Chimera Fields apollonius

The boy roamed through the dark, faster now, no longer contained by the forest that had overwhelmed him. The cry of a raven beckoned he return the way he came, suggesting that the creature had not in fact abaondoned him, but the boy no longer cared to follow. It spoke no more upon the wind.

Once the tension he'd found within the woods faded, he could find freedom in running. He lacked the energy for chasing anything for lengthy periods but when the fields spanned the whole of his vision, the boy was excited. He liked these larger expanses, they made him feel much more free than the claustrophobic woods, and reminded him that Ursus would not be far.

He ran from the northernmost prairie until the saturation of salt in the air diminished, replaced by the thick, floral taste of wildflower. Some of the blossoms he recognized from the meadow back home and he bowed to roll in them, or snapped playfully at the colored faces, only to spit the wads of color out along his path.

All of this wore him out deceptively. It was not wise for him to play and frolic in the field; he had already burned through what little sustenance the woman had left for him and soon his health would spoil. Alas, he was still just a boy, he had not learned to regulate himself to any great extent yet, and greedily welcomed whatever he could wrestle free for himself.

The game faded as he plugged along. The flowers too. His entrance to the field had been met with a flourish of variety and color but as he carried himself further the dirt became loose, rocky, and clay-rich to the point of looking scarred.

The boy spotted something moving further up the ridge and stole towards it — and by the time he saw the shape retreating he knew he wouldn't be able to follow it. The deer was more fleet-footed than he was, it knew this area, and its tan skin matched the soil so closely, he had only noticed it by accident.

He sank down in to the dirt, a pinched look upon his face while his eyes trailed the deer's path, watching as it fled.

nearly a moon has passed since her challenge to Aventus. a moon since fleeing Ursus. a moon since she's seen her mother.

she is alive. but is it worth it?

desolation wars continually with betrayal in her mind, even as the fever threatened to overtake all emotion. there was no Evien to tend to her wounds, though a kindly old creature in the mountains had poulticed the worst of it and fed her for a while. but even that had not staved off the infection.

now she is more or less healed, and the feelings have all the room in the world to occupy the forefront of her thoughts. she staggers along the ragged field, face contorted in a perpetual snarl (it really is just her mouth taut with pain) and eyes darting, searching for food.

a less impulsive wolf may have turned back, asked for forgiveness. recognized her challenge for the moment of foolishness it was. but Avicus does not think herself foolish; her choice had been a righteous one, born out of rightful indignity. for her brother to be placed above her, her—! 

to hell with him. to hell with Ursus and the bear god. they could have their fantasies. Avicus wants no part of them.

deer. the scent hits her nose almost as soon as she sees the prey, and she pauses, going stock-still. gaze shifting, watching. . .then moving downward, toward the muddled gray shape upon the ground, its back to her. all too familiar, that thing. 

it can't be, she thinks, moving closer. and yet. . .

Among the crags of clay and dust stood the red girl from Ursus, but the boy did not see her. He was too busy being transfixed by the deer's shape.

It had faded from view while he stared; he kept looking for it among the distant shadows of the neverwood, as if he could will it back in time, will it closer, or kill it with his mind. Imagining the flesh tearing and the warmth of its meat in his belly did not ease his suffering — instead his belly groaned and gurgled, demanding satiation that the boy could not provide for it.

When he finally gave in to the loss, he turned to resume his sulking among the debris. That was when he spotted her; at first mistakenly as another possible meal, then as something wholly other. He knew that shape, that shade, those eyes — and immediately cowered.

Considering that he thought Ursus was just around the corner it came as no surprise that the princess would be here; but the fact that she was made him shrink down and grovel.

she wants to kill him. she wants to take all of her rage out upon him, the pathetic little worm, still lying there upon the ground and cowering like he always had. rip him limb from limb like some sad insect and listen to him scream and yet—

and, yet.

here they both are, far from Ursus and their prescribed social roles. the world has changed dramatically and no longer does she command his fear and fealty. they are alone, without pack. at least, so she assumes he has left the valley—she draws a deep inhale and finds his pelt holds no more Ursus scent on it than hers.

so, then. alone, and hungry. she turns her gaze to the retreating deer and nods toward it.

hunt, she says, and is a little surprised by the rustiness of her voice; normally rough, it barely exists at all, just a tattered whisper upon the wind. she has not spoken aloud in nearly a moon. deer. we go. now.

her voice is imperative, but she does not mean to scare him away. rather, if she can galvanize him into action, get them both running. . .they may just grab a bite to eat this day.

