Heron Lake Plateau shadow, my sweet shadow

She slept the sleep of the dead.

Perhaps she did die a time or two. There was a strange light in her dreams that made little sense, and sometimes she thought she heard her father's voice somewhere in the distance, calling to her. It was at those times that her breathing slowed, her heart grew quiet, and a dangerous stillness came over her frail body. She was dimly aware of her mate's voice, his frantic shaking and nudging, but those sensations were ephemeral and far away. Was that the dream, perhaps? It was difficult to discern the boundary between the sound and the silence, what was real and what was not. That warm light beckoned to her, though, its blinding brightness filled with the laughter of her parents and the promise of reunion with those she had lost.

Yet there was an even brighter light that burned within the confines of the broken body. Four, in fact, and they shone like a constellation of suns, drawing her back to the earthly plane and giving her breath where her tired lungs could not draw it themselves. There were shadows in their midst, however -- three stars burned out, their darkness colder than the hollow notes of a funeral dirge. And it was these shadows that lingered in her mind when she finally found her way back to consciousness, and tears glimmered in her golden eyes as she stared up into the face of he whom she loved, @Quixote.

Once Raven had settled down and dozed off, Quixote had thought the worst had passed.  He ran a few errands -- dug a bird of some kind out of the cache for when she woke, found what he was pretty sure were more of the plants she'd had him use -- then came back to her side.  While she was passed out, he took the time to very carefully finish grooming the rest of the blood out of her fur that he could reach, doing his best not to disturb her.  But she was pretty zonked out, so he applied a bit more of the medicinal plants where he could.  She didn't even stir.  Maybe it was a good thing.  She'd wake up rested, right?

Really, it left him with nothing left to do but to lay there with his head on his paws and worry, watching her breathing, alone with his own thoughts.  That was the dangerous thing.  Why couldn't he have been there?  He could have just killed Screech before he'd even touched her.  Why was fate trying so hard to destroy him when for once it had just let things go his way?  Why?

That was about when he noticed something was kind of wrong.  The pattern had changed.  Raven looked like she was doing worse.  Maybe he was imagining it.  He reached out with a paw to nudge her from where he lay, Ray.  He repeated this a few times before realizing that he really wasn't going to get a response.  He felt like the floor had been yanked out from under him.  Quixote got up and scooted closer, curling up around her as best as he could since there was little else he could provide but warmth as day shifted to night.  Raven, come on, you better not be giving up.  'I don't know if I'd be able to take it.'  When it seemed like she was slipping he did what he could, poking her, saying variations of what he already did.  He didn't know if it helped.

At some point in the early hours of the morning, she finally seemed to turn the corner.  Though he dared not sleep, some of the terror that had been his companion through the literal darkest hours was waning.  Quixote was mentally and physically exhausted and he felt much like Screech had looked.  Dawn would be here soon enough.  At least it would bring some good news, as Raven finally started to stir. As her eyes started to flicker, he kissed the crown of her head, as it was well away from her wounds, and whispered, I thought I was going to lose you.  He hadn't broken down in all the time his mate was almost literally dead to the world, but now that it looked like the worst was past, it might actually happen.

Why am I still up omg

She closed her eyes, feeling a tear slide down her cheek. There were seven, she thought as she felt her heart crack. It was impossible to know if the trauma of Screech's attack and its subsequent wounds had caused those three little lights to go out, but she would nevertheless blame him for it. She would blame him for it for the rest of her life. She felt her mate's tender kisses on her head, and there was a sense of security in his touch that was a balm on her wounded spirit. His words registered in some part of her mind that understood how close he had come to realizing that awful truth, but strangely there was no sorrow. What she had seen was so sublimely wonderful, so free of all the pains and tribulations that plagued her here, that she felt a fleeting pang of regret at its slipping away.

But there are still four.

And that was reason enough to stay. She took a deep breath...then two...then three...and looked up into the face of her guardian angel. She saw the strain in his eyes, those beautiful chartreuse eyes, and noticed the way fear and worry had written lines into his face that hadn't been there before. She smiled weakly at him, tenderness in the curve of her lips and the warmth of her gaze, and gently reached out a paw to touch the side of his neck. "I'm not going anywhere," she told him, her voice barely more than a husky whisper. She wanted to tell him that it took more than a few bites and scratches to knock down a Redhawk, but she couldn't quite summon the energy to say so many words just yet.

