Two Rivers Isle life is sweet, in the belly of the beast

They half-walked, half-dragged their way north from the plateau. The sky seemed to watch them go; it was likely the only thing to shed a tear for the wayward boy, for no sooner had the trio stopped at the crux of a river that the heavy clouds began to weep upon them. It wasn't a terrible rain; it felt strange to the boy, having the cold touch of salty, sea-driven rain sink in to the bleeding wounds across the body, but that was all.

He did not know what to think of what had transpired because, simply, he did not think about it at all. The overwhelming sensations following the argument between the girls, and then the threat of the shadow, had passed from his mind. The stranger was removed from the plateau with the aid of @Niamh and the @Fire-touched girl, and when the legs of his vessel finally gave out, they pulled him the rest of the way — until they were here. 

The rain fell, he sank in to the softening grass, but otherwise did not seem to notice his change in circumstances.

The trip had been laborious and quiet; Niamh, still shell-shocked from the fact that Screech had attacked Raven with the intent to kill, said very little, mostly responding in simple nods and murmurs, but otherwise, she kept her stare straight ahead. Now Screech, the wolf she'd been protecting this whole time, was to be banished, and she had no words to convey the feelings she had. He was able to walk a good distance to the borders- no small feat for someone who was still recovering from the very edge of death, but when he eventually collapsed, no amount of nudging or prompting would get him to his feet, and she teamed up with Ceara- silently resigned to end their argument- to drag him the rest of the way. 

Each step hurt, and jabbed Niamh's heart like a pinprick. Each pinprick was tiny, but with each step, her heart began to hurt more until she felt something acidic rise in her throat. It burned in her chest and caused her eyes to sting with moisture but she pushed it back and away. When they had finally dragged him all the way to the borders, Niamh walked directly away from the two of them, no longer able to contain the pain and madness that had been swelling within her chest, and as soon s she found a bush with which to hide her face, she vomited. Part of her thought that she could simply expell the pain from her chest that way, and some of the acirid feeling did leave with it- but that didn't stop her heart from hurting. Once she'd licked her lips, she turned back toward the two, and regarded Screech with a hurt, hurting look. She'd wasted so much time on him- but still, she couldn't stand to simply let him go off into the wilderness where he would inevitably die. 

...But at the same time, she could do nothing for him. If she went with him, she doubted she'd find welcome anywhere, and could even start another war. Coelacanth had told her that her pack would always be a home for her...But she didn't know about Screech. At the same time, she did not want to leave the Redhawks- this was her home, and she couldn't bear to be uprooted and go through the same amount of judgement she'd gone through when she'd joined the Redhawks to begin with. So she knew she could not go with him- but could she leave him on the borders to die? She wanted to say something- to beg Ceara for help...But at the same time, she could not trust that Ceara would keep her mouth shut, and half-figured that if Niamh made any noises about helping Screech along, Ceara would report to Raven and then she'd get kicked out too. 

So she simply stood, willing Screech to finally say something, anything, to make this all easier.[/i]

Her prickly mood was not made any better by the duty she'd enlisted herself to carry out.  She moved in silence; not once did she question Niamh or the banished youth, and instead she took to simmering in silence.  In this moment she shouldered a hatred for many things — the rain, Screech, and the residual and fading embers of her third debacle with Niamh.

She was numb and silent until Niamh spilled the content of her gut.  Protectively, she crouched between the butterscotch girl and the boy-nemesis.  Once Niamh had finished, she regarded her with a cool, exhausted stare.

She did not think Raven really wanted to banish her brother to death.  And Ceara did not know how she felt.  Should they just kill him?  Surely that would be better than letting him succumb to starvation or illness.  She shifted her weight uncomfortably.  I don't know what to do with him.  It doesn't feel.. right.

There was a distinctly acidic smell wafting through the area, and while he caught it for a moment, it was gone the next. The girls were talking amongst themselves; he heard the sounds but made little sense of it at first, until the mumured, —doesn't feel— which lodged itself within his skull. It was calm here. Surely it was tense, they were tired, there was something going on that he should've been aware of, but instead the stranger found himself content with the quiet. The rain would only get worse but for now it was a light drizzle, and he could withstand that, at least.

There were no shadows here to cause them harm. These two — he turned sharply, maybe because of a raindrop hitting him square on the snout but who really knows, and looked at their communal silhouettes. They weren't including him but that was alright; the stranger watched them with one fascinated eye, and opened Screech's mouth as if to say something — Not dead, — but all that came from him was a breathy exhalation, closer to a whine or a subtle protest than any verbalization.

phone post blaaaahhhh

Ceara was right- it didn’t feel right just leaving him there, but could she be trusted? Niamh still wanted to call for someone to get him...But if she did, there was a chance someone would overhear her- and always a chance Ceara would report to Raven. This could all be a set up- there was a chance Ceara was trying to trap her. 

