King Elk Forest don't pretend

in the heat of the evening sun, bearing mockingly warm and golden upon asmoses pelage; the lost boy scowls and seeks the shelter of the forest. the bugle call of the king elk rises thru the shadows that promise him protection; shelter. the noise is eerily shrill and undeniably majestic and asmoses prowls into the underbrush; salivating at the musk of elk and the nostalgically sweet tang of berries upon the breeze. the forest is inviting; encouraging the malnourished, mistrustful boy into it's loving embrace. the forest makes him promises that it cannot keep.

overhead, caws of crows startle him and wounded lips part with a sharp sting and he lets out a low whine. the four marks ruin his mouth on the left side of his face and left untended to it is only a miracle that infection hasn't set it. or maybe it has and asmoses couldn't even tell the difference. regardless; he knows that they will leave ugly scars upon his flesh whenever they do heal.

saliva dribbles from the ruined corner of his mouth as his pace increases; wobbly and stumbling like a drunk from the pub as he hurries towards where the elk's call raises once more driven by primal hunger that makes him nearly delirious even though some rational part of his mind exists and forlornly tells him that he stands no chance and will go hungry. as he has for days now.

Soon enough, Niamh knew she would be forced to give up her leg of the search, and return to the Copse. But every time she woke up, and remembered that her daughter was still missing, she felt compelled to continue searching, though it did mean that she was leavnig the care of her two remaining children as the responsibility of the pack which she assumed had made its way safely to the Copse. She would return soon enough- but felt drawn to search more when she too heard the long, high-pitched bellow of the king elk coming from the forest. She felt it might be too early for rutting season- but wondered perhaps if the beasts had been disturbed by the presence of a predator- and potentially, even by a nosy, hungy child. 

As she made her way through the forest, drawn by the spine-tingling bugle, she heard something pushing its way through the undergrowth, with the messy, quick pattern of a child's footsteps. Her heart racing, she altered her course and set toward it, only to catch sight of a child, yes- but not her own. Filthy, thin and with a wobbling weakness to its step, the child had a far-away look in his ravenous gaze and he was heading in a beeline toward where the herd of elk would be grazing in the distance...Oblivious to the danger that awaited him either through the kick of a clever hoof or graze of a sharp tine. Niamh woofed, and bolted after the child. 

"Stop, stop!" She hissed as she approached- unaware of the fact that she wasn't exactly approaching the lost child with the friendliest posture- but she couldn't risk having him endanger not only himself, but her as well should he anger the dangerous creatures. Unwilling to take that chance, Niamh put on an extra burst of speed- intending to wrestle the child to the ground should he not heed her warning and stop in his tracks.

he vaguely registers the woof; but regardless his hackles bristle but his pace doesn’t slow. his hunger is consuming and all he knows is the call of the elk means food. even as a full grown, healthy adult he wouldn’t be able to take on one on his own; as a child: injured and malnourished it was desperate and pitiful. he has no real hopes of out running the adult that gives chase to him. he tries, but his energy begins to wane and her longer legs, and health give her a distinct advantage over him.

he ignores her hisses to stop; giving one last desperate push only to let out a yowl of terror as she collides with him. he stumbles and grapples for earth and falls against it. he gets a mouth and noseful dirt and lets out another horrified yowl as if she was hurting him. he thinks she is, at first. his heart beats fast and hard against his chest; straining against its prison of flesh and bone.

ruined mouth twists upward, out of the dirt that smears in it painfully and snaps his teeth uselessly at air, squirming to get out of her grasp until that energy is siphoned from him too and he relents; panting heavily. he lets out a small whimper, not trusting that she won’t hurt him.

"Little shit," She hissed under her breath- likely inaudible for the child who chose to run, rather than obey her. Seeing no other adults around, and the condition of the child firmly plants the notion in her mind that this kid is lost, starving and within moments of trapping him within her long forelegs, she also noticed that he was injured. Like a bitter child revolting against an enforced bedtime he whipped over onto his back and began snapping at her, but Niamh was well versed in the art of dealing with unruly children. She used her legs to keep him close to her, grabbing at the loose fur os his scruff and shoulders whenever she was able to, and while he wriggled himself free to snap at her a few times, eventually he began to tire, and slumped into an exhausted, panting, marbled heap on the ground. 