He didn't know what she'd seen and could only focus on the now.  Without her, there wouldn't be a family at all -- it'd just be him all alone again.  But Raven really was back.  And there she was speaking, touching him.  Good, was all he could manage.  There was a slight shudder to his breathing that she could probably feel as well as hear. He stood up abruptly, taking another deep breath as he took the couple of steps to retrieve the bird, moving it up closer so she could take it, For whenever you're ready.  There was a shakiness to his voice as well, but he was doing his damnedest to suppress it.  Quixote took a few deeper breaths as he tucked himself back against her where he'd been moments before.

Quixote had pulled himself together a little.  Is there anything else I can do?  To help you heal or anything.  I got more plants and stuff too.  I think.  It was probably pretty obvious that he was kind of out of his element and would grasp at anything to return her to normal.  To make it so nothing happened.  I should have been there to stop it.  Well, no.  There wasn't any sign that anything bad was going to happen.  There was no reason for him to have been there, but that didn't stop him from desperately wanting to change what had occurred so that she of the unblemished figure could have remained so and he would have taken the blows.  That was how it should be.

She could feel the tremor of his body, and she heard the subtle quaver in his voice. He pressed close to her and she kissed his chin and jaw tenderly, feeling a mixture of emotions overwhelm her. Deep, profound love for him. Gratitude for his diligent attention and care. Pride in him for managing to cobble together what little he knew about medicine to keep her wounds clean and medicated. And sorrow for what she had put him through, the signs of which were as clear as day on his face, in his eyes, in every line of his demeanor and body language. As he said the words -- I should have been there to stop it. -- she touched his lips lightly with her paw and shushed him, shaking her head. It wasn't his fault. It was no one's fault but Screech's. "I love you," she told him, her eyes meeting his. "Don't do this to yourself."

He had asked if there was anything else he could do, and actually, there was. "I'm really thirsty, and I need to tinkle. Can you help me to the lake?" It wasn't far at all -- the lake was visible from their little spot -- but she would need his help getting there due to her weakness and pain.

There was no explaining any of that to the guilt he felt.  That nothing he'd done had been enough to prevent it.  He just kept asking why and not receiving an answer that satisfied him, as all of them left him powerless to do anything but worry.  Sure, he tried, but he didn't know what he was doing.

And yet she seemed to forgive his inability to do anything.  At her touch, at her kiss, again he shuddered, though his time his breathing audibly hitched along with it.  Soothing his frustration at himself seemed to just push him towards an emotional edge that his ego didn't want him to go over.  She knew that he tried to put on the facade of an unflappable tough guy, and if he broke down sobbing in whatever bizarre mix of terror, relief, and whatever else this was, it wouldn't exactly how he wanted to be seen.  He tried to keep himself under control, but it had been horrifying.  Quixote was still getting used to truly loving and being loved and he hadn't realized just how much that small bit of time where it seemed like he might lose Raven was going to affect him.  He felt he'd been gutted just from the thought of it.  Quixote didn't necessarily trust himself to speak.  He was still scared for her.

But he could do something!  Please.  Take his mind off this emotional stew he'd made, Yeah, I can-- I can do that.  Do I need to help you stand up?  He got to his feet, one leg foreleg right up against her side in case she just needed something to lean on.  If he needed to help by gently lifting by her scruff, he would.  Hell, he'd do whatever was needed.  Quixote was careful, he'd move as slowly as she needed, take as much weight as she wanted to put on him.  Just point him in the right direction and off they'd go.

PPing Qui with permission!

One thing she was starting to learn about Quixote was that, when faced with emotionally overwhelming situations, the best way to help him was to give him something to do. When she requested help getting to the lake, he seemed to draw a measure of strength from that and it helped him pull himself together a little. When he asked if she needed him to help her stand, she nodded. Leaning heavily on the leg he offered, she fumbled her legs beneath her and attempted to stand. So shaky and weak was she that, at a pleading glance from her, he ever so gently tugged her scruff to take some of the strain off of her. Once on her feet, she swayed drunkenly and nearly pitched back over again -- stars, she was so dizzy -- and had to lean on him for stability.

