Deepwood Weald [m] bodies

shaba, tessoroccia mia.
how i may only dream of your beauty, the fields of marigold; the point of your pulse where i would so often kiss. that pure, honeysuckle-sweet heart i held clasped between my own putrid jaws. how i wondered, for a moment, if it may quiver with one last beat.
i am a foolish man. the light of our god has turned away from me.

that fated evening when andras awoke, he felt his body lurch instinctively with the violent need to purge what little content roiled in his stomach. he saw double, his vision entranced with stars that were not there; his head, reeling, visceral. he had crawled forward with the power of only his forelimbs and wretched.
a haggard cough escaped him, then, dry and phlegmy. it was humiliating, even with no one but crushed, dead leaves to watch and to laugh.
but there was someone.
a bird; small, winsome, drawing a softspoken tune from deep in its yellow throat. he had always loved birds. always admired them, for how simple their lives were in contrast to his.

wren.

he thought that he may begin to cry, and he felt a thickness to his throat that he forced himself to swallow. he will not, should not, could not think of her.
here, in this rotting forest, was a new chapter. whoever lived here did not know him or his many failures, nor his grand achievements. the branches that bend above shield him from the eyes of a god; a dead god, a god that had long ago forsaken him.
but in between those branches there are filtered shards of moon. he must focus on that; on this, on this hope, this smoke signal, however faded! god bends his ear, god whispers, god's smile twinkles—

he is meant to be

here

@Marina <3

Tags for ref!

The search for Brockleigh drew her further from Moontide, further from thoughts of @Chakliux, from the grief permeating the plateau and hovering over @Rodyn and his sons. Marina told @Heph that she would be parting from the pack lands for a time, searching again for her daughter, and left with a heavy sense of melancholy draped across her shoulders. She'd thought before that perhaps she might be a mother again, but now — how could she?

She'd failed her children.

Clouded eyes scarcely registered the changing terrain until she found herself abruptly among the shifting mists of a still forest, and the sunlight had faded, and she was alone. Marina blinked as she came out of her daze, searching through the trees for any hint of familiarity. They all looked the same. Like a dream, like a fevered vision of unending solitude. She recognized none of it.

She took in a breath and stepped carefully through the forest, still searching — until she found him. A stranger; a gaunt, ragged man, half horror and half alive. A soft gasp slipped from her. She started forward, softened by her time in Moontide, but remembered wariness stopped her. Hey, Marina was tentative, aware that his suffering did not guarantee her safety. But if she could help, she would try.

the lord is with thee
the strange voice twists within his thundering eardrums. shaba shaba shaba shaba do not,
andras pauses, the air gravid with a foulness that even he himself could not place. when he looks up, he sees her. oh, a pretty young thing; a sweet thing, a pure thing. plush fur shaded with dapples of silver. he does not finish his original sentence.
from deep in his chest a buttery laugh ripples. he blinks, his head shaking before he picks himself up; a softness now painted across pinpricked eyes. rough night. yes, yes, a rough night. you remind me of my daughter.

Do not. Marina froze, one paw lifting from the frosted earth in anticipation of flight. But something held her there, some combination of pity and shame; it would be unkind to assume the worst, callous to abandon a suffering man to his fate for the nagging gut feeling that something was not right.

A year ago, the survivor she had been would already have disappeared among the trees.

But the instincts that kept her safe then had no place in her life now, and something in her had turned willfully blind. A necessary thing, a good thing so long as she existed in the peace and love and safety which Moontide had surrounded her with. What Marina didn't understand was that there was none of that here. She thought herself jaded. Paranoid. The world had become a kinder place. Surely.

Marina took a step closer and lowered herself to a sit, ignoring the sick twisting feeling in her stomach as the word daughter passed his lips. I've been there, She sympathized, reaching for the pity she still felt. Want to talk about it?

i've been there.
but she could not understand. did not, could not, with such a feeble mind. she knew not the dreams he had, the vividness of them; she knew not the way god stretched his hand from the sky and begged, pleaded, to hold his.

h i s

the prophet. the prophet is not dead.

the new year awaits.

do not worry about me, he rises to his feet with one swift push; his hind legs tremble viciously before he takes a few steps forward and a loud crack from aging hips can be heard. why have you come to me, bambina?

