Nokht felt wholly out of place here.
His leg wasn't all that much better, but it was wrapped, and that was more than he'd had a few days ago. Boy spent most nights whining in his sleep, if he wasn't jolted awake and corrected for such misdemeanours. Bags under his eyes as a result, he didn't get much real rest.
Cartel got their wish at least. Precious hostage couldn't run.
The wounds on his belly had turned to scabs, irritating, itchy, scabs. He adapted to the pain only because there was no other choice.
Maybe someday, when he grew up, this would all be a distant memory. For now it was real as the stone beneath his paws, stone of the prison, so detached from that of home. Colder. No sprawling vines or blooming flowers. No trickle of water from the heavens.
But he got sick of laying around, staring at the same corners, no siblings to entertain him. He'd gotten bedsores from waiting to heal, and there was much time to go yet. With every ounce of strength, he tried to balance without his shattered leg, pudgy limbs shaking, but determined. He made his way to the entrance, not to run, god not to run...
He just wanted some sunlight. Wanted to feel some warmth in place of all he was missing out on.
He hoped his brother and sisters were okay.
His leg wasn't all that much better, but it was wrapped, and that was more than he'd had a few days ago. Boy spent most nights whining in his sleep, if he wasn't jolted awake and corrected for such misdemeanours. Bags under his eyes as a result, he didn't get much real rest.
Cartel got their wish at least. Precious hostage couldn't run.
The wounds on his belly had turned to scabs, irritating, itchy, scabs. He adapted to the pain only because there was no other choice.
Maybe someday, when he grew up, this would all be a distant memory. For now it was real as the stone beneath his paws, stone of the prison, so detached from that of home. Colder. No sprawling vines or blooming flowers. No trickle of water from the heavens.
But he got sick of laying around, staring at the same corners, no siblings to entertain him. He'd gotten bedsores from waiting to heal, and there was much time to go yet. With every ounce of strength, he tried to balance without his shattered leg, pudgy limbs shaking, but determined. He made his way to the entrance, not to run, god not to run...
He just wanted some sunlight. Wanted to feel some warmth in place of all he was missing out on.
He hoped his brother and sisters were okay.
November 03, 2024, 01:04 PM
Among them is a boy, scarcely old enough to be pulled from mother’s breast and no nursing woman in sight. He watched and waited, often in horror. A leg all but splintered apart. If he was desert-bred he did not look it, with no reason to have ever heard of the cartel before.
The ocelote approaches, eyes tracing over the child, inhaling the fear that rolls off his little hide in thick scents.
“Hello,” he lowers his hips to the shale beside the boy. “¿Cómo te llamas?”
The ocelote approaches, eyes tracing over the child, inhaling the fear that rolls off his little hide in thick scents.
“Hello,” he lowers his hips to the shale beside the boy. “¿Cómo te llamas?”
agh curse my pms for not working
Scarce had he heard the only language he knew since he'd been dragged from place to place. But hell, he was starting to learn the meanings of some of these words, the simplest ones, matched with bodies that blocked doorways and snarls that threatened consequence.
Another approached; big and tall and covering him in shadow as he crept closer; something feline in the steps of this man, detached from the heavy step of the hound that had swallowed him up.
He backed away, reflexively. Wobbled on three legs.
Mismatched eyes beheld less fear than they had before; call it adaptation, habituation, whatever phenomenon. Now they only expected a response, sat in wait for a rough shove or the pierce of teeth into whatever part of him hadn't gotten it yet. Hawkish and tracking.
Another approached; big and tall and covering him in shadow as he crept closer; something feline in the steps of this man, detached from the heavy step of the hound that had swallowed him up.
He backed away, reflexively. Wobbled on three legs.
...Hello.. I'm sorry.. I'll go back in..
Mismatched eyes beheld less fear than they had before; call it adaptation, habituation, whatever phenomenon. Now they only expected a response, sat in wait for a rough shove or the pierce of teeth into whatever part of him hadn't gotten it yet. Hawkish and tracking.