They walked then, their slow pace hitched and somewhat staggering, but nevertheless they made their way toward the lake. Along the way, the alpha female stopped to take a much-needed potty break and she sighed with relief as she did so. Hey, that many hours unconscious was rough on a small bladder, especially with one of her kids using it as a pillow for their watermelon head. She was so light-headed and shaky that she accidentally tipped a bit backward and sat in her own puddle. With a muffled dammit, she regained her balance and they resumed their zombie walk down to the bank of the lake.

The water was glassy and still in the pre-dawn gloom, the soft, pastel light on the eastern horizon reflecting ghostlike on its mirrored surface. Fine ripples radiated outward in a nearly perfect concentric circle as she drank, with Quixote holding her scruff to keep her from tumbling forward into the water. What a way to go -- drowning unceremoniously in shallow water with a piss-soaked ass. She lapped for what felt like forever, the enormous loss of blood having left her feeling as parched as a desiccated, sun-dried corpse. When she was finally finished, she had Quixote help her get turned around and then she lay on the bank with her sullied rear in the water. She blew out a sigh, completely and totally exhausted again, and looked up at her sweet mate. "Thank you," she murmured to him, grateful beyond words for his help and devotion.

And apparently this is SPARTA 300!

Being able to focus on keeping Raven on her feet and stable drew his mind away from the anguish and guilt for a while.  Her stumbles and unsteadiness kept worrying him, though.  She was so weak, and he didn't think there was much that could be done other than to wait.  Great.  Quixote was not good at waiting -- it was up there with sharing and expressing his feelings in a productive way.  Her first embarrassing fall into the puddle made him more careful and attentive from then on.  It was that bad.  He really had been close to losing her, huh?

Once his mate was safely settled on the earth again, he carefully smoothed out the fur he'd messed up while helping her get around.  It's nothing -- I'm standing by that 'anything you want or need' thing.  As far as he was concerned, it was a promise he'd always keep.  Helping her around was what she needed, so it should be expected.  Quixote hovered for a moment longer, looking her over to make sure there wasn't another wound to clean or fur to smooth.

Deciding there wasn't, he finally settled down next to her (but slightly at an angle, as he didn't need to be in the water), watching Raven attentively.  He hadn't lost her, she was here and he'd pour all his effort into making sure she got better.  How long do you think it's going to take for all that to heal?  Is it going to still be a problem when the pups get here?  Birth was supposed to be really painful as it was, wasn't it?  Just what she'd need, a bunch of still painful wounds adding to things.  He also was definitely Not A Medic, and pretty much didn't pay attention to how long things took to heal -- in his world either he still hurt or he didn't, time usually didn't matter.  He did have plenty of questions and worries, though, even if he didn't expect to get answers to all of them this hideously early morning.

She smiled faintly at his words, I'm standing by that 'anything you want or need' thing. He really was so sweet. Even now, months into their relationship, she still wondered how she'd gotten so lucky. And why, in all that time he'd been with their pack, she hadn't noticed him soon. It didn't matter now, though. He was hers, and she was grateful for everything he did -- even when he wasn't helping her gimp around and keeping her from falling into worse than her own pee.

To his question, she shrugged hesitantly and shook her head. "I...don't know. The healing won't take long, but the puppies..." It was rare that she couldn't definitively answer a medical question, but with the severity of his attack and the advanced state of her pregnancy, there was no way to be certain what kind of effect it would have on the puppies. She swallowed, her dreams lingering on her mind, and shook her head again.

She looked at him, something dark in her golden eyes, and her voice was a hoarse whisper as she added, "There's...something else you should know. About Screech." To even give voice to it, particularly to her precious mate, made her sick. But he needed to know. Now that Screech had shown his true colors and was gone from their pack and family, there was no reason to protect him anymore. She wondered if there'd ever been a reason to protect him at all, really.

The way she looked when she mentioned the pups.  But what about them?  Though he considered himself a realist, this was one of those instances where he just had to grasp for hope, as right now it was too awful to think otherwise.  His expression wavered,   You just let me know if there's anything I can do.  How many times had he repeated that by now?  It would be just the brutal kind of thing life enjoyed beating him down with if it turned out that after all this, she was going to lose the litter.  No.  Consider that not allowed.  She was  his mate, those were his kids, and he'd figure out some way to beat the snot out of fate if it tried.

