[m] Ez nem a székhely szerinti

Foxglove Monroe · 01-23-2012, 12:40 PM

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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It contains references to fighting, death, and gore. Reader discretion is advised.

1,165 words

The sky above her was dark with clouds, a heavy rumbling filling the air ominously. There was a chill she had not expected, though it was winter. The cold penetrated to the bone, sending constant shivers down her spine as she pressed herself against the wooden wall, feeling her pulse in her throat. There was blood around her, the metallic scent sickening her, bile rising in her throat. She looked around her at the bodies, at the destruction, and she wished so desperately that she had a way to untie herself. The frayed rope bit into the delicate skin of her petite wrists. Dry sobs wracked her body as she slumped against the wooden wall now, all the fight taken out of her now. The guards had gone to find Maska and surely she would be punished, but that was not what was tormenting her now.

It was with a heavy heart that she forced herself to look upon the bodies of her would-be rescuers. Foxglove cried out in anguish, the sound echoing in the cabin. She was alone with the bodies, though she did not know what had happened to Anu and the other prisoners. Vaguely she was aware of the fact that they were supposed to be there, but they were not and it was not the first thing in her mind. There was only the cabin around her, the heavy smell of bloodshed and horror, and the bodies. There were so many. It had been an ambush, but not in the way it had been planned. The tribesmen had been lying in wait, expecting the attack from Crimson Dreams, but it had not been the Dreamers. It had been the kingdom, her family by blood, and they had died for her. All of them had died, more than just family.

She forced herself to look, knowing that it was her fault that they were all dead. Her gaze first landed on the body of her father, fallen before her in a pool of crimson liquid. He had tried to free her, so focused on the ropes binding her that he had been taken from behind in a rapid motion. Foxglove had hardly had time to process what had happened before it was over, the scream escaping her mouth as her father’s last breath was forced out by the guardian. Magnolia did not know, and she would never know if Foxglove was killed by Maska for the crime of being a hybrid, her blood her biggest downfall. More than anything she wished she could contact Magnolia, but she knew that was not possible. Szellem might have carried a message for her, but Foxglove had not seen him since before the kingdom wolves had infiltrated the cabin. Was her bird spirit friend gone forever?

Jade eyes rested next on the large body of the fallen King, her mother’s uncle that she had never known more than in passing. Despite this, Vigilante had come with the intention of rescuing her, leaving his own family behind so that he could save someone whose blood was so close to his own but that he hardly knew. Lolita had never cared much for him, but now Foxglove could not even remember why. The dog mutt had thrown away everything to rescue her, and for nothing. He had never expected to be killed on the spot, dead before he could even howl mournfully for the children and the mate he was leaving behind in this life. Foxglove inhaled shakily, forcing herself to continue surveying the bodies. There were just so many.

Locked in a lovers’ embrace even in death were two she did not know, a male who had also tried to free her with a heavy accent and the woman who had rode in faithfully with him. The blonde wolfdog did not know either of them, and yet they had died for her. The same, too, could be said of the burnt orange and white male, adorned in armor and smelling heavily of a family, as well. None of these canines had known her, but all three had died for the sin of her blood at the hands of the tribesmen and guardians. They had only managed to take out the first guard, the orange male running him through with his sword only moments before the rest of the tribe had come in and the bloodshed had commenced. No matter how hard she tried, she could see nothing but red all around her, suffocating her, blinding her.

She heard the door to the open creak open and pressed herself closer to the wall, but it was not Maska who came to her now, as she had expected. He would have to punish her, surely, for her father and great-uncle attempting to rescue her. It was not Dawali, whose betrayal hurt more than anything. It was not the guard who had kept watch over her. It was only when she felt the rough hands on her that she opened her eyes, flinching when she saw the fist headed for the delicate features of her face. Foxglove did not care about the physical; it was the pain she feared. She looked into the eyes of the guard who had first taken her prisoner here, the one who had brought her here forcibly and against her will immediately after the meeting that was held to announce the betrayal of Nayati, Liliana, and Sunki Utina to the tribe when they had taken their children away from the tribe. Foxglove wished Liliana had taken her, too.

“P-please… Don’t hurt me, don’t kill me, I didn’t m-mean… For this to happen,” the gypsy hybrid stammered, eyes locked on the gaze of her tormenter. She did not know what it was that she was apologizing for; was it her blood? But that was not her fault, her heritage was determined long before she had been born. Still, that did not stop the tribesmen from holding it against her, and so she expected once more to be punished. Her fear did not allow her to look away from the guard who had made her a prisoner, and for a moment, she felt as if the world had stilled. He said nothing to her, did not react to her desperate pleading.

It seemed, for a moment, that she would be saved. He still did not speak, but he did not strike her again, and she thought that perhaps she had gotten through to him. It was then that she saw the glint of metal, the sharp edge of the small blade he held in one hand. Before the knife could pierce the delicate flesh of her throat, the Tsula Agateno screamed, a sharp cry of devastation for all she had lost that night and for what she would lose. Her life flashed before her with the scream echoing all around her, the glint of the metal indistinguishable from the gleam of his teeth in his wicked smile.

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Foxglove Monroe · 01-25-2012, 12:44 PM

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1,503 words

The scream that tore through her pale lips with a sharp pang followed her from the world of the sleeping to the conscious life, waking her from her disturbed slumber with a start. Foxglove sat up rapidly, clutching her knees to her chest and hugging them there tightly as if she might fall apart if she did not hold herself together physically. She could see the moonlight streaming into her hut and she knew that Szellem was watching her, but she did not speak to him. It was enough of a comfort to know that he was still there with her to guide her. The nightmare had frightened her, drowning her in a sea of blood in her sleep and bringing her to fear for her bird spirit.

