Ravensblood Forest before the devil knows you’re dead

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The smoke was visible even from Ravensblood and the scent tickled and itched as his black, leathery nostrils as it froze his steps upon his borders. Frantically, he tried to place the territory the wildfire spread through, how close it was and if Teaghlaigh would be in any sort of immediate danger of it. It was what drove the Ceannasach up the Gryfalcon Keep and along the passage he had long ago discovered to carry him safely towards Blackrock Depths and Donnelaith. His hackles bristled with unease as he cleared the Keep and looked to the Bay and then to the Sentinels. If his gaze was hellfire it was nothing close to the flames that he could see licking towards the sky, even with the distance between him and Donnelaith; and the bitter chill of the winter was nothing to him compared to the ice that suddenly pierced his heart and the icy fear that pooled in his stomach as the confusion of the fire wore off and he was left with the realization of what he was seeing. It was horrifying but not so near as terrifying to Arturo as his next thought. Lotte!

Arturo ran. He ran towards the inferno, towards the thick, curling smoke. He ran towards the burning Sentinels, towards the jaws of hell with only one thought: find Lotte…because he had to. Even if the flames brought with them his death he was prepared. His nightingale had become such an intimate part of him, intricately woven into his design that the gangster knew that a life without her was no life at all. He’d lost two Family members and he would not lose Lotte too. Her death was one that he knew deep in the marrow of his bones that he would never recover from and thus he propelled himself faster, his lungs burning from exertion and the tang of smoke as it hung in the air. Luck was with him, with them it would seem (though Arturo did not believe in such things) that a figure caught his attention. A smoking, heap of burnt fur. Her scent was masked by singed fur, burnt flesh and smoke but she was unmistakable even hurt as she was.

“Lotte.” He choked out her name, turning his back to the inferno as he rushed towards her, fearful that it had taken her despite that she had gotten free. His heart felt like it was in his throat, hard to breathe and hard to swallow but ever so slightly a small measure of relief flooded him as he realized that she was breathing, at least. “Lotte,” He called out to her as he drew nearer, gently licking her muzzle in an attempt to get her to rouse to consciousness. “Lotte.” The gangster choked out her name in a sob, wishing that he knew anything about healing so that he could assess how bad her injuries were, if they were life threatening or not. “Hold on. You have to hold on, Lotte. I need you,” He murmured to her as his own helplessness in this situation sunk in and took a nice swing at his pride (as if he wasn’t already hurting). “I love you Lotte Ansbjørn, you hear me? I can’t lose you.” Not the most romantic way and he wasn’t even sure if she could hear him. This wasn’t a fairy-tale and he didn’t believe in magic enough to believe those words would hold power but he felt the need to tell her, just in case (because maybe part of him was willing to believe if it meant he would be assured that she would live). He did not deign to leave her side, lingering close even as he threw his head back and howled for help to anyone that was near enough to receive his urgent call.

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