Dragoncrest Cliffs Alligatorfish

Swordfish had not slept well in many nights.

The herbs that were offered had made his mind heavy, foggy, and slow to respond. When he was not fighting the nightmares of the Shardik’s dark eyes, he was gazing at the wall in the roja den. Sometimes he could hear visitors stop in to see Quennell or to check on him. He pretended that he was asleep so that he did not have to speak to them. The young man’s only concern was his friend… who had been frighteningly quiet since they had returned to their home.

Jumping awake, Swordfish grunted in pain. He felt the familiar stab of his wounds on his ribs. The redtailed boy lifted his head to look at the gash marks. They had been treated somewhat recently. He could smell the herbal fragrances that wafted from the red marks in his flesh.

@Quennell? he drawled tiredly.

the world was dark.

quennell had listened to many murmuring voices on rotating shifts, but at this hour it seemed that all of them rested. except him.

gripped by that hot, horrible shame.

it came strongest in the dark hours, when no one could humor his pain or mask the scent of the herbs slathered upon them. when he stared upon the slumbering form of swordfish so long that his mind played tricks on him.

he thought of them bleeding in the snow.

nearly bit his own tongue off when the other pop startled awake, asking after him.

shhh, he encouraged a calmness softly. right 'ere.

he allowed his head to roll and rest upon the haunch of his friend.

brother, perhaps.

The familiar touch of his friend was a relief.

Quennell was alright – he was there, with Swordfish. The young seafarer breathed a sigh through his nose. He allowed his eyes to close but he remained awake and listening to the breathing of the red-naped pirate at his haunch. Their excursion into the jaws of death had only just started to feel real. The redtail had existed in a strange dreamlike state since their arrival in Sapphique.

Yer alright, Quen? How’s yer ass?

Swordfish did not smile. He had hoped that the question might come off as teasing, joking. In the deadpan drawl of the young wolf, it only sounded sad. In that moment, he wished that he could do a better job to cheer his friend up.

dun be askin'.

a soft tsk of his tongue against his teeth.

yer awake. how're you?

still he grappled with his shame, this close to swordfish. the way he had to look over the boy's injuries to see his face in the soft light of the den. dark and starry.

he wished they had never gone.

He didn’t get yer butthole did he?

Another pathetic attempt at humor. This time, Swordfish huffed a winded laugh through his nose. It sucked the energy from his body. The redtail breathed deeply to steady himself again. Having someone to talk to was helping to keep his eyes from carrying him back into fitful sleep. He didn’t want to dream of that monster anymore.

I dunno what they’re givin to us, but-

Swordfish grunted as he made an attempt to point his snout toward Quennell.

It’s got me in dreamland.

The boy’s eyes were heavy-lidded on a normal day. With his brain addled by drugs and exhaustion, he looked as though he could scarcely keep them open. Swordfish held his head up for as long as he could manage before letting it fall back to the floor with a sniff.

he grimaced.

it should have been a smile, but his face seemed to refuse it. a subconscious mind commanded his body in ugly ways, it seemed.

it got me everywhere.

brotherhood for the situation, agreement for the strength of their prescriptions.

i dun recall 'alf da conversation i be havin' wit' visitors.

he felt certain his share of stupid things has been said during this recovery. but —

yer dreams?

Swordfish remained quiet for a long time after Quennell answered his jokes. The other boy’s tone was grave, worn. It did not feel good to hear him speak that way. The redtail began to curse the bear for what it had done to them, for what it had destroyed. He felt anger rise to the back of his throat, hot like a flame.

When Quennell asked him about his dreams, Swordfish inhaled.

They’re real nice, he lied.

All he could see were the fathomless dark eyes of the Shardik. The image of their blood stained in the snow was imprinted in his mind. He did not know that he would ever look at the plush white of winter the same way. It had been tainted.

Dreamin’ of the waves. An’ the feel of the sun just before it gets real big in the sky, ya know?

he believed it.

even if only to tell himself that swordfish had peace somewhere. quennell only recalled fragments of his own dreams, and they were a horror show at best. there was no radiant sun in his dreams, only shattering cold. only their blood in the snow and the smell of the beast's breath, hot against his flesh.

he could believe, for these moments, that swordfish found peace beyond this den. in a world of his mind.

yah. he mumbled softly.

silence pierced his heart.

he wanted to say sorry, he wanted to mend the boy he laid upon.

are ya swimmin'? in de dreams.

Aye, he rumbled in answer.

An’ the water’s real warm.

Swordfish could feel tears stinging in the backs of his eyes. He fought them away, wouldn’t allow them to spill over. Internally, he reprimanded himself for having slipped. This was meant to brighten Quen’s mood. The redtailed boy did not need to bring back memories of the horror they had lived. He wanted to forget it. Swordfish wished they could go back to how things were before-

Ya think yer gonna look cute without yer butt? he asked absently.

The young man wondered if the ladies would find that charming. He could only imagine, coupled with Quennell’s chipper personality – he would bounce back without any trouble.

and the water was warm.

his eyes stung as he recalled all the cold they had felt lately. the snow had been endless out here and now the sea breeze was cold and biting. harsh against sounds.

quen laughed, but it was a dry, sad sound. hardly the radiance of the boy from before.

mebbe. make me a looker, no? unique. the word was clumsily strained across his tongue.

Swordfish chuckled but it was a tired and worn sound.

Yer gonna have to fight ‘em off, Quen.

It was nice to imagine it. It was nice to imagine anything other than the evil creature that had put them there. If he’d been any sharper, the redtail would have told the other boy that he was already unique. He didn’t need to get his rear end chewed off to confirm it, either. Part of him wondered if the other boy’s bits and pieces had been gobbled, as well. It might have something to do with his shift in tone, in personality. While Swordfish was not the life of the party, by any means… this was not the same Quennell.

We’ve had a lotta visitors, he mumbled. Swordfish thought of his family and of Quennell’s family. They were fortunate to have them, he thought without means to express it.