She startled a little as the man rose, but did not move. He was questioning her, questioning as if this was all normal and she was the one acting odd. She swallowed. I thought... She'd thought of Moontide. Marina gathered her resolve and forged ahead: There's a pack close to this forest, on the coast. Moontide. If you need help, they'll take you in.

And now it was time for her to leave, yes? She'd told him what she could, and he was fit enough to walk. He didn't need anything more. I was searching for my daughter. I should get back to it, She said, rising finally, preparing to turn and leave this strangeness behind. Brockleigh needed her more than this man, whoever he was.

marina i am so so sorry

Mature Content Warning

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she will not find her daughter. not here.
he says nothing until her back is turned toward him, until he can watch the plume of her tail bounce as she walks, can see the delicious curve of her hips and the warmth that waits for him in that sacred place.
you remind me of my daughter and yet it is not nearly the same.
when he strikes, he aims his blow to the space between her shoulders; the caress of his tongue is for the scruff of her neck. he must be quick lest someone from moontide come for her. his claws dig into the hard set of her throat, and he feels the sharp pulse — but he is careful not to puncture, not to sever. there will be no proof of his touch save for memories imprinted upon psyche.
as his nose bumps against her ear, he utters one simple phrase, embellished with lust: pray to Him, and He will listen.

Mature Content Warning

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Marina’s thoughts drifted to her children as she turned to part from the man, to Moontide and the future. Brockleigh had been missing for weeks now, weeks, and —

Something struck her — no, someone, no, it was him and all the air was swept from her lungs and she — she didn't understand. What - Shivering, faltering; something in her screamed.

She twisted in his grasp but it felt like a dream, a dream of struggling and shrieking and lashing out but all your cries are whispersoft and your blows fall too slow and featherlight, and gasping, and the fear is like drowning, and she didn't understand. Emotion would come later; the rage and shame and grief. But this moment, this, it was static in her ears and water in her lungs and screams that came out as desperate heaving breaths and nothing more.

Glass, shattering; it was so, so quiet.

you wish for your daughter to come home, sì?
a mud-caked talon, reaching, dragged across a pristine jawline. i saw her, you know, just the other day. a little girl. she looked just like you. it makes sense now, warm, warm breaths, a warm heart lodged deep in the chasm of chest — oh, how the chemicals flood him! she traveled eastward. He will guide you to her, but only if you listen close.
with a soft jerk, he pulls her gaze to the inkblack above; visible between the stalking limbs of the trees. He has sent me to you. do you see Him? do you hear His call, baby?

a soft, quivering croon. silence, for her, but in his ears is the swelling chorus of the angels.

i can help you if you will let me.

His voice, droning in her ears; she scarcely heard him but knew that he was lying, lying, liar, LIAR and she

couldn't breathe

touching her, he was touching her

Carlisle, his blue eyes; Brockleigh’s bell-chime laughter;

and somewhere in it her voice finally found her. No, Gut twisting, throat burning, and the stars flickered between the trees and no! NO! Snapping wildly, teeth clicking together, catching nothing but air. Whatever he heard was not for her. Static in her ears; shattering, shattering.

yelling, screaming; car alarms, a massive weight strikes his skull in a flash.
this was not worth the fight. he knew to choose his battles. speak of me, and no one will believe you.
she is freed from the press of his form in an instant, and soon enough, he is lost among the spires of shadows; not to return, not here, not ever again. she turns her cheek from god, and he can do nothing to save those who are blind; ignorant to their own desire for salvation.

He released her and she collapsed, heaving, retching into the dirt. And then he was gone. She was alone. Alone, and now the rage found her, and now she pressed her face into her paws and screamed and screamed until her throat was raw and the tears were turning cold on her face. Until exhaustion slammed into her, another sharp blow between her shoulders, and her shrieks broke into wild sobs and finally died into a staring silence.

The stars, flickering through the trees. It was so, so quiet.