Twisted Slough i wish you'd die in the mire

for @Magpie de l'encrier

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The dark willows all around drew him in - the wet ground and dank scent in the air should have done the opposite - but there was something too familiar about the air here. It was hard to discern, slipping away all the while, even as he squeezed beneath the long, awkward branch-like roots that coiled in and out of the mire.

It was a miracle he hadn't gotten any of it in his sandy fur - thanks to his careful plodding across some of the more greener, mossier ground than that which was dark smudges of mud and fallen leaves. The only blessing was the way the cold winter's breeze had a hard time getting through it all. It was still terrible and fleeting, and as he traveled deeper into the dark, dim stretches, he wondered why he had dared to traverse it in the first place.

Some endless curiosity, maybe.

There was a faint thumping in his chest, so faint he'd hardly recognized it against the squelch of mud beneath his paws. The rhythmic beating of an anxious heart he thought to be stone cold by now, swirling a nonsensical, nauseating storm in his chest. It puzzled him terribly to feel that ill, at least just enough to be distracting as he'd begun lagging behind his muse. His strides stretched longer to make up the distance, body still crouched low to the ground as he stalked above the mud and moss expertly.

It was as if his Cormorant knew, like he'd taken them there on purpose, just the two of them alone in a fortress of trees. Magpie's eyes seemed to glitter at the thought, with wide blown pupils that swallowed every sliver of flaxen fur that flashed between the gnarled roots. The truth was just as enticing as his fantasy however, a tale of fox and rabbit he replayed over and over in his mind. The image of a frightful thing fully aware of what lingered just out of sight, anticipating its inevitable strike.

A low growl rolled like gentle thunder in his throat, completely void of aggression. He only wished for a glance back to the shadows he stalked, or the trembling call of a wolf so certain it had dwelled in solitude. Though of course, as he already knew well, that wouldn’t satisfy for long.

Cormorant's breath held - his paws frozen as his ears swiveled. His head turned slowly, brow furrowing as if he was in disbelief; it could be a trick of his mind, like the snap of a branch setting birds a-flight for no other reason than a what if?

But it was too distinct a sound and too near to be the far signal of a storm preparing to tear into the ground and through the air. He instantly drew up, shoulders tense and hackles rising along his spine. His nose tried to fight for a sign of recognition, but he had nothing to anchor on.

Cormorant didn't utter a sound like he had before, instead trudging quicker through the gloom - trying to hurry and place more and more distance between him and the presence not long behind. His paranoia faltered from its scream in his ear to one instead of self-judgement, was he truly afraid of his own shadow? He needed off of the ground proper, he just needed some kind of vantage - his front paws scrabbled out a damp, wilting branch, or tall root maybe, before him, thick enough to steady him, low enough to reach. Anything to get out of the mud and muck below.

In an instant his muscles were tensed, preparing to chase what may flee. It was almost beautiful the way Cormorant played his part, all with his distressed posture and flickering gaze. The memory held an immediate place in his mind he hoped to never forget.

Magpie's legs began to move in tandem with the other's, stepping heavier against the ground in hopes the wolf's own noise would mask the carelessness of his. The poor thing didn't seem to make it very far, however, as Magpie stopped abruptly and watched with mild panting breaths; a curious tilt to his head. It was laughable, the spectacle of a wolf scrambling up tree roots like a squirrel, but he had to admit it was clever for one so quick to panic.

He enjoyed the sight tremendously, though he knew it best to topple what confidence Cormorant had gained upon the roots before it went to his head. With a huff, Magpie ascended his own shelter of tangled branches, standing just parallel to the wolf on their respective ledges. He lowered his head just enough to still appear threatening, wetting his nose as he slowly made his way down the cluster of roots, and into the patch of mud that separated them. Like a spider descending its web, he worked gracefully toward his fly, offering the edge of high ground to keep him still.

Don't run. His tone held an ounce of malice he hadn't exactly intended, though he carried on with it as if it'd been planned. Didn't you miss me? Magpie feigned a distraught expression, completely contradicted by the subtle wag of his tail.

It was digusting - the faint echo of paws, a well-honed instict screaming in his ears that they weren't his own. It made him stupid, it made him clumsy and weak-legged, like he were going to fall from his already pathetic perch any second. Adrenaline was already racing through his veins, and it only made it worse as his paw slipped, almost toppling him backwards.

Cormorant hated that terrible face, as pale as the moon and as cruel as frostbite. He hated the confidence that made the other so sure and so comfortable to taunt and jeer and creep closer. He hated the awful fear that curdled in his stomach and made him falter and stumble and want nothing more than to run through the thickest part of the slough to try losing him. The way the first demand came, and nailed his deepest desire in the moment, sickened him.

Cormorant wanted to curse the ground he walked on, but his tongue was still, jaw almost slack in a frozen horror. He wanted nothing more than to be wrong, to be imagining it at all - but why would he? His words were little more than a flash of teeth and a trembled breath, Never. Never.

His snarl defensive, hackles raised but body drawn small. Leave me alone.