The cough of a word surprises him. Avicus is not one for conversation from what he has experienced. She would sooner speak through bloodletting, spelling what she wanted through bites and tears of his flesh; she was like her mother that way. A dark look passed over her and it was one he knew well. That look made him want to be smaller and smaller and smaller, barely an atom in her wake.

Deer. — yes, he had seen it, but —

We go, now. the girl commanded, and he rose up, unfurling to his full height; turning to look from her to where the deer had escaped to, and then back. Perplexed.

His hips trembled. There was no way to tell if it was from fear or from weakness of his body; either way he did not think he could do what was asked of him. Too fast, he murmurs, afraid to raise his voice.

a growl bubbles over and out her throat into the calm spring air. excuses, excuses. always something with this one. she shakes her head emphatically, then jabs her muzzle toward the ground. 

stay, Avicus says, then looks out toward their would-be quarry. i—chase. to you. her eyes glint down upon the boy, hoping he understands. you know what to do, her expression reads. you had better.

if she can trap the deer between them, there will be no need for speed. and those long limbs, over this rough terrain?

she whirls and begins to trot, then picks it up into an easy lope. every muscle aches, and her scars, so freshly healed, threaten to burst open once more. the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. but she will be damned if she lets mere flesh get in the way of a good hunt.

by now she's out of the boy's view, and she bursts up and over a hill, startling the deer, which initially runs the opposite direction of where she needs it to go. like a faithful shepherd, she flattens out, hoping to turn it, to corral it—

Rather than strike him down for his refusal, she tells him to stay planted where he's dropped himself. Fine, he can do that. She looked healthier than him; months of proper care from the rest of Ursus had given her a lasting strength, one which he lacked despite all of his new bulk. He may have had the size but she had the energy. Even a month of living off the land had not tampered with her greatness. The boy was jealous, and watched as she departed.

He was on-edge as he observed her progress, and got to his feet as she dove in to the woods to chase after the deer's path. It would have worked better if he had not been so weak. If he could chase it too, they could both eat. But she had told him to stay and so he paced, watching the shadows, waiting for something to happen. The boy gathered himself and sank low upon the clay road, ready to spring in to action with all he had left.

ah, success! she nearly takes a hoof to the skull and feels the whoosh of air near her left ear. but the deer is turning, turning, and it turns its desperate path toward where she'd left Karst.

the two thunder out the trees and onto open ground once more, the red girl doggedly at the deer's flank, nipping, cajoling.

the boy is in sight. kill! Avicus commands, hoping he will take the signal and use his bulk to trap the deer between them, her fangs at the rear, his fangs at the throat.

her stomach is growling.

the impossible is suddenly possible. . .

He can hear it thundering closer. The sound of its strides is sharp. There is no real tempo to the way it moves, only an erratic stamping of hooves against stone against mud against clay, toes clawing at the dirt where it softens. Soon enough the deer is bursting across his path and Avicus is barking a new order to him — Kill!

The boy has already launched himself from cover and propels himself with a burst of desperation, devouring the ground with lengthy strides; his lack of muscle is a boon only in this moment, as he is lighter, flying for the path of the beast, reaching for its throat.

It makes a mistake when it spots him: unable to compensate for the new threat, the deer tries to turn its body and directs itself with the crook of its nose, its head raising in surprise. It is a small window of opportunity for the boy; he plunges for that soft neck, snapping once, twice, and catches the throat on the third try.

As the wolf collides with the deer chest-to-chest (or very nearly), Avicus slices at it from behind.

oh, he has done it!

'too fast,' her foot. Avicus barks in triumph as Karst's teeth finds the deer's throat, and she takes the opportunity to drag it further down by the hindquarters: gripping on, lion upon gazelle in the Serengeti. they have done it.

and there is no pecking order here. no Merrick to chastise, no Aventus to grandstand. she dives in immediately, eating as though she never has before (it has been some time. . .). her muzzle darkens, her gums and teeth stained, her stomach groaning at the sudden fullness after so long.

he will eat, too. he needs not her permission; he has risen another notch in her eyes. a man of worth, of use.

so strange that the bear-children find themselves here, so far from the valley—and yet, they are, and live, and eat.

