Phoenix Maplewood death becomes us all

for reasons, this'll be my first & last post in this.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: some gore.

salvatore had an ominous feeling that morning when he woke. dull grey painted the skies as patchy snow fell on and off all morning. knowing that he needed to contribute more than he'd been doing recently, he slipped from whitebark stream's borders to nose around its neighbor: phoenix maplewood. he'd thought he'd caught a musky scent a few times earlier in the week but hadn't paid it much mind.

the musky scent of wild boar grows stronger and stronger as does the suspicious unattractive squeals of piglets.

the feeling of dread returns.

he doesn't see it coming, the boar charging at him like a freight train on his blindside.

he only feels when the enraged mother's tusks pierce his belly and drag, splicing him open. he chokes, gagging on the rush of blood that bubbles up his throat. he wheezes as he sees it rounding and charge at him from the other side out of the corner of his fading vision in his good eye. his legs quiver beneath the sudden struggle of his weight.

he begins to fade in earnest; the siphoning of his life force quick at the second attack.

when the reaper comes for him, he is ready for the suffering to end and walks willingly at death's side.

When Artyom picked up Salvatore's scent and tracks in the snow, heading beyond Whitebark territory into the neighbouring maplewood, the pale leader followed. He saw an opportunity to strengthen the bond between comrades, figuring perhaps they could hunt, entirely unaware of the misfortune that lurked between the frosted trees that day.

It came in the form of tusked beasts, a type that screamed in a way Artyom would never forget. Pace quickend and ears alert, the hunter loped with new urgency to catch up with his pack-mate so they might investigate the cries together, perhaps bring some fresh meat home to their expectant mothers.

By the time he found his ashen companion, however, it was too late. He halted in his tracks as earthen eyes sourced a broken body on the ground, tasted the metallic tang of blood and bowel in the air. It was the last thing he expected and, swallowing the threat of bile that rose in his throat, somehow managed to convince himself to creep forward.

Amid the pungent aroma of spilled inners was that of the creature responsible. It was the way of nature, he supposed: kill or be killed. Still, though this great loss was no one's fault, Artyom harboured regret within him that he hadn't been able to locate his comrade sooner. He stood there silently, solemnly, and thought fondly of the short time in which he'd found a friend in Salvatore.

She had been eagerly hunting for herbs among the new spring growth when the screams had rung out. 
dropping everything she ran as fast as her paws would carry her, wincing at her twisted shoulder, Hurrying towards the cry for help. The smell of blood was overwhelming, a stink she had never smelled before but had every fiber of her being on alert. 
"Please goddess let me not be too late." She whispered as she rounded the corner. 
The wolf's broken body, the stench of blood and organ and fear, Artyom standing helpless- 
"No. Nononono I can't fail." She gasped, frantically pawing at the lifeless form, looking up at her alpha with desperate eyes. "I'm supposed to be a healer....I'm supposed to...to fix..." 
It dawns on her she's too late, and she stares down at the packmate she didn't even know, and realizes there's probably a great many packmates she doesn't know. "I..." Words fail her. "Help me bury him?"

Too caught up in the tornado of emotion that made his head spin, Artyom failed to consider the strong possibility of others being drawn to the scent of fresh blood. When the sound of fast approaching paws brought awareness flooding back, the pale leader flagged his tail and swung his head in the direction of a she-wolf as she arrived, though muscles slackened upon recognising her.

Aphrodite rushed in, an urgeny to her stride as she quickly moved to their fallen comrade. The ranger could do nothing but watch helplessly as she pawed at the gored, lifeless body of a wolf who'd been his friend, before he stepped forward carefully.

"His name was Salvatore," he told her, a waver to his voice as he came to stand at his pack-mate's flank. Earthen gaze lingered on Sal's dull eye for only a moment before he turned his face away, "we will bury him here." Artyom wished to take him back to the stream, for him to rest among the pale foliage where he'd made his home, but it did not seem appropriate considering his body's condition.

No, the maplewood would serve as his memorial, and Artyom shifted away to seek out the best grave site.

There was grief in Her Alpha's voice, and she calmed herself. 
There was work to be done. "Do you mind...if I prepare his body in the ways of my people?" She asked gently. She didn't want to intrude in case Artyom and this wolf, whom she now knew as Salvatore, had their own customs.

Artyom moved carefully, testing the earth with his claws for where the ground might be softest. Although Salvatore had been dear to him, it would be foolish to waste valuable energy digging at frozen ground. He was not ignorant of Aphrodite as he searched, however, and an ear swivelled smoothly in her direction as she hovered over their fallen pack-mate.

He stopped, and turned attention to her by seeking her fine features. In Timiryazevskaya, there had been no special method to prepare those lost for burial, so he was both curious and little concerned. "How do you..." he paused for a moment to consider his words, "prepare a body?"

She smiled, happy to speak of home, of her customs. 

"With my people, the women are the ones who do such things. A burial takes three days. 
On the first day, we sing songs, and we drink and feast in the dead's honor. The body is washed, and bathed in herbs and surrounded by flowers. That is because Persephore is a flower Goddess, and also the queen of the dead. A token is left in the mouth of the fallen so they may pay Charon, the ferryman who travels across the river of the dead. Instructions are whispered in the dead's ears to get to Tartarus." 
She smiled softly at the Memories of the funeral that had been held for her sister. 
"On the second day, the body is laid out, for family and friends to gather and mourn. Prey was killed and left beside them, so that Hades counts their wealth. Everyone gathers and Howls." 
She pauses, so that he can comment if he so wished. 
"And on the third day they are buried. Herbs such as rosemary are laid on top to hide the stink. Their mates chew their legs till they bleed as a symbol of mourning and sacrifice." 

He blinked. Aphrodite's ways were... strange. The suggestion of decorating and leaving Salvatore's body out in the open for days unsettled him, and he felt the prickle of skin behind his neck.

Still, Artyom didn't wish to insult his packmate, so he frowned deeply down at the one who'd fallen. He'd wanted to strengthen that bond he felt with Sal, but in reality he had been a private creature; what would he want done with his remains? The pale Alpha shook his head. "I'm sorry," he murmured, looked toward the she-wolf with a sympathetic gaze, "I'd rather he be buried sooner rather than later."

He exhaled softly. It was all too much for him, far too extreme; he could respect Aphrodite's way, but could not make her customs his own.

She understood, in a way. Leaving a body out was considered odd at best in majority of cultures. Her mind went back to the nasty bite the human who had tried to remove her elder sister's carcass had received....at least she knew where she got her ferocity from. 
Very well. At least let me help you mourn. I have herbs in the den to help with grief. Dawn is whelping soon- it won't do for you to be emotionally drained."

She accepted his rejection graciously, for which Artyom was thankful. He offered the she-wolf a watery smile in silent gratitude as she carried on to offer her support, and he felt glad for her company on this grim day.

"Let's get this over with," he suggested, and began digging at the tough earth. Several hours later, and after the ranger emitted soft murmurings of farewell to his fallen comrade, Artyom took one last solemn look at Salvatore's gravesite before beckoning to Aphrodite that they carry on home.

He would return in the days to follow to deliver flowers and be sure there were no disturbances.