She held him close, still, for a few moments- not willing to trust that he won't tear away from her if she were to loosen her grip, and continued to keep him close to her, lying on the ground with her forelegs girdling his body so that she could hold him down should he start to squirm again. With a firm nudge, she reinforces her role as the stronger of the two of them, and she uttered a soft growl as a warning for him to stay put. "I won't hurt you." She said, her voice low, but not without a note of motherly warmth. "I'm Niamh. And I'm going to take you back to my pack with me," She stated, still in the same, firm tone. But her expression softened then, and she reached to smoothe the dirty but soft fur between his ears. There were no packs within several miles of the Copse- the closest pack would be a few days of travel away, she figured, so he would be safest with them. And if he belonged to a lone, travelling mother- well, she'd lost her child. He was better off in a pack. She eased up on the pressure with which she held him close. "C'mon. I'll get you some food." She said.

asmoses stills as she holds him firm; stronger than him. he squeezes his eyes shut, ears tapering back against his skull at her warning growl. he lets out a low whimper, belly roiling with hunger; unaware that he would have to be fed in small bits until his stomach got used to food else he would eat until he threw up. as it was, outpowered, injured and weak, asmoses does the only thing he can do: obey. he hates it; but the fight is a weak echoing ghost of what it once was. the fire has been dashed to nothing more than simmering, glowing embers of ash.

she tells him that she won’t hurt him — he doesn’t believe her even with the tone that warms her voice. she gives her name and announces that she’s taking him back with her. back where? he doesn’t have the energy to ask. doesn’t want to ask. it wasn’t like he had a choice. she had him overpowered. he tenses, holding his breath until his lungs ache as she smooths down the fur between his ears.

it reminds him of his amma. if not for the woman’s golden legs on either side of him and the strange smells she carried upon her pelage he could’ve, in that moment, been fooled into thinking she was his amma. she gives him room and he shakily rises to his paws, placated too easily by the promise of food.

He didn't soften, which indicated to Niamh that he did not trust her. Perhaps if he wasn't so weak and starved, he might've tried to fight back or run away from her. Like a fawn left in the tall grass, he seemed to understand that the best thing for him to do was simply lie still while in the grasp of something that could potentially destroy him. It had been a while, now, since she had had to be tender toward a young one; her own children were growing like weeds and accustomed to her strict ways. This child, however, was in very poor condition- she'd noticed the wounds on the side of his face, and sighed. Hopefully Alyx had managed to fare better than the dappled boy. 

Feeling guilty about having wrangled him to the ground, she spent a few more moments fussing over him, gently  cleaning the fur around his ears and the back of his neck, running her tongue gently down the bridge of his muzzle hoping that it might calm him. But she couldn't simply hold him and coddle him- he had wounds that needed to be tended to, and a belly that needed food. 

Eventually, she sat up, releasing him- though her posture was still somewhat tense, as she was prepared to chase him down again if need be. She wasn't going to let someone else's beloved child die in the wilderness, when she had the chance to help make him better. Somewhere, she hoped someone else was doing the same for Alyx. "It's not too far," She said, though it wasn't exactly close, either. But she didn't want him to worry or feel dismay. "Come with me," She said softly, and stood up- expecting the child to do the same.

asmoses stands still, salvia still dribbling from the ruined corner of his mouth as she fusses over him. for a wild moment, his resolve wavers and he considers bolting. this woman — niamh — is asking for trust that asmoses just doesn’t have to give. she could coerce him with food and then hurt him …like they did. asmoses gives a shudder as he thinks about them even fleetingly. despite the wild desire, he does not act on it; because he doesn’t have the energy, because he knows its futile: she will catch him.

she assures him its not too far but his perception of far or not is too askew. he isn’t even sure where he is …but hopes that he’s far enough away that they won’t find him. she beckons him to follow and he does without protest on legs that tremble from exertion and fatigue.