Down crashed the deer, the boy's teeth warmed where they had sunk in to the flesh of it. Regardless of how aggressively it kicked and spasmed against its coming death, death came and won; he felt the life fade from it with triumph.

He did not release the throat of the thing even after that. He thrashed instead, the adrenaline in his blood inciting a game of tugging. Avicus focused on the belly — scything it open, spilling precious soft, delicious things — and still the boy would writhe and crush the windpipe.

The creature's staring eyes saw nothing. Its flesh felt nothing. The boy relished the sense of power he felt over this success until he had tired his jaw completely out and had to release his grip, thereafter panting and bloody.

once she's eaten her fill, she begins to work at dissembling the deer, tearing it into manageable chunks to be buried or ported elsewhere. she eyes Karst, wondering if he'll help her in this task. but it is only for a second, and soon Avicus loses herself in the work, like she had upon digging Evien's grave.

good, she says, breathless, after most of the kill is sectioned. but her gaze is once again upon the boy, and there is a clear note of praise in her voice. a job well done, her face reads. for the first time since he fought back against her in the valley, she is proud of him.

for it is only this way, of taking risks, the relentless chase, that they will survive. 

Avicus flops down, though keeping her belly to the ground, still wary of exposing her weakest parts to even the familiar face beside her. after what had transpired in Ursus, she trusts no one. why you here? she asks, studying the lines of his body. he is growing still, emerging as an impressive specimen despite his usual timid demeanor. not the valley?

Karst knew to wait his turn. He had learned the lesson ages ago; no matter how hungry he felt, it was never his turn. Better to wait until he was alone to feast on whatever went spoiled and unwanted.

When the girl questioned him, his presence here, he was unsure of what to say. Sharing his weaknesses was not something Karst was keen to do; the truth rarely earned him pain, at least with Merrick, and so he leaned towards truth instead of the saving grace of any grand lie.

...was lookin' for things. To refill Evien's... my, collection. Karst verbally stumbled. Got... lost.

It was the truth, just not the whole truth. Being lost and starving was better than being enslaved.

lost. he has always been lost. even in the valley, he had no purpose. Merrick had tried to give him one, but Avicus had always failed to see it.

she thinks that perhaps now, out here, he's anything but. he has potential now, whereas among the bloody bear-wolves, he would have always been a nobody—and, thanks to Aventus, so would've she.

maybe it's better this way.

she holds his gaze, her face impassive, not betraying the slightest bit of interest in his words. only the chase excites her, and now that the deer has fallen, she, too, has fallen back into ennui. 

you go back? Avicus asks, and thinks that she maybe knows the answer already.

She takes the words without issue. There is no flair of loathing to supersede any outward malice, no anger or retribution over his status as a vagrant. They are together in their solitude, he thinks.

Her question comes next. Not a surprise, given that she is a princess of the bear-gods, likely wanting that power back; but the boy cannot read her well enough to know the truth.

For all her fire, she is cold.

Will you? He asks instead; knowing that he is tied to her by Merrick's will, cursed in a way, and dependent on Avicus' decree.

she looks at Karst for a long moment, then says, flatly, no. her answer is more nuanced than she could ever express; it is only Aventus that prevents her from returning. should he somehow be absent from the territory, next time she stumbles across it. . . 

but how can she say so? she barely has the single word she's offered.

instead, Avicus begins to lave the blood and dirt from her paws, cleaning the flesh between each toe. no more than a flicker of attention is given to the boy, now, immersed as she is in grooming.

time enough to regard him—especially if they are now in this together.

Her answer only confirms his own life's trajectory for him. Nuak has no purpose within Ursus without Avicus there. If she does not return then he fears returning without her. He fears Merrick's disappointment, Astara's teeth, as well as the inherent violence of Aventus. To live within the bearcult without the girl he is sworn to guard, Nuak does not know what might become of him.

She returns to her grooming. The sound of her tongue across her fur, her teeth tugging at sap or clumps, soon fills the space. Nuak does not say anything — nor does he move from where he is planted. He does not have to make up his mind about this as the choice was never his own — where Avicus goes, so does Nuak.