Swiftcurrent Creek Insidious disaster

She came forward, a blinding light, a distant torch bouncing forth in his deep, cavernous thoughts. He couldn't move, though for some reason she made him want to run away. He didn't know why, but a word like "disappointed" kept echoing in his head. Was he afraid he had disappointed this stranger?

He was quaking slightly when at last she was near enough to touch him. She didn't fear the way his lips curled, or how tall the fur had grown along his spine in alarm at her nearness. She touched him without reservation, and immediately the familiarity of Fox came flooding back to him—like a moment of recognition and clarity through Alzheimer's.

The one-earred wraith made a small, whining noise, his uncertainty being replaced by need, and his long body hunched over, so that he could be nearer to her. He still didn't remember much about her, but he knew she was important to his very soul—it was evident in the way his legs quivered and his eyes watched her.

"My head," he answered after a long, pregnant pause in which he had spent merely staring at her. He dropped to his haunches, ducking his head considerably low so that he could bury it beneath her chin, just above the scabbing scar on her chest, the most unfamiliar thing about her. "Please make it stop. You're meant to kill me before it kills me, I know it."

He whined again, nuzzling and desperate, missing her without knowing that he missed her, without knowing that for a short time, his entire life had been dedicated to her. "Only you can take it all away." No one had come this close to him in months. No one's teeth could ever pierce him without fear of retaliation. There was only Fox, and though he didn't know why, he knew she was different.

She was his escape. She was the Death of him.