continue to fight. At her thanks he simply nodded avoiding looking at Arturo at all for he could feel the waves of irritation and other darker emotions coming off of him. Was Ceannasach jealous? The idea that Dakarai would have any attraction for Lotte was so preposterous that he almost laughed, swallowing the bubble of laughter that rose up quickly and maintaining a straight face.


The injured woman asked if there was a place for her and he felt a pang of sympathy. Not pity for she seemed the one not to squire such an emotion, but sympathy for this strong woman who seemingly lost everything. Watching them interact he realized that she had not lost everything. It seemed his leader and this beautiful girl were in love, and he felt surprise. It wasn't that he thought Arturo incapable of softer emotion, but rather that he wouldn't let himself feel it. His idea for beginning to treat her wounds was accepted and he began to push a small pile of snow over to her with his snout. "If I may suggest one more thing, if we can find some sort of honey or nectar It will help her throat and vocal cords heal nicely."  he offered the suggestion hesitantly.

This post is lame. ;-; I am sorry.

Truth be told, the soot-stockinged rogue feared that if she succumbed now to Dakarai’s ministrations, she would find herself unable to rise again. Doubtfully she looked at the ground that she had only just clawed herself up from, and her shock-glossed silver eyes drifted back toward the fire that continued to lick ravenously at the horizon. For a moment, she seemed at war with herself, standing very still and avoiding eye contact — and then she straightened abruptly, stiffening her resolve like the soturi she was. “Do what you must,” she intoned with as much dignity as she could muster, gingerly stretching out beside the pile of snow Dakarai had pushed toward her and beginning to layer it over her wounds. The pain — or what she thought was pain — was mostly veiled by adrenaline, but she knew once it faded, she would be in a world of hurt. Her paws concerned her most — the pads seemed to be peeled completely off in places, leaving angry red flesh behind. One thing was for sure: she wouldn’t be climbing mountains anytime soon.

i think we can probably wrap this thread up soon? :-) also, kj, your posts are never lame. <3

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While Lotte is perhaps a little worse for wear at the moment but she was alive and it was that fact that Arturo zeroed in on and capitalized. Lotte was alive and he was taking her to Teaghlaigh where she would be cared for. Where she would be safe. A ear twitched absently towards Dakarai when he suggested honey though Arturo was not well versed on where they would find such a thing in the dead of winter. He did not recall any bee hives in the ravens blood forest but he would spare some time to search the territories around the forest though he was not very confident on the success of it especially since he would not be willing to stray too far from Teaghlaigh, nor from Lotte. He helped to smooth snow over his beloved’s wounds, lost in his thoughts as he did so. “We should not linger here. We should return to Teaghlaigh,” It was a soft command hidden in his observation. His fiery gaze rested upon his nightingale, dropping his muzzle to smooth his tongue against the bridge of her muzzle. “we should get you to my den where your injuries can be assessed by a medic.”

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last post for me i think unless he is needed? if not you can PP him aiding Lotte back to the den if needed.

Lotte was already high in his mind, for the dignity and control she managed to mantain (Although shaky) was amazing. She seemed one of great strength in both body and mind despite her trauma and injuries. Once the snow had been on her seared flesh and fur for a few moments, he stepped back. His ears twitched as Arturo spoke of getting her back to Teaghlaigh in his den, and he nodded silently.


He wouldn't offer Lotte his shoulder to lean on, not wanting to offend her dignity or make Ceannasach any more jealous than he already was. If he was needed to aid the woman he would be by their side either way, but for now he remained standing a few feet away from the two.

This post is graphic and icky. I am sorry. ♥

Thank you for threading with me! @Arturo, you can either post and close, or just close~

Oh!

The singed songbird lifted her weary head weakly, her silver eyes dulled to a lackluster ash as her tongue lolled from her jaws in a ragged pant. The color of her mucous membranes was alarming: a sickly grayish color that betrayed her dire condition. Someone was talking — Arturo was talking. Had she fallen asleep? Stirring faintly, the girl bit back a whimper as she turned her head and coughed. The saliva that flecked the snow was pink with blood and flecked with black soot. She was too ill to be embarrassed, even in front of the dark stranger who had offered her succor, and her abnormally pale lips collected sticky foam as she salivated profusely — she was so nauseous! — and gagged, dislodging from the column of her ravaged throat another pocket of fluid peppered with flecks of coal. Lotte was in a sorry state indeed, her sloughing paws leaving bloody smears in the snow as she fought in panic and distress to rise; staggering, she jerked away from her black-masked love and his loyal knight. Her once-plush sides heaved in earnest as her body tried to rid itself of its maladies, and a spattering of yellow bile arced from her lips. A moan she could not hold back trailed from her lips in a hoarse rattle, but she was a soturi and she did her utmost to follow the males to Teaghlaigh when the spasms of her gut cased. In the end, though, she only made it to the pack territory by leaning heavily on both Dakarai and Arturo — and then she fell into a fitful sleep wracked by agony.