Screech though?  Well, they were rid of him for now, weren't they?  He had no idea what she was actually leading towards -- he was half expecting her to reveal that there was some reason Screech shouldn't just be killed if he wandered back their way. Or.. Something.  But that also didn't seem quite right.  His ears tilted forward, asking what it could be without words.  Quixote regarded her with softness, reverence, and concern.

His words were met with a nod and a grateful smile, but that smile was quick to fade. The way he looked at her, so innocent, so...blissfully unknowing. She didn't want that look to go away. She didn't want to tarnish herself in his eyes. She didn't want him to look at her with revulsion and disappointment. Would he leave her? Would he attack her? She thought she knew him better than that, but just as his mind often nagged at him with the Worst Possible Scenario^TM, hers sometimes did as well. And this was definitely one of those moments when it was like a runaway train of horrors for her.

She gazed into that face for a long time, a loaded silence enveloping them. She didn't want to say the words. She didn't want this to be the last time he looked at her like that.

When her words finally came, they were halting, hesitant. "He...he did something to me. Before you and I got together." She risked a glance at his eyes before her own darted away, staring unblinking off into the darkness somewhere. "He said he wanted to show me some...wrestling move? he used with a friend of his. He...he got me into a position where I couldn't get away and...he uh...it wasn't a wrestling move. It was rape." Her gaze remained focused elsewhere, anywhere but his face, as a sinking sense of horror and self-disgust seeped into her. She had tried for so long to think of it as literally anything else but that, tried to explain it as being somehow her fault rather than his, tried to protect her brother from his sins. But his behavior in the months since then had made it more and more difficult to do so, and this latest attack was just...too much. She now felt that it had never been anything but an attempt to assert some sort of twisted dominance over her, to own her somehow, to make her even more vulnerable to his manipulation. And it only made her feel more disgusted with herself, especially now that she had so much to lose.

There was no uncertainty or fear in his gaze.  He trusted her and he was quite willing to listen, even if it ended up being some plea for Screech's life.  Except, well, it wasn't.  Why was she being so shifty about whatever it was? ... Oh.  Oh.

A moment passed as he tried to process what he'd heard before he suddenly stood up.  Oh sure, he was angry as hell, his lips had pulled back again into a monstrous snarl, but it wasn't at her -- his venomous gaze had pointed towards the horizon, where Screech had theoretically been taken.  Why hadn't he just killed Screech when they had the chance?  He took about three determined steps that way before he almost seemed yanked back on an invisible chain, back to Raven's side.  It was like when he showed up after the fight -- every ounce of him wanted to utterly shred something, someone, but he came back to her instead.

He settled nearer to her this time, draping a foreleg across her shoulders possessively, pulling himself even closer to her.  He didn't want to accidentally hurt her, but at the same time it was probably rougher than his normal touch, as Quixote wasn't anywhere near calm.  He was still infuriated, boiling, at the fact Screech had dared to do something so morally reprehensible to Raven, though he tried to bury it beneath the surface.  Even if back then she hadn't been his, now she was.  Quixote was supposed to protect her, and again he hadn't, and also again it would have been impossible for him to do so but that didn't make him feel much different.  Why couldn't the world let him protect Raven like he was supposed to?

His ears flattened as he moved to tuck his muzzle up against the corner of her jaw.  What he said was a borderline growl, I tried to give him a chance.  It was foolish.  A skunk couldn't just go remove its stripes any more than Screech could become harmless, apparently.  He wouldn't make that mistake again.  Quixote wanted to say that she should have told him earlier, he wanted to know why she hadn't said so before -- a couple of times he opened his mouth, but realized how wrong what he'd say just wasn't the right thing.  His lip twitched, frustrated, before he finally settled on one thing that was certain, You won't have to worry about seeing him again.  There was another promise for her.  Screech was too much of a danger to be trusted, even if he came back begging.  Quixote really should have just killed him.  Sure, throwing him into the wilderness maybe made that happen but they should have made sure.