She looked to the fiery female, though, and saw pity on her features that couldn’t be faked. She gritted her teeth as she remembered the fact that Ceara had been his friend too. Part of her knew the kindest act of mercy would have been to kill him, but she couldn’t possibly bring herself to do it- she still cared for him. But she had no idea how they could possibly help him from there. ”There’s nothing we can do. Nothing we should do.” She said, and looked down at Screech, frowning. For a moment it looked like he might speak, but no words came out. ”But...You are right. It doesn’t...This hurts.”

Her lip tightened.  She still thought killing him would be best, but she didn't have the stuff to do it.  She was too soft.  Had she known all that Screech had done, she might have been able to.

But ignorance, as they say, is bliss.  She made to tenderly press her nose against Niamh's shoulder, but withdrew quickly in case it was not accepted by the hairtrigger butterscotch girl.  I know.

It wasn't Screech she was referring to and that much was apparent in the soulful look she gave Niamh.  His banishment hurt her, sure, but it hurt Niamh more.  No, it was Tuathal.  She sucked in a breath and cast her gaze to the poor banished boy.

I've heard you're good at hunting.  Maybe I could clean all of this blood off of him and you can catch him some food.  Quickly.  It was all she would offer him.  Maybe if he didn't look like he'd just killed someone, a passerby might take pity on him.

He didn't know what they were saying but the pity in their voice was evident, and he could at least pick up on the sombre mood. Whether one of them attended to his cleanliness or not, the stranger did not like the feeling that he was about to be cast aside — it was as if he knew it was coming — so when one of them closed the distance between them, he began to protest. He attempted to puppet Screech to a standing position despite the exhaustion, weakly snapping at the girl's face whenever she came near him, uncertain and clearly nervous whenever they breached his safety bubble. Although his teeth did not harm, every aspect of the boy's body said one thing: afraid, afraid, afraid!

Ceara's honesty almost convinced Niamh that something should be done for Screech, who looked truly pitiful. Ceara reached out to touch her, but Niamh didn't move away. The fiery femme reconsidered, but Niamh made no motion to show disdain or hurt. She made a suggestion,but any movement she made prompted him to react by snapping his teeth in the air and recoiling, like a pup who has been faced with a snake that has struck out at it. Having had enough of his violent reactions, Niamh snarled, and snapped back at him, eyes boring into his, even though she somehow got the feeling he couldn't see her. 

"You touch one hair on her body," She said, trailing off into a growl as though she expected him to understand what the repercussions would be. She shook her head, and stood, moving back from him. "He's useless. I'm done with him." She said, and gave him one final look. She had done this to him, so her disappointment fell mostly at her own paws- but there wasn't anything she could do to fix the situation now. Concluding that she would never see him again, she turned tail and ran, leaving the both of the, behind.

There was something in the wildfire girl that did not like to give up.  She was stubborn and prideful to a fault; truthfully, she should have been done with Screech by now.  But she couldn't.  She gave a terse look in Niamh's direction before she crouched low to the ground, tongue flicking the air as she moved slowly towards the boy.  A good distance away she stopped and whined.  

I tried, she said warily to the boy who she should have no qualm leaving (or killing).  She knew he likely could not understand him, but still she made a point to let him know, If you survive this... before she gave him an indeciperhable look of hurt and trust that he did not earn.  You should stay away from here.  Far away from here.

Soon his snaps fell away. It took Niamh's intervention to make him wise-up, or at least spook him in to pausing long enough to get a glimpse of both girl's faces; they spoke and it was the same as ever, sounding like he was under water, but he was at least placid enough to listen. As Niamh made to turn away in defeat and anguish, he lunged.

But there were no teeth. He didn't bare that dangerous smile, didn't gnash them after her—he took a hasty step and found his mouth opening, closing, opening, whining, almost like a family pet being left out in the cold. Don't go, said the expression on Screech's face; maybe the stranger was oblivious to the way the boy reacted, merely along for the ride, because nothing stopped him from communicating in this deeply basic, instinctive way.

They were going to leave him—their expressions, their posture, everything about them said exactly that. What was he going to do now but fade away?

The pleading look wrought over his face, the sudden intelligence in his pendulous golden orb was enough to send her over the edge.  I'm sorry, she whined, ears flattened atop her crown as she crouched, I can't do anything more for you.  She wasn't going to risk getting hurt, not when Raven...

Raven.  She had to get back.  I'm sorry, she repeated again as she fled, her morality at war with what she had just done — condemn an invalid boy to death for an atrocious mistake.