Lost Creek Hollow Giggle and the flames grow higher

The stream ran through the maples, curving south and feeding into the larger waterway that would eventually swell to become Mudminnow River. Atreus could’ve drifted west at the fork and come to rest at the bottom of Witch’s Marsh, preserved forevermore in the peat bog.

But the current mercifully swept him eastward, through a fern grove lush with early summertime greenery. He wound back and forth in endless meanders and oxbows through the night into the following dawn, the flow slowing to a plod until it gently deposited him on Riverclan’s doorstep.

He remained oblivious throughout this strangely baptismal journey, the cold water washing his wounds and clotting his blood. When he bumped ashore, he came to rest on his back, the extent of his injuries on full, gruesome display.

Both Atreus and Masquerade had believed him eviscerated, especially due to the sheer amount of blood he’d lost, but it wasn’t his guts she’d opened. Atreus’s genitalia had been mangled beyond recognition before being wholly torn from his body. Hunks of what had once been his manhood were surely drying and shriveling on that distant shore even now.

The gaping wound began to bleed again as the early summer sun dried him. Despite the warmth of those morning rays, he started to shiver. Atreus groaned as he stirred, gradually rising from what felt like death.