Heron Lake Plateau feeling my way through the darkness

@Fire

He hadn't slept since he'd woken up hours ago, unable to make himself relax enough to sleep with the pain in his gut and pounding in his head. Not his head. Screech's head. This wasn't his body but he was being made to feel its many weaknesses — it wasn't fair. It hurt. It was too much. Why wasn't this ending?

The girl with Niamh's face wasn't with him now. He had watched her leave but there was no way to tell how long ago it was; maybe not very long, maybe forever. Maybe she wouldn't come back at all — oh but he hurt. He felt the air fill Screech's lungs and then leave just as swiftly, causing a flurry of feathers to rise up and dance in the thin sunlight that filtered in to the den.

Maybe the girl would come back with something to eat — if he could make Screech's mouth masticate properly, which seemed like a chore the longer he thought about it.

tags for visibility

Maybe she shouldn't have taken the chance.  

She had been on her way to apologize to @Raven, a fresh duck hanging limp between her jaws.  The closer she got to passing @Niamh's den, the harder her heart pounded.  She wasn't going to stop at all, but when she raked her gaze over the den and scented the air... it seemed as if Niamh wasn't there.

She paused, crouched defensively, looked around as if it might be a trap (even though she had come of her own accord) before she made haste towards the den where Screech was.  The only thing that kept running through her head was that it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair.

She hadn't heard anything from anyone about the boy's condition and wanted to see with her own eyes that he was still awake, that it hadn't been some kind of fluke, and as she made her way through the mouth of Niamh's den she dropped the duck as she noticed the light reflect off of his hawkish orb.

Screech, she breathed with relief before tucking her tail and looking over her shoulder as if Niamh might have materialized from the darkness that surrounded them.  Are... are you..

Time moved so slowly here. Sometimes it had been fast — sometimes when he closed his eyes, hours would've gone by. Sometimes days. Sometimes it was so dark he could've sworn it was night time — but since waking up the last time, things had slowed to a crawl. He just wanted to feel better; to listen to the laughter of his family by the lake, to sit at the summit of the Caldera with Raven and her kids again — but he remembered, sharply, the sound of the distorted voice screaming, Bastard, bastard bastard —

Screech? The voice then said; transitioning with ease from the chaos to that quiet, secret sound. It was familiar. He didn't have the energy to move but he tried to, straining to adjust himself in the dark of his would-be grave, responding more to the presence of the sound than the name uttered. He was not Screech. But Screech's body moved, and Screech's eye drifted to the face of the fiery girl and watched her without really focusing.

Are.. are you.. He wanted to speak, and the first thought that came to his mind was, Dead, you're dead, you're dead, you're dead, I saw you — but as he finally opened the sandpaper-dry mouth parts, he could only wheeze and sit there.

Hearing that pitiful noise come from the cocky boy she had breifly had the pleasure of knowing kind of ripped her heart apart in a way she didn't really understand.  Her ears splayed and she let out a soft, pleading whine... but what for, she did not know.

She was so used to taking care of Nevouku by now that the first thing she did was curl up alongside the broken boy.  She grabbed the duck carcass and quietly, she began to defeather it, discarding the plumes on the ground next to the others.  She grabbed the meat between her teeth and tore it into delicate shreds, then placed them into a neat pile.

Are you hungry?  She knew somewhere inside that he could not answer her, so she grabbed the meat and brought it to his lips and prayed in silence.

His words were trapped in Screech's head, so he couldn't stop the girl with Ceara's face from slinking her way in to the den, the way Niamh's doppleganger had. Soon she was nestled close just like his other caretaker, and the fear became so great that he couldn't even make a sound. Being trapped in your own body was hard, but not recognizing that body? Feeling like you were merely a pilot, a watcher, was so much more disorienting.

As the bird began to get torn to pieces, Screech's eye turned to regard the pile of meat and a small wave of saliva filled his mouth. It wasn't quite enough to whet his tongue or cause him to drool, but the body demanded fuel. As Ceara pushed some of it towards him, he was already trying to will up enough energy to reach and grab for it. He snapped those teeth, grabbed for the meat, and might've grabbed her in the process — the body had bad depth perception after all.

Whether he bit her by accident or not, the meat filled his throat and didn't want to go much further. He began to choke on it; as he wheezed and coughed, the pain in his head refreshed itself, until such point that the meal came tumbling out of him again in a puddle of foamy saliva. The soil drank this in, and he sagged against his caretaker in the next second.

His movements were quick enough, feral enough to strike fear into her chest.  He grabbed her lip as he quite literally seemed to inhale the small shred of duck, and her eyes widened almost comically in response.  Ow, she blurted as his teeth raked her, but if she felt any pain it was quickly overshadowed by worry.  

Oh my god oh my god he's choking he's going to die and they're gong to know it's me and they're going to kick me out because I killed him oh my god I killed him!  Frantically, she nosed him and with luck he threw up the sliver of meat he had choked on.

Selfishly she began to cry.  He probably wouldn't even remember this, so she didn't bother hiding the way she blubbered. She tipped his head back with her nose and smoothed her tongue across his throat repetitively the way a mother would stimulate a newborn to urinate, as if the motion would help him re-learn how to swallow.

He felt the teeth collide with her face but didn't react until much later, after the meat had come up and she was working to stimulate the throat of the vessel. He sputtered for a bit, but was eventually soothed enough to relax. He would not try to eat again as the event had disrupted his perceived safety, although hunger remained persistent. The sensation of being cared for - babied, almost, - made him react slowly. Softly. He pressed against her and murmured some little sounds, even draped a foreleg across her nearby limbs without a second thought.

The moment was so delicate and finespun that any interruption could have ruined it.  She did not feel his throat bob beneath her tongue so she took to grooming him instead.  She smoothed the bile from his chin, worked the mats from his pelt.  She would close her eyes and occasionally make small purring noises.

He was her only friend here.  And she knew Niamh was treating him right... but she didn't know when Niamh would let her see him again — if Niamh would let her see him again.  She would leave the pile of meat there for her to feed him, to save her a little work.  Soon, she would have to leave to avoid being caught but she couldn't pull herself away just yet.