Bonesplinter Ravine [M] Be the First to the Feast, Let's Choke on the Past

Herod’s silence was more damning than any outburst. Each step he took toward the dark mouth of the cave quickened, his paws moving in that instinctive, nervous trot, as though the shadows themselves were closing in. He felt the fur along his spine prickle, a reflex of fear he fought to suppress but could not completely quell.

He opened his mouth, desperate to offer some form of apology, anything to lessen the blow he knew was coming.

Herod, I’m sorry, I—

But the rest of his plea evaporated on his tongue as the lion’s paw crashed against the stone wall beside his head. The sound was deafening, a violent crack that echoed through the cavern, but it was the force of Herod’s presence that truly pinned him in place. In an instant, Machiavelli’s back was pressed hard against the cold rock, his breath escaping him in a sharp, shallow gasp. He didn’t dare move. The muscles beneath his skin tensed, his body curling inward instinctively, tail tucking tightly against his stomach.

You, Abbot, he replied softly, gaze hard as he stared down the old man. Every question was a blow, but they were nothing compared to the final strike.

Herod’s paw descended upon his leg, digging into it with brutal, merciless intent. The pain was overwhelming, ripping through his body with a force that stole the breath from his lungs. Machiavelli’s leg's buckled, and he fell to the ground, his body crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut.

His mouth opened to scream instinctively, the agony of it reverberating through every nerve, but no sound escaped his lips. His teeth ground together, the sharp edges slicing into the soft flesh of his cheeks as he bit back the cry.

His breath came in ragged bursts now, short, hissing gasps that left him dizzy. I—I understand, Abbot, he managed breathlessly.