Heron Lake Plateau [m] What's left for me and my broken heart if I cannot have you?

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Heavy lids snapped open to find light again, her nightmare vivid and lingering. The sharp, metallic scent of blood and death filled Reina’s nostrils as she roused, unaware to what had occurred as she slept. Her aching need for relief overpowered her curiosity, blue eyes searching around her for the pouch that contained her addiction.

It took short of a second for her gaze to land on the still, mangled body of Ruin before finding the body of @Tybault. It took a moment for her brain to register what her eyes were seeing, and as it did so, a blood curdling scream resounded from her lips as she hurled herself up and over to Ruin’s corpse. Throwing herself on top of him, her tears soaked into his still warm fur, mingling with the blood that still drew from his wounds. 

There were so many…injuries. Limbs torn and shredded, pieces of him scattered about the area like confetti. His face mauled in what looked to be as a result of one bone-crushing bite. Her rage bubbled as she saw red, her love, her life, destroyed once again by a Medeiros.

Reina lifted herself from Ruin to stalk toward the golden caped crusader, her body vibrating with pain and rage, her lips pulled back into a snarl. Reaching his side, she took a moment to watch him breath, his chest rising and falling as he laid there. 

Helpless. Just as she had been in the hands of Ruin. She suddenly found herself even more angry with the ruddy, gold hooded male, but not in the way she had felt before. No, this was because he had not found her much earlier than now. He had once promised Reverie to keep Reina safe, but he hadn’t done that. He failed her. Failed Reverie.

What did she care? Why would this matter? It shouldn’t…Reverie did not truly care for her well-being. It was just a ploy, an act. Reina was nothing more to any of them than a pawn. 

Tybault had killed the only thing that ever gave her what she craved. And, it would be his undoing.

She surged forward, reaching out a paw to press into the base of his throat, enough to cause mild trouble in breathing, but not enough to cut it off completely. Her head dropped down to his, her teeth dripping with saliva as she snarled, eyes wild and bloodshot with rage. “Wake up, you piece of shit, and give me one good reason why I shouldn’t finish you off. You killed my beloved—you deserve the same!”

So, he'd died and gone to hell.

Or something like that. Tybault opened one eye, the other swollen shut and crusted with blood, and regarded Reina tiredly. He supposed a bit of gratitude would have been too much to ask for.

A quick death, then, would have been his next preference — but he found that he couldn't draw a breath to ask for it. So instead Tybault laid there like a piece of shit. Seriously, what else did she expect him to do?

He didn’t fight her this time. 

Why didn’t he fight her?!

“You’re just going to lie there? Give up? What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Fight me like you always do, you stubborn, fucking asshole of a man!” She raged, trembling above him, tears forming in her eyes. Confusion had settled in her bones—what was she really trying to get at here?

She pulled from him then, suddenly reeling. She grew dizzy, nauseous; a pain so deep in her muscles brought her to the ground. This had been the longest she had gone without the seeds and she was feeling the withdrawals. All contents within her stomach left her, her body convulsing with the force of it. As soon as it had come, it stopped, creams paws reaching to wipe what remained on her lips.

The broken woman found the equally broken—if only physical—man, again.

“Why are you even here?” Her words laced with tired venom while she sought out her pouch of seeds.

Fight me.

He could only laugh at that, a ragged gasping sound when she finally released his throat. Can't a guy die in peace? But there would be no peace for him, perhaps not even in death. Tybault closed his eyes.

There was no energy left in him to speak. But if he could have, he would have told Reina that he didn't know why he was here. That he should have stayed home, that she was nothing to him, that he'd come only because Reverie had asked and even that had been a mistake. It was easier than the truth.

Consciousness slipped away from him once again. It would not return for several days.

She missed the gasp of laughter, but if she hadn’t, it would surely have been her—or his—undoing. It would have bean easy to whirl on him, to put everything broken in her right through him. 

But, she found herself not wanting to be alone, even if it was the male she never liked. He reminded her of home, and even though home did not want her, she missed it. Missed her.

Hated her all the same.

She huffed in the silence that followed her as she searched for her pouch, the withdrawal rearing its head again, nausea bubbling in her throat. The dizziness caused her to wobble, her steps unsteady as she returned to the male, unknowingly chewing on less seeds than normal.

He was unconscious, apparently succumbing to the injuries he’d sustained in his fight to save her. She should have thanked him instead of threatening him, she knew, for what he did was nothing short of heroic, and she should be groveling at his feet.

But—she just…couldn’t; at least not with words.

She would thank him by spending the days he remained unconscious tending to him, caring for his wounds in the ways imparted to her by Kukutux, talking to him, and spilling the reasons for what brought her outside their borders and why she was now someone wholly different than the woman he had once known.

She didn’t care what he knew—if he even wanted to know—nor did she care how he felt about it all. Would he have even heard any of it, anyway?

And, coinciding with his healing, would be her own. The amount of seeds ingested would lessen, the dependence would loosen its grip. The nightmares would ease.

The dislike would turn into something different and very, very unexpected.