Magpie shook his head, an amused scoff replacing what yearned to be a snarled remark of his own. You don't want that. His tone was saccharine, warming his chest with the low vibration of each word, but it wouldn't last. He was nothing if not irritable, and someone so oblivious to their wealth was bound to get under his skin. You don’t even know what it means to be alone. Do you really think you would have made it this far without someone watching your back? It'd been an everyday routine, watching him sleep, keeping him safe. Who knows what might have happened to him if Magpie wasn't so graciously by his side. It was only the wolf’s pride that kept him from seeing just how lucky he really was.

To say It wounded him, seeing Cormorant so opposed to his affection, was dramatic even for Magpie; but after all they’d been through together, it certainly felt beyond ungrateful. His muzzle twitched in anticipation, so used to fixing issues like this in ways far less civilized. I know you're smarter than that. 

He hated the thin shriek of the wind, trying to coil between the trees. It made Magpie's words sound more awful, punctuated by the desolation of the willows around them. The knowledge that they were alone together and no one nearby - suddenly, turned down offers sounded like the tolls of his own funeral bell.

Cormorant's weak growl tapered away, ears swiveling forward, the picture of affront. The only thing he could say was a half-garbled, Stop.

He was beginning to back up, like he was gonna drop back off the roots and away, as though he wanted to melt into the dark of the trees and gloom the instant he saw an opening. Cormorant's expression pinched, a tragic agitation written across it, ears back to being half-hidden in the ruff of his neck. He shook his head, eyes never leaving Magpie's frame all the while, as if too long of a blink would summon his own demise. That sick feeling refused to leave, clinging to him like a poison, the unending reminder he had a watcher in the distance all this time. To chalk up any minor safety he had enjoyed, not to his own merits, but to the other's? He refused.

You're delusional. The slightest bit of fear fell to anger, and he fought to keep hold of it - to feel something more than the urge to flee.

His eyes clung to the wolf's feet, anxious to see just how bold he was willing to be. It didn't matter if he tried, Magpie would always catch up — but the curiosity that plagued him almost pressed to enable Cormorant's flight. Just to see how far he'd get. Oh, lovely thing, aren't we all? His paws scraped the base of Cormorant's perch, threatening to invade his space. I know you are, my little dreamer.

The wolf's disgust both irritated and elated him, either for more reasons than he desired to explore. His teeth strained together with the pressure of his jaw, squeezing shut and concealing the cruel creature inside that wished to spill Cormorant's blood into the muck below. He held it, held it as the other spoke against all he was made to be, but with just one wrong word it fell apart, and his jaw was quick to snap open.

Magpie lunged upward, teeth snagging the broader side of Cormorant's throat. He squeezed with surprisingly gentle pressure, yanking him down in one rough movement, a trickling cackle slipping through his teeth at the poor wolf's struggle.

The comfortable familiarity that Magpie spoke with made him want to vomit what little fare he had in his stomach; possessives where he deserved none. He owed him nothing, Magpie was nothing to him, nothing at all. Just a thorn in his side and an unbearable monster that plagued his sleepless nights. The casual encroaching on his space, he wanted to lash out, wanted to bite and gnaw at anything he could reach, but he feared that even if Magpie were stricken blind, he would still haunt him.

He knew better. He never should have allowed him near, he should've run, should've risked it. Cormorant let out a shrill cry even as he felt little pain, if any at all. His front legs were tipped and trapped against the bark too quickly. He met the ground with a strangled wheeze, falling onto his back and side without any chance to readjust. The sound of the other's laugh in his ears made him kick out, uncaring of the muck that dirtied his fur as he writhed in it. Maybe if he were disguised by it, Magpie would turn his nose in disgust.

He kicked violently, frantically, blinking his eyes clear even as the echo of Magpie's laugh tainted his ears and swept him away in a layer of hatred and terror. His teeth gnashed at air, unable to find any angle. Instead, he cried out, eyes tragically warm with unshed tears, Get off!

His careless laughter quickly morphed into a threatening growl, reminding the wolf of his position beneath him. It was refreshing, seeing that fight he loved so much, getting to contain it. Magpie waited for him to settle, pressing his teeth the slightest bit harder into the scruff he gripped with waning patience.

Though not as easy as he would've liked, he managed to drag the wolf a small ways, merely a few paces out of the heavy mud and onto something dryer. The effort was well worth it to him regardless, allowing him to bask in Cormorants cries all the while ignoring his pitiful attempts to wriggle free. Magpie gave the wolf a rough shake, snapping him out of whatever senseless panic he was in. He then spit the pelt from his mouth, hovering over Cormorant’s crumpled form with an unimpressed glower. You really need to stop shouting.

Far more gentle than he'd been, he slowly dipped his head toward the others, nosing at the fluff of his cheek. No one is going to hear you. You're just hurting yourself. A low satisfied sigh rustled the blonde fur beneath his nose, the scent of it sending pleasant flutters throughout his chest. It was warm, like a sun baked rock in August, filling him with a sense of peace so foreign, and yet so vital to his survival.