Sawtooth Spire for the debt i owe, gotta sell my soul

For @Thorn

The pale woman had lost track of the time—how often the sun had risen or set as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Precariously, the predator bird would peer down over the rocky crag to look at her, it’s patience astounding as it waited for her last breath to slip past her dry lips. She chose to ignore it’s stare of raw hunger, instead focusing on bit by bit, pulling herself up to a ledge that could, perhaps, lead her home if she could manage it.

The crimson that stained her fur had been an unbearable scent at first, but now it simply drifted in to the background, unnoticed by the woman who’s main intention was to get out of this hell hole—literally.

Battered, bruised. The only comfort the girl took from her situation was that nothing seemed to be broken—spare maybe a rib or two, despite the monumental ache of her slender frame. The swipe of the mountain cat’s claws had found their purchase along the hind of her leg, the infection turning a fever upon her. It had been her fall that had saved her from it’s eager grasp, down through an opening in the mountains along the shard of jagged rocks—the sun and sky filtered through. But the mountain lion had been unable to reach her, and had simply parted ways.

But hunger would take her soon, if she couldn’t continue to pull herself up further. Leaning against the rock, her breath come in heavy, short gasps, Ketzia closed her eyes for a moment, forcing her mind to take her back to happier times. That was what she could cling to, for now.

thorn was not here by happenstance.

at first the scent of mountain cat had been but a whisper on the breeze: as it grew more insistent, the wolf had followed after it. it was folly to take a hellcat headon, but thorn hadn't plans to assault the cat (not yet, anyways). he had plans to scare it off. he knew them to be irascible, but clever predators -- they did not risk limb if they believed themselves to be outnumbered.

he knew the crook in the sawtooth's mountains would lend to his plan: he threw back his head in song where the scent was thickest -- his voice bounced from stone to rock to quarry, the single voice becoming thousands as it rushed down the mountain's summit. perhaps this would scare the cat away, and thorn could return to his duties back home.

as it was, he was entirely unaware that somewhere here ketzia lingered, fighting for her very life and attempting to escape the pit she had fallen in.

Thorn’s song came from the heavens as if a prayer and angel had been bestowed upon her—faith was obsolete to the slender woman, but even in that moment, she could rely heavily on fate, and the fading options of her predicament. Chances were running out, and revived to a wakefulness by her pack mates impressive tones, a whimper escaped the pale dove, the scrabble to find purchase upon stone and ledge to push her further up becoming frantic, and not particularly well thought out.

The stones flung lower, bouncing away from the steep edge she stood upon, and quieting for only a second as one limb slipped, threatening to pull her further from her goal, the she-wolf berated herself, forehead pressed to the stone as she attempted to take a steadying moment, ignoring the pain that erupted from her sides and her injured hip. “Just breathe,” she whispered to herself, allowing a moment to collect herself.

Her green eyes traced upward, blinking against the light that did filter toward her. Her own muzzle tilted, a hacking attempt to howl for her comrade failing with a rasp as she wheezed, her lungs allowing none of it. “Thorn,” she croaked—the wisp of her sultry voice gone and replaced with the blood and debris within her throat. “Thorn….” Her voice came a whisper, and without waiting to see if he could hear her muted attempts to call upon a hero, she staggered, and leapt upward, two paws clutching to an edge as she tried to scrabble at the jagged rocks for hold.

it was the scatter of rocks that first alerted thorn to some other being's presence; he froze, suspecting the cat might have tricked him. the rocks continued their clattering down the mountainside, and in mincing, suspicious steps, thorn traced their location.

he peered down a large promontory in time to hear something akin to a hoarse whisper -- casting his gaze wildly down the shattered cliffs, he nearly stepped back in surprise. below him, on a sheath of shale and gneiss, ketzia struggled to pull herself upwards. "ketzia!" thorn nearly bellowed, ears pinned in alarm as he attempted his way downwards.

the going was treacherous, and more than once thorn needed to pause and rethink his strategy. at last, he was standing on the stone above her -- an anxious whine peeling from his throat as he tried to figure out how to extract the woman from what appeared to be a stony grave.

The relief she felt at his familiar face was incomparable to anything she had ever felt. Even with the thought she might not make it past this point, that the rugged wolf above her was there to try—or at least to witness—was enough. 

The rest remained almost a blur. The lounge of desperation, the dark protectors own attempts left the tearing of flesh on both ends during their struggle to connect, but finally, she was safe in the arms of the broad male, and as she was enveloped in his warmth and finally upon the surface once more, she allowed a sob of relief to escape her, burying her face to his chest and nape, allowing the rawness of her fear teveal itself to him in those very vulnerable moments. 

Everything else continued as a blur as he assisted her home. Fever and exhaustion won over, and the pale dove remembered barely a trace of her travel back home.