Emberwood we don't need a rat

@Dagur <3

"marston."
early morning, snow falling, colder than a witch's kiss. perfect environment for the boy to understand killin'.
colt briggs switched his chewing-bark to his other cheek, spat, and gestured toward the ground where coyote shit lay in a still-warm pile. "yew know what a yote is, kid?"

Marston.

He had come to learn quick that that sound was for him. Although it was not as if he was ever very far from The Big Man.

Without a second thought, he took a whiff. Face screwed up for a moment.

Granted all he had to offer was a blank stare, the show of his lack of familiarity.

"rats. rats with paws." colt moved beyond the dung, eastward into the forest. "gotta cut em out an' cut em up quick, before they get the idea they're welcome guests."
he looked at marston with a snort. "not lonesome dove, though, if she ever gits back. yew leave her alone."
he moved off at a stalking pace, not the one used for deer or rabbits but the gait of a man who meant to slit throats.

Marston learned rules as he went.

Whatever disclaimer he had been given was in one ear, out the other. Just as quick as The Big Man had told him it.

Although he had noted the posture was different this time. The Big Man did not seem to be hunting, he seemed to be up to something else.

Regardless, Marston would be quick to adjust his own gait and trail the man. A keen eye looking out and a nose sniffing for a matching scent.

marston followed easily. colt noted how the boy's posture changed to mirror his own. good thing he'd come to the gang, briggs reckoned. they could use his skills.
he crouched over disturbed earth and clutches of fur. "they had a disagreement, see here, boy?" coyotes, fighting over something dead.
"one went south. the other east." he straightened and looked at the boy. "yew pick, kid." one dead yote would be enough to warn the others.

It looked like he listened.

In a way he did. Slowly but surely he'd learn key words. Things that Colt repeated to him in lessons, tones when spoken.

The Big Man would bless him with a sharp mind in no time.

Marston snorted softly over a trail. Then turn his attention south, a throaty snort. A sound he would begin to mimic from The Big Man.

south it was. he let the kid take the lead, following doggedly and lifting his head to scan the horizon every few seconds.
marston sounded like him a moment. colt took a look at the boy and then pointed with a hard paw toward fresh blood in the snow.

Blood.

Blood was good. It meant they ate, they feasted, they kept home. A heavier snort escaped him this time and his pace picked up.

A sharper angle about his body posture now.

He was too young to do this on his own, but The Big Man was there. The Big Man would be his guiding hand.

yes, colt was there all right.
marston was clay. and briggs wasn't no potter, but he knew how to set fire to something when it was necessary.
a coyote had lain here, wounded.
he slunk off in that killer's step. not far now. he motioned the kid ahead once more.

A go.

His pace picked up to near a run. The snow softened the sound of his steps and the smaller frame he still carried in youth helped plenty too.

When the sight of that injured coyote came into view, Marston wanted to be quick.

If not stopped, he planned to damn near dive bomb the beast. High were his hopes of grabbing the skin on its back, thin and protective of all the good spots to injure.

little killer.
marston grabbed for the thing. colt snapped for it too, pinning it in place with a bone-breaking clamp of his jaws to one ankle.
go ahead, little murderer.
this was the way of things. marston must learn to take life if he was to keep his.

And killing was the thing that filled his belly.

Kept him warm, kept him full, kept him alive.

He trashed with a child like ferocity. As if the coyote had suddenly become his treasured toy and a lot less like an actual living thing.

It screamed and tried to free itself, he ripped back against its own force.

The beast wouldn't go down without a fight.

colt circled and let marston handle the tooth-side. when the coyote put up too much of a battle, he sauntered in to fetch it a blow.
but he ain't stunned it. and he ain't wounded it.
that was the boy's charge. if he come out of it with bite marks and scars, all the better.
colt waited for the death.

so sorry for the wait, fade? <3

It cut teeth along his shoulders and leg. Some deeper than others, but the boy only found heightened adrenaline with each snap of teeth on his flesh.

He thrashed with its scruff, grappling down harder when it felt it might free itself.

Marston's only saving grace was it already being injured, already worn down by a fighter maybe better than the boy. He missed a nape when the thing had become jarred by a blow from The Big Man.

Teeth met a jugular and the rest was history, marked down in the increasingly violent story of Marston.

ur amazing & good! yes fade <3

the end was bloody. marston put the cur down but not without effort.
blood sprayed. colt laughed coldly.
"kill im, marston!"
violence was his lot. it would be that of the boy also.