The tremble of his frame warned Niamh that the child might be carrying more baggage with him than she was prepared to handle- but all the same, she did not want to simply leave him to starve to death. The wounds on his muzzle needed to be treated as well, but she didn't feel comfortable pinning the boy down and cleaning the wounds for him, as she felt certain he would bolt and run from her if she did. She'd need to get a bit more trust from him before she did that...And would also want Eljay to check him over for disease as well, though he didn't smell too off to her. Still- he drooled, and as far as she knew, that could potentially mean he was disease-ridden...And she didn't want to touch the injured side of his face until she knew it wasn't communicable. 

On swaying legs he followed her, so she moved at a saunter which would allow him to keep up. "Do you have a name?" She asked softly- figuring she ought to at least get a bit of information from the kid about himself before she simply showed up at the Copse with a straggler.

she asks for his name as he follows after her, pace slow. bi-colored gaze darts yearningly to the direction of the elk, stomach aching and hollow; but reminds himself that she offers food. without much choice other than to trust her, he lets out a sigh thru his black, leathery nostrils and trudges after her. his legs still tremble but it is easier to ignore it the more he walks. of course i have a name, he wants to sniff but every time his lips parts to speak, pain radiates from the injuries there; a metallic taste dances upon his tongue and he clamps his jaws shut.

what did his name matter?

she could call him whatever she wished and he tries to communicate this with a hard shrug of his shoulders.

Out of the corner of her eye, Niamh caught the boy's ambivalent shrug. Moody little shit, she thought to herself. The boy was probably missing his family, and lost in the despair of knowing he might not see them again, but she found herself wondering just how capable they'd been, not teaching their child to recite their name, parents' names, and where they came from if they ever got lost. She liked to think that at least Alyx might have done the same, if someone had found her.

"Well, I need somethin' to call ya." She said, taking a glance back at the boy who, she was sure, wouldn't be terribly impressed. She wanted to lighten the mood a bit- and chose the means of sarcasm in order to do so. "I could call you...Cloudy...Or Misty...Or Pumpernickle," She said, looking back to see how he reacted to those three, fairly ridiculous names. "F'you don't stop me, you're gonna end up with a name like Pumpernickle. An' who wants a name like that?" She asked.

asmoses scowls as she goes on a naming spree, cloudy and misty making a heat rise into his cheeks; aware she draws off of his appearance if only because his twinshine looks just like him — or so he’d been told. when she names something even more ridiculous his scowl deepens only to let out a hiss of pain as the action pulls at the wounds upon his lips. suh — he swallows against the pain. stop. he gasps. it hurts to talk and he doesn’t want to but for the sake of not being called cloudy, misty or pumpernickle — whatever that was — he lets out a noise of annoyance, tinted with pain and speaks, rasalas. he croaks and clamps his jaw closed once more, waiting for the pain to pass. he shivers — from pain or brewing infection he doesn’t know. rasalas was a star in the constellation leo; a name pulled at random from one of his astronomy lessons with his amma. he isn't sure why he gives it instead of his real name ...except for that he still doesn't trust her. not fully, at least.

adults have lied to him before and this makes him want to hide behind the fortress he was trying furiously to build 'round himself.

It might've been a bit cruel of Niamh to do something she should've known would have made the sour boy become even more sombre. He certainly had some spice in him, though, and it was only when she saw him grimace and flick his tongue against his wounded lips that she realized he could have been choosing silence because it pained him to speak. She softened, and turned to reach and nuzzle the top of his head if he didn't pull away. 

