Horizon Ridge iii: something wicked (m)

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Death and gore!

Evening. The great endless shadow that was the sky disfigured much. The tree-tops gave a shudder as a final gust of wind brought to them rain which carried scattered, stolen light.

The dim shape of the solitary beast all but lost among the mess of it. Bristling hair turned silver where it silhouetted; before her prowled a wayward creature intent on watching her, on following. She let it come close — choosing to slow her gait and become something addled in appearance, so that the night thief would feel safe.

It drew closer, lulled there by curiosity, by hunger. The beast looked drab: mud caked her legs and belly, a streak of copper blood had dried some time to her cheek and matted her chest, and she made herself keep a limp to further her luring efforts.

The coyote, or the dog, or whatever it was that trailed her now, drew a bit too close.

She made to swipe the thing with one broad palm. She took hold of the throat and as she tightened the grip, pressed the claw of her thumb against the middle bone, gouged the neck with the rest. There was a hiccuping noise. Then the bear lifted up, up, up, and up came the thing; a twist of the wrist forced it's head to the left. Snap. Dead.

No need to think long upon it. The body slumped to the earth and was pushed away. A great gulf existed between her and this poor sad dead hound who now lay in the dirt behind a stump, staring up at the open sky, eyes carrying an early frost. All of these beings were for killing when it was wanted — what else?

When found, the body of the thing would look thin and smeared. Great gouts of blood darkened the greenery to purple-black. Ribbons of innards lined the yawning pathway made by her own body while compressions in the dirt were full of red mud, the size and width of her mighty paws.

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 Caution: Whump prompt / random event; please tag Maharet if you want her to return.

the path of emerald green splattered and drenched in blood making it gleam like oilslick, with a trail made of the poor canidae's entrails leads ingram from the disfigured and rapidly stiffening corpse. for a moment, he's tempted to take a bite but stills that darkening urge by tightening his grasp upon the moss laden antler he found on his travels following the trail to the predator.

the heavy pawprints over shadow his own and it does not take him long to track her, following the putrid scent of carnage and whatever wisps of scents that she carries on her. strange but clearly belonging to a beast much more powerful than he.

the lumbering shape is a silhouette morphing out of the shadows and it takes ingram a moment — and then another as his steps cease and his guard hairs prickle in warning as he gently sets his antler prize down at his paws ( to himself or to her, he is not sure ) — to realize she is a bear.

ursus. hadn't merrick spoke of bear gods?

was this one of his gods manifested into flesh?

are you a god? he asks the bear, unsure if she will understand him. unsure if she would even acknowledge him. the closest thing to 'holy' ingram knew from the wisps of praimfaya's culture that he's stolen and twisted to suit him was the commander.

and he'd killed her.

ingram's posture is weary as he watches her with a mixture of caution and perhaps muted reverence; muscles fidgeting beneath his pelage, head bowed low ...ready to grab his antler and bolt should it come to it.

She wasn't here at all. She was home on her mountain. She was sprawled beside her sister in the earth while their mother slowly woke from her cold sleep; the world was full of flowers at the thaw.

No, that's wrong. It was not frost that glittered across the dead grass. There was no one here but her and the dead thing. She stared along the path to where the creature lay stiff and cold. The wind rippled at her coat but could not make much of it budge, being anointed in blood as she was.

When the voice came spiraling from the dark, her toes gripped at the earth. Her head raised up and out of the shadow, eyes gleaming.

Are you a god? The creature had asked. 
What other answer could she give? I am death. 
There was no use in denying anything.


Had she not been satisfied by the death of the wretched hound, she would have lashed out again to terminate this one. The truth was, she was tired. Winter was coming; for now she went through the motions of living. She was alone, sealed off from all reality, with such minor glories to engage in.

Are you afraid?

the putrid scent of blood is rank and steals across the air; muddying her scent despite how ingram desires to take it in so he might know it again. i am death, she speaks to him and a shiver slithers down his spine; though it was not founded in fear. instead, a sort of reverence steals through him. it wasn't exactly a 'yes' but it hadn't been a 'no' either; and though ingram didn't necessarily a man of piety ...he is wont to believe in such things. after all, praimfaya had been a sort of leading spirit to her people: a reincarnation of a commander. merrick had mentioned bear gods during the brief time ingram had spoke to him during his joining of ursus.

believing that this ursidae before him was a god was not so far a stretch.

excitement titters in his chest and winds its way up his throat; drawing in and from her power which radiates from her in waves.

are you afraid?

the answer should have been that he was, but searching within himself, ingram could not find fear. how could any wretched creature capable of committing matricide be afraid of anything?

he had fears, of course; but they were not so much of physical things like death or other predators but things that took a mental strain on him like abandonment ( despite his own willingness to abandon rivenwood and his family there without so much as a peep ). death would come for him one day, but not anytime soon, he is confident.

no. ingram replies, tail flicking against his haunches. he feels foolish then wishing he had something more substantial to give her in offering than the antler he'd found. it is not much, Wanlida, he begins; the trigedasleng word for 'bringer of death' passing his lips as a grand title ( for it was, once; he can feel this with a stirring in his soul that he cannot explain ). but i gift you this antler. he'd intended to keep it for himself but should she accept it: he would part with it.

The boy's voice was small. The bear missed the depth and strength of bear voices—of her sister, most of all. Would killing this one bring them back? Maharet knows it is not possible yet she considers him a moment, considers his death; runs scenarios through her mind which serve to calm the urge.

He has an offering for her. Curious. Maharet's thoughts churn lazily, and the ground gathers her interest, where it is slick and unclean. She cares very little for the dog's precious stick. As her gaze steadies upon its various curves, she raises her eyebrows.

Wanlida?

She has lived through three wolf generations by now, yet this word is new to her. There comes a swine-like grunt from her. 
Keep your toys, wolf-pup.

The boy lacks fear—and she loathes that about him—but he knows not to come close, he has wisdom that others of his kind have lacked, along with reverence. She does not know what to do with reverence.

Her weight shifts, and she begins to move on.

the sting of her rejection of his offering — meager as it no doubt was — lashes out at him like the strike of a cobra ...but he keeps his emotions in careful check. she is a god ( as far as ingram in concerned ) and she has already killed once today. there was no telling if her hunger for death was sated. she turns to leave and ingram does not move to stop her. though she rejected his gift she has instead given him a bigger boon: by allowing him to live. ingram recognizes this and waits until her lumbering steps fade before he finally allows himself to move. the tension leaves his body in a exhale of breath and he is aware of how still he'd been standing by the ache of exertion in his muscles.

with a deep breath to calm the thundering of his heart ( still ), he reaches down to collect his antler and hurries on his way, careful to avoid following the bear-god's trail as he makes his way back to ursus.