Dragoncrest Cliffs dlo nan je

cameo post!

The sound of Mireille’s echoing rage woke Cherub’s Wing from a fitful sleep.

She looked up from her snow-carved bed at Mossbloom and flinched when she was forced to remember the newborn scars upon her hip. They healed slowly, too slowly, and bitterness filled her as she resisted the urge to clean the wounds with her tongue. She knew there was no poison there still, that she only ached fiercely but had not turned to rot, so there was nothing to fear, and yet –

She couldn’t bring herself to touch them.

It didn’t matter that the saltwater had washed her clean, killing any infection or threat to her life. To her, the poison was still there. Somewhere, somehow, corrupting her, outside to in.

Her heart began to race as she stared at the wounds. She could feel the long clawlines squirming, reopening, gnashing beneath the scabs. She saw Erzulie, pristine, wise, powerful. Then she saw her blood-soaked, bludgeoned, dead, dead, dead. Wing choked back a sob and shut her eyes tight.

She wanted to call out to Mireille, to Chacal who had kept her fed, to anyone. But what was the point?

She was poisoned. Poisonous. Beyond help.

Beyond saving.

She tucked her nose under her paw and tried to see anything but a vision of the dead, of her own rotting corpse.