Sorry this took me like 100 years to reply to! <3

Quixote reacted somewhat as she had expected he would, but it wasn't directed at her and the relief that flooded through her was almost dizzying in its intensity. Later, when she could think with a clear head, she would look back and wonder why she'd been so afraid. None of it had been her fault. But her love for him ran deep, far beyond that a sister holds for her brother and well into the love a mother feels for her son. For she had nursed the boy at her own belly, helped him learn to walk and talk and hunt. He had grown under her watchful eye into a handsome, capable young Redhawk, and yet while she liked to think she had done a decent job of teaching him and his siblings the difference between right and wrong, somehow Screech had managed to choose the wrong path in nearly every aspect of his life.

Her mate's touch brought discomfort to her wounds, but she did not grimace. Some distant part of her still felt she deserved the pain, though she knew that was ridiculous. "I tried to give him a chance," Quixote rumbled, his body all but vibrating with the force of his anger. "So did I," she agreed weakly. She swallowed and continued, "I blamed myself for a long time. Thought it was something I did. Tried to justify his actions by...fabricating little errors on my own part, I dunno. But his actions these past few months... He's been such an asshole to me, and has avoided me at every turn. Now this." She shook her head and was silent for a few beats, before looking up at Qui and adding, "I'm not defending him from his fuck-ups anymore." Not that she would have to, as it turned out.

As long as it gets done! >P  Do we wanna wrap this up pretty soonish?

If she hadn't been hurt, he probably would have been more like a really obnoxious remora.  He was still angry, still wishing he could rewind time and throw himself between Screech and Raven.  As long as in the future he was the one who'd take all the beatings, he'd accept it.  Maybe.  He'd pretend to accept it, at least.

Words.  He fumbled a few times before finding a starting point, Look.  If anything -- anyone -- tries to hurt you or makes you feel unsafe... Anything.  I love you, and I'll be here to protect you and the pups when they get here.  Just a call away, at most.  This isn't going to happen ever again on my watch.  And whatever you want and need to heal from this, I'm at your command.  It took some control so he wouldn't accidentally do damage, but he gently nibbled at the base of her ear and whined.  Being forced to try and control his emotions to do so had burned some of the anger.  The whine was mostly anxious, maybe a bit desperate for the world to stop being such a complete jerk.

Yeah, I'm good with wrapping it up now. Onward! :)

She smiled at him, a slight and tentative curving of her lips, and leaned her head into the soft midnight fluff of his neck. It was amazing, how one wolf could make her feel so cherished and safe. Not even her father had ever made her feel so protected. Not because he didn't try, of course. Few could hope to rival Peregrine where guarding his children was concerned, but he'd had to divide his efforts between a bunch of kids whereas she alone was the sole focus of Quixote's attention. At least until the pups arrived, at which point she would happily take a backseat to their safety over hers. Qui would never be alone in protecting them -- she'd be right beside him, kicking ass and taking names.

She looked up at him with so many emotions in her eyes, so relieved and thankful and moved and sad and grateful and full of affection for him, but the only words she could think to say in that moment were, "Love you too."

As always seemed to happen, whatever boiling emotions Quixote had let override his common sense in the heat of the moment, being near Raven seemed to calm them to something manageable.  She was still pretty much magical that way, and he was nowhere near clever enough to figure out the reason in particular.  It was just one of those things that happened and he was happy to accept it without asking questions.  Even if his mind still raced, this was a moment where he could relish the closeness, to remind himself that she was still here, that it could have been worse.  Right now, all he wanted was for her to get better.  

After a pause, he spoke quietly, You ready to get back to our spot?  At least this time there was less question on how to get her up and mobile, and walking her over hadn't been too bad in the first place...  Then she could rest more, heal and all that jazz.  Sleep was still not on his list.  Quixote was pretty much dead-set on guarding his mate until... Uh.   That part he wasn't sure, but a while, for sure.  Whenever it seemed she was safe, whenever that was.

If there were gods somewhere that looked out for the welfare of their lupine subjects, then perhaps they had smiled upon Raven the day she'd met Quixote. For she had never considered herself a very strong wolf, but what she lacked in strength of her own, Quixote seemed to make it up for her. Together, they were two halves of a much greater whole. The complimented one another's strengths and bolstered one another's weaknesses in such a seamlessly perfect way that there was no other explanation for it than that it had been divinely engineered. Or something. "Sure," she answered, leaning into him for support as she struggled back to her feet again. Together, they made their way slowly and haltingly back to their spot, where Raven went back to sleep under the watchful protection of her beloved.