He gave her a name, and for a moment she was quiet. "Rasalas, eh?" She asked, and cracked a smile. "That's a star, innit? From Leo, the lion," She said. Leo was one of the few constellations  she could pick out, as it could be found easily with reference to Ursa Major. "Suits you." She continued moving, deciding she might have to change her tehcniques a bit- build the kid up, rather than teasing him. And while she wanted more answers from him, he didn't seem comfortable with speaking. "My pack's called the Firebirds. We got a healer named Eljay, an' he'll fix you up, make it so your mouth don't hurt anymore." She said. "An' my mate, Phox- he knows all about the stars," She said. Hopefully, the boy wouldn't mind her filling the silence with details, preparing him for what things would be like once they reached the copse.

he might be injured, hungry, weak and mistrustful but asmoses — now rasalas as he called himself — is still prideful and still interested in the stars though they remain ever out of his reach. cold and distant gods that never interfere but are comforting in their presence all the same. his eyes widen as he looks at her with a new light, hedging and hesitating as his tail wags; a tiny bit. she knows about stars and he feels himself softening some under her nuzzle. as much as he wants to shy away from her touch like a spooked deer he can’t deny that he missed those mothering touches of comfort.

she is not his amma but she has so far stuck to her word: she hasn’t hurt him.

she offers him names, of her pack, of her pack’s healer, of her mate and states that he — phox, she calls him — knows all about stars. rasalas is tentative and hesitant but his heart no longer thrums like the rapid beating of a hummingbird’s wings in his chest; spurred by fear. though he is still fearful he allows it to lessen. if only by a bit. surely someone who offers him food and shelter and who has a mate who knows about stars can’t be all that bad.

of course, it is that same childish naivety that got him injured in the first place; but like the child he is, he still clings to it even now.

He didn't object, and while his expression changed very little, she'd noticed the gentle sway of his tail. It meant perhaps that he was relaxing a bit, and following her more by choice than by obligation. She knew the pack had moved on from the glade, but she remembered a cache she'd left behind for her return journey- and intended to share that with Rasalas. And while part of her feared he might eat the food and run from her, she wasn't going to starve him all the way to the Copse just to make sure she got him home. 

"I got three kids," She said, though her heart ached knowing that he would only meet two of them when they reached the Copse- unless by some stroke of luck Alyx had found her way home in the meantime. "They should be about your age. But don't worry- they're not annoying like their Mom." She said as she led him along. A treeline in the distance marked the approach of the glade, and their proximity to the cache she'd left behind. "You like deer meat, right?" She asked, rhetorically.

rasalas’ ears perk as she tells him that she has three kids, that they were about his age and that she promised they weren’t as annoying as her. he studies her quietly, favoring silence in lieu of speaking. he’s weary of kids his own age, a want to dislike them automatically because of caerus, despite that his brother was older than him. it wasn’t fair to think that niamh’s kids would be like his brother but rasalas can’t help but worry all the same. his own flesh and blood called him all sort of horrible and insulting things, though so low of him and a different searing sting drives thru his heart. thinking about caerus causes his mouth to twist again — only to visibly wince as the action pulls at the wounds. again.

it encourages rasalas to adopt a stone-faced expression: to work on not displaying his emotions upon his face. if only to ward off the pain.

you like deer meat, right?

he focuses back upon niamh’s words, and though the question is rhetoric he doesn’t quite grasp it as such. yes. he croaks, wincing again. in truth, though, he liked any kind of meat she could get him. rotten even, if he had to. he was so hungry, like the living personification of gluttony in that moment. anything would suffice as long as it could silence the greed, and soothe the pains of of his deprived belly.

"Good," came her reply, and she proceeded forth in silence, dipping her head down to begin sniffing and tracking around the damp earth, catching traces of tracks left behind by her packmates who had left the area once the rains had stopped. Missing from the usual array of Firebirds tracks was any sign of Alyx, which told Niamh that her daughter had not passed this way- but there was still hope she might have found another route back home while Niamh had been out searching. Her posture sharpened when she found her own markings, and made a beeline toward a crooked oak that marked the place where she'd buried the haunch of a young deer days ago. It wasn't fresh- but it would be food. 

