Lion Head Mesa he sees your dreams, feasts on your screams

Vomit splattered across the rocks of the mesa's great heights.

She was nauseous and dizzy, her head and heart pounding. Slowly, she lowered herself away from the rancid puddle, but moments later, more came, her stomach turning over and over in desperate attempt to empty itself.

Maegi staggered a few sideways steps, then fell with a moan, her brain in pieces. Darkness creeped into the edges of her vision, a sinister vignette. Grew larger, and threatened to overtake her completely before she blinked a few times, then closed her lids.

Her ribs quivered, breath coming fast and shallow. The air felt stale, tasted metallic.

Oh, Jaes, my head. . .

And the ever-present, mocking answer—

"Jaes has left you, girl. Your life is now mine."

at first it was the whiff of fresh vomit that he caught, and the neb thought it'd be best to avoid the place it wafted from. then, there came a hurk and a splash and he thought that for sure someone was poisoned or similarly death-sick, and without thinking how he could possibly aid that person, hurried towards the source.

it was maggie, as her name stuck in his head, on her side and breathing in a manner of a certainty death-sick person.

"miss mah-jie!" the chihuahua exclaimed, approaching with the trademark tinkling of his dogtag. "oh miss, what's happened t' you?!"

Little Gucci.

She opened her orange eye a slit, finding the small form coming closer, crying out in worry. I'm—fine— she punched out. Everything reeked of vomit.

A tinge of blood, a red swirl in the watery matter, like some distant nebula.

Just. . .sick, Maegi said, as if she were merely suffering some head cold. Well, it certainly had taken over her head. . . Don't mean to. . .worry you.

Her voice was a shell of its normal self, wispy, her throat ragged from retching.

She would stand to greet him, but she couldn't manage even that.

her attempts did not in the slightest reassure the teacup man. he was no doctor, not educated in health care beyond fad diets and nutritional supplements for sleekness of whiskers and quality of fur - yet he wasn't pea-brained. his mouth tightened into a straight line as he watched poor maggie too weak to stand. this was the most severe case of awful health he'd ever witnessed in his life!

gucci stepped forward as to aid the woman, but halted, realising there was nothing he could think of to do. little head turned in every which direction, looking for helpful fellahin or brawny mazoi, but the immediate surroundings were devoid of their presence. he could hear them some stories below, of course, within barking distance, but-- and now he frowned, wide-eyed - what if the nebet wished to keep this illness... private? 

now, he couldn't conceive why she would, but if he'd learned one thing about akashingo, it was that its wolves and coyotes cared a lot for outward appearances and pristine manners.

the chihuahua stepped closer, and softly nuzzled the side of the wolf's snout, as to brush the whiskers (but avoid the vomit-bits).

"m-miss, sh-should aah call someone?" he hesitated, gathered confidence. "n don't tell me ya don't need help." the sentence began assertive, but ended with a half-whine.

It might have trailed off, but Maegi caught the assertiveness in the dog's voice and gave him the barest of smiles. I couldn't tell you. . .what kind of help I need, she replied, giving a weak shrug. Slowly, she rose to a sphinx-like sitting position, though even then her chin still bobbed.

She looked at him carefully. Her vision was doubling upon itself every so often; Gucci would split into two, then four, then become one again.

Gucci. . . Maegi latched onto the name, letting it anchor her to reality. What keeps you here? Why have you not tried to go home? Her tone was gentle but curious. He didn't belong here. Neither, she thought, did she. And yet here they were, two twisted misfits in a band of regal wolves.

Outliers. And she admired him for his courage in the face of it all.

he watched her with intense concern, eyes flashing over every feature despite lacking the knowledge to diagnose her state. was her gaze a bit... off? her whites somewhat bloodshot? he was just about to turn and bark for a helper, when she spoke his name.

he bit his tongue and let her pull together a sentence, but once it was complete, gucci found his lips had parted in surprise.

"...oh. ah. w-w-well." he looked away and forced a jittery chuckle, the accompanying smile volatile and hollow.

now he looked somewhere to his right, mouth still open, but obviously at a loss of words.

"...ah..." 

his gaze finally went back to her.

"...ah dunno." the smile on his lips had the presence of cobwebs in the corner of a ceiling.

"d-don't git me wrang, ahm well cared for, th- the fell-ah-heen bring meals t'me n clean me n mah rooms, but..."

there was a sharp inhale trough closed teeth.

"...ah truly would like ta go home. there was, s'pposed t' be someone who'd come fer me, they jus'... nevah showed up." batty ears turned back and flattened. "at this point, ah don't... believe anyone's lookin' fer me no more. n-not that that's as sad as ah make it sound, lawd no!" he hurried to say, as his friend didn't need to saddle herself with his baggage too. "ah like it 'ere. ah'v gat friends 'ere, n th' scenery's nice n so's th' food, n 'sides, ah can't jus' up n leave 'fter all that's been done fer me!" 

finally, he managed a true, bright smile.

"why askin', the bedriddeness got ya feet achin' fo' th' road?"

Gucci's explanation was word vomit. At least to her ears. She was too weary to pay much attention, and at his attention, she scoffed, shaking her head.

Hardly, she replied with a smirk. Her ribs heaved, head still swimming.

Nose lifted. Did you. . .say how old you were, Gucci? How many seasons?

How old was she? She recalled several winters, several summers. . . Counting them all up seemed like too much energy at the moment. She supposed she could. With thought.

Her life was marked by events, not seasons.

So many events

Fuck.