The image of the mutilated bodies of her father, the Miracles King, and the other rescuers was burned into the back of her eyelids. No matter how tightly she squeezed her eyes closed, she could not force the images away. She could still smell the rich iron of the blood as it spattered the cabin, red staining her once wistful vision. There were horrors in her dream that she had never seen, but they had been a reality, a possibility for those that had risked everything to save her. If things had not gone the way they had… Foxglove knew that her dream predicted what could have been. She would have been responsible for the deaths of so many. There had been so much bloodshed caused by the war, and she was no longer able to pretend it did not exist.

She turned, wretched, feeling the tightening and the spasming of her abdominal muscles. The young scout did not have anything to bring back up, having gone a few days without eating, but the pain of it was real and she could taste the acidic bile as it rose into the back of her throat. Her vision swam and she swayed feeling herself become light headed. The gypsy hybrid took a deep, calming breath, trying to will the room to stop spinning. All she could see was the cabin she had been locked away in and the bodies of her father and the others who had rescued her. Nothing bad had happened to them then, but she could not push away the images.

It was too much for her to handle. She pushed herself roughly off the cot, refusing to allow herself even just a minute to steady herself, a heavy blackness coating her vision because of how fast she stood. Szellem fluttered above her head, making small, soothing bird noises. He worried greatly for his charge, feeling that her spirit had been tarnished irreparably by the war and her time as a prisoner. The three small kittens she had adopted in Halifax were mewling loudly, crying for attention and perhaps food, or maybe out of fear of the crazed manner in which the hybrid canine was behaving. Jade eyes turned to look at the small bodies briefly, but Foxglove moved on quickly, lighting the candle she kept in her hut so she could see what she was doing.

First she gathered all of her clothing, her dresses and skirts and scarves. It was not a neat bundle, but rather a bunched up mess of cloth in a variety of different colors. Some of the scarves she draped over her neck, but the rest were forced into an old, faded cloth bag. Next came the bits of jewelry she had and the small collection of things she owned, though nothing special to her. On top of these items, she placed the two daggers she had found in Halifax, one for herself and one for her sister. Now she knew what she was doing.

Foxglove placed that bag by the entrance of her hut after ensuring that it was closed as tightly as it could be, and then she found her other bag, made of softer, more insulated leather. Pulling the blanket off her cot, she arranged it inside the bag and then she turned to the small kittens that she had rescued. There was no reason to leave them behind, after all, so she picked them up one by one and placed them in the second bag where they would not only be kept safe, but they would be kept warm. Travelling on horseback in winter at the speed she intended to go would not be safe for them unless she made the effort to keep them warm. She did not want to lose them.

When she had finished packing, she surveyed her now empty hut. It had been bare before, as she had never truly settled in the way she would have if this were to be her home. She had intended to stay here, but now it was not a possibility. This was simply not somewhere that she felt she could stay for any longer than she already had, and truly, she wondered why she had not left already after the injustices she had been forced to endure throughout Maska’s tyranny and Dawali’s betrayal. Though she liked the new councilwoman just fine, she couldn’t stay. It was just not the place she wanted to be anymore, and with Liliana gone, she had not reason to stay.

It had been easy for her to go about the small hut and pack her things, to gather everything that she owned into her bags and to prepare herself to leave. It was even easier, still, to think of the future, when the tribe would be left behind her. The difficult part came when she turned her face up to study the bird spirit that was still fluttering above her. She lifted her hands, cupping them so that he could land in them, and then lowered him so that they were face to face, canine and bird spirit. Perhaps this was why she had not left the tribe yet; she had been unwilling to leave Szellem behind. Now, she still loathed the idea, but she simply could not stay any longer.

“I must go now,” she said softly, sadly.

“I know,” the bird spirit replied. Small, dark eyes were filled with emotion in ways that Foxglove had never witnessed before, and it made her wish she could change her mind.

“I am sorry,” came the quiet voice again, her tones wispy, her throat raw with emotion.

“Do not be, for I will come,” the bird replied.

The answer startled her, for she had not expected him to leave the tribe with her. Rather, she had expected him to fade from existence, to find another soul to guide in the ways of the tribe. The hybrid smiled softly, looking with adoration at the spirit she held in her cupped hands. It had not been the expected response, but it was not unwelcome. “I thought you would stay here,” she said, feeling the emotion swell in her chest. She had been so afraid of losing him, and now that she had accepted that she would and had been proven wrong, it was almost too much to handle.

“I have no wish to leave you,” the spirit said soothingly, “and you did not ask it of me. For that, I will come with you and will continue to guide you. As a friend,” he clarified, for they would no longer live in the tribe and so he could not consider himself a proper spirit guide of AniWaya. Still, he did not wish to leave the gypsy girl. He was fond of her, and her him. “Come. Let us go to Valeria and gather her. It is still dark and we can be well on our way by the time the rest of the tribe wakes.” Foxglove nodded, knowing this to be the best course of action. She did not want to have to explain to anyone why she was leaving or where she was going, and she doubted that they would much care, anyway. She had no place in this tribe now.

Releasing the spirit from her shaking hands, Foxglove moved forward, blowing out the burned wick of the candle before she picked up her two bags, being careful not to jostle the leather bag too much for fear of hurting her feline friends. The walk to the stables was not long, but she was nervous, jumping at every miniscule sound. It was not as if she were committing a crime, but then, the Utinas had been persecuted for leaving for their own safety. She was quiet as she took Valeria out of her stall and climbed atop the horse, making no noise as she secured her bags and kicked her heels, urging the horse onward.

As they passed over the borders for what she assumed would be the last time, the Monroe hybrid did not look back. Instead, she looked forward, thinking of what the future would hold for her now that she was away from the tribe’s clutches.

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