November 06, 2024, 04:41 PM
“Come, child. Do not have fear of me. I am Ocho; a leader in these lands,” a powerful paw sweeps forward only to settle again on the grafts of igneous stone.
Harsh light glints off the boy’s face, accentuating the unusual two-toned eyes. Osiel leans sedately to one side.
“Do you have a name?”
Harsh light glints off the boy’s face, accentuating the unusual two-toned eyes. Osiel leans sedately to one side.
“Do you have a name?”
November 06, 2024, 09:06 PM
Ocho
This was the only name he knew, here in this land of savagery and monsters. Simple as they were, words, and not the sort that were dripping with imminent threat or mockery, offered him a small glimmer of hope; though he'd learned by now not to show such things.
Not to show, well, anything, really. Recipe for disaster.
The boy tried to adjust his leg comfortably, still bound in tight bandage and the pungeant scent of herb and sick skin. He looked up at the man, kept his voice quiet.
Still, he couldn't shake this feeling of unease that had haunted him since the day he'd been caught chasing beetles. Instinct.
If he was their leader, he too was unsafe.
This was the only name he knew, here in this land of savagery and monsters. Simple as they were, words, and not the sort that were dripping with imminent threat or mockery, offered him a small glimmer of hope; though he'd learned by now not to show such things.
Not to show, well, anything, really. Recipe for disaster.
The boy tried to adjust his leg comfortably, still bound in tight bandage and the pungeant scent of herb and sick skin. He looked up at the man, kept his voice quiet.
Nokh..t.
Still, he couldn't shake this feeling of unease that had haunted him since the day he'd been caught chasing beetles. Instinct.
If he was their leader, he too was unsafe.
November 06, 2024, 09:39 PM
“Where is your mother, Nokht?” The ocelote asks next, images turning over the coyote. She bore no resemblance to this kit, and it left the question of why he was here pulling in the mind. Was he merely a child of circumstance, another victim in the drug war? Or did Soto have a plan for this one?
His eyes draw from the anxious face to the splintered leg, mouth tensing. “Looks painful. We’ll have that cleaned up.”
His eyes draw from the anxious face to the splintered leg, mouth tensing. “Looks painful. We’ll have that cleaned up.”
November 06, 2024, 09:56 PM
Oh, mother.
It was all he could do to fight the tears that threatened to well up. He tried not to think too much of home. Tried not to remember it, hoped it would make it easier, being here, if he just forgot it all.
Like he could. It was like trying to carve out half your soul. Asenath. Osiris. Serket. Mama.
Long as he still thought of their names, he'd never be able to fully disappear into this hell.
He hadn't seen the death of the hound, already whisked away as cartel blood stained the sands. Already gone by the time the one who'd weaved his fate with Nokht's own. No. He still thought he was out there. Lingering in the shadows, come to get him again.
He'd try one more time. How much more could he really hurt?
It was all he could do to fight the tears that threatened to well up. He tried not to think too much of home. Tried not to remember it, hoped it would make it easier, being here, if he just forgot it all.
Like he could. It was like trying to carve out half your soul. Asenath. Osiris. Serket. Mama.
Long as he still thought of their names, he'd never be able to fully disappear into this hell.
...I...Don' know..He'd murmer, look away to hide the sensitivity that was oh so unwelcome in a place like this.
He took me.
He hadn't seen the death of the hound, already whisked away as cartel blood stained the sands. Already gone by the time the one who'd weaved his fate with Nokht's own. No. He still thought he was out there. Lingering in the shadows, come to get him again.
..Can you take me home?
He'd try one more time. How much more could he really hurt?
November 16, 2024, 01:55 PM
The sound of air over sand changes from gentle taps to forceful waves; the dust has come. No move is made to reach for the boy, but the ocelote shifts closer, a wall against the cut of dry wind.
Nokht is gentle, small– and malleable at so tender an age. Soto had given up on diplomacy in the south but here was a thread.
“Where is home, child?”
Nokht is gentle, small– and malleable at so tender an age. Soto had given up on diplomacy in the south but here was a thread.
“Where is home, child?”
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