She began digging, trusting that Rasalas would stay near while she did so. She made a satiafied grunt when she found what she was looking for, and pulled the prize free from the dark earth. She shook it to get some of the dirt off of it, and pinned it between her forepaws as she began to tear strips of pale meat from it, growling and snarling as she did so. Niamh had a bad habit of being an incredibly defensive eater- and wasn't even aware of her obnoxious food-defensive habits. She tossed first one strip of meat to the boy, then another. "Don't eat too fast," She warned, and continued to pull bits and pieces from the corpse, pausing intermittantly to make sure he didn't get too much all at once. "Chew," She prompted, as a reminder.

rasalas stops, annoyingly dutifully he thinks, as she does. there are scents here, faded and faint but were once present. he is amazed he can smell anything beyond his own filth and metallic tang of blood. he reeks but lacks the will the care in his weakened state. once, he was so proud of his moondappled pelage. now it is matted and clumped with dirt and blood and urine. horribly unkempt. he watches with renewed interest as she procures from the hole she’s dug a slab of meet. his stomach both rumbles and roils and salvia begins to well, once more, in his mouth.

he wants to lunge towards it — almost does — like a ravenous little beast only to temper the gluttonous desire as she tears from it growling and snarling. his lip curls back, smarting with a sharp stab of pain as his eyes swim with betrayal; mistaking her defensiveness.

only to soothe over as she tosses a strip of meat to him. imagined slight is gone as he flings himself upon it with a burst of energy and pins it beneath his paws as she pins the slab of meat. he ignores her warning and gobbles it down without tasting it. it does not satisfy him. his stomach violently roils and in the next second he is twisting his body to the right to upchuck it.

the pain of the forced expulsion screams thru the nerve endings of his torn flesh. blood dribbles in his salvia now, from the wound that he refuses to let heal and he falls upon the second strip. he takes a deep breath, glimpsing up at her, and eats this one with aching slowness; lesson learned. for now.

She'd anticipated that he might eat too fast, and that he'd also ignore her warning- so it came as no surprise when he vomited the meat back up within seconds of having wolfed it down. She paid him little mind, though- figuring he likely felt bad enough as it was, without having someone talk down to him or stare at him and the mess of regurgitated meat next to him. She simply nodded when he learned his lesson, and began to take more care with what he was doing. Intermittantly, once he'd finished the last bit of meat, she would toss another piece to him, and whenever she caught him eating too fast, she would stop and clear her throat. 

The light had been fading while they'd travelled together, and she figured that with a stomach full of meat, he'd be better off resting. It would take another day of travel before they'd reach the copse- and she didn't want to push him too hard. Once he'd eaten what she thought was enough, she buried the rest of the meat. "Breakfast," She explained firmly. "We'll stay here for the night. Let's get you a drink of water an' a bath," She said, with another gesture. Having lived in the glade during the very last bit of the deluge, she knew where they could find a stream that would help loosen up some of matted fur that had become caked with mud.

fading this out for their second thread.

he slips and starts to devour the would-be third strip, if he hadn’t thrown up the first, but stops; startled by the clear of her throat. like a child whose hand was decidedly caught in the cookie jar, he slowly nibbles at the meat. his stomach is upset by the sudden intrusion of food even as he nibbles and eats slowly …but he does not throw up a second time. it stays in his belly and though rasalas doesn’t know it, it is a good sign despite the beginnings of infection in his wounds.

he watches as she buries the rest, firmly stating that it was to be their breakfast. he feels impossibly full and though he casts a glance at the fresh mound of earth he will not disturb it. she announces they will spend the night but his attention is on what she says next: a drink — he is suddenly parched ( not suddenly but able to fixate upon it now that his stomach is full ) and his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth.

he drinks his fill and begrudgingly bathes, trying not to make too much of a fuss. the water is murky where he trudges thru it, swirls of blood from his muzzle interlacing the dissipating mud; and when it comes to time to sleep he curls up and despite the instinctual urge to want to stay awake, falls asleep rather effortlessly.