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WARNING This thread contains: graphic violence, or extremely offensive material (gore) starting with the 1st post. Reader discretion is advised. |
A howl of anguish pealed through Anathema, echoing down the winding hallways that formed the vein like construct that was the pack's earthen home. The cry was followed by another and another; high pitched and horrible, horrified, pain riddled. The ghastly shrieks were the primordial language of the wolf, spoken by a frightened, injured pup that could do nothing else but wail.
There, in the gut of Anathema, within the large hollow that was the kitchen, Scorpius crawled away from the unattended cooking fire. Nothing was real, everything moved slowly, it was all so hazy. He couldn't think clearly, the pain was searing, muddling his vision and deafening his ears. Though only part of him was burned it felt like he was still on fire, and suddenly in a panic the pup plunged himself to the ground and began rolling back and forth on the stone, trying to rid the rest of the fire from his pelt.
But the fire was already gone, it was only the pain that lingered, and Scorpius didn't know that he was only doing more damage to his blistered skin now. It was getting worse! It wouldn't stop, it wouldn't go away! Where was mother? Where did Harlowe go? Why wasn't anyone coming? He cried louder, his own screams hardly registering through the agony.
He didn't know what could fix it. He didn't know what could undo the fire's stinging touch. As he rolled, he caught a glimpse of the fire that burned in the center of the room, enraged and burning brighter now after his body had disturbed the wood that fueled it. His eyes went wide when he saw it, and a pang of fear struck his heart. It was coming for him! It was after him! He tried to make his paws work, to leap up and run away from the fire, but he was too confused. His paws would not get under him, he could not puzzle out the right combination of limbs and muscles to get back to his feet, to run off and find his mother. So he worked his legs against the ground, twisting and writing on his side still, wriggling across the kitchen floor and away from the monster that would surely swallow him whole.
The fire wasn't really spreading, like Scorpius imagined. It flared when Scorpius plunged in but was already calming. Little embers had been kicked from the base of the flames and now small bits of wooden chunks dotted the ground, glowing red and taunting the pup. The normally obedient smoke dodged the ventilation shaft above and made a haze about the ceiling of the room, a sickeningly sweet smell hung in the air and began to roam the corridors; as if his screeching wasn't enough, the scent of charred flesh would let all know that someone had just been hurt.
He wailed again, a cry to rival a banshee, and managed to roll onto his stomach. Something bit his forepaw and he knew the gremlin fires were coming for him, starting with his paws, they would soon have his body. He had to stop it but he couldn't! The pain, his face was so hot! The boy twisted, pressing his burned face into the stone floor beneath him and grinding hard. The fire must still be on him, that is why it still felt like this, and he had to stamp it out.
Blood streaked the ground beneath his torched face...