Hand Of Sorrow

Frodo Silvertongue · 12-16-2011, 10:04 AM

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Word Count ::349 I don't think there's need to put mature on this seeing as he's not actually saying the swear word...but I dunno xD Backdated to december the twelfth, quite late at night.

Frodo was in shock.

He was a mess, dripping blood and squinting through wet eyes. He was beyond embarrassed. He’d stopped feeling sorry for himself a long time ago, stopped caring whether anyone saw him or not. The lady was by his side. He knew her. He did. But his brain was all jumbled so he couldn’t even remember who she was and she he knew her. But she’d taken him, the bloody mess of himself, most probably to safely. The short optime male had his tail quivering between his legs and his ears pinned flat against his skull. He hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on. All he could remember, and feel in the present, was the searing pain that ran through his body. Wait.. he croaked to X’yrin. Frodo flopped down on the floor, hugging his legs into himself, rocking back and forth on the spot. His eyes were empty and his face continued to wince every second or so. Effin inferni! he shouted. Effin effin effin inferni! Cuss you. he cussed, knotting his lean fingers into tight little fists.

Mr Silvertongue took a moment to regain his hard drawn breaths and then clutched his chest, looking very unhappy. Then he looked up. And remembered who the lady was. X’yrin… he spoke softly, thinking fondly of her. She’d rescued him with Jace when he first came back, and now she had rescued him again. A hot flush leaked through his face and his intense eyes widened as he hid his face in his knobbly knees, narrow shoulder hunching inwards. What would she think of him? Some snivelling, pitiful creature she felt sorry for more than likely. The man scowled. We gotta stop meetin’ like this… where we goin’, lady of the lamp? he managed to pull himself upwards and then wobbled, limping a little, swaying from side to side. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady himself and then took it away again. Sorry. he muttered sheepishly, angry at needing help. Angry at himself for…well, everything.

Image courtesy of Scott Hudson **; Table by the Mentors!

X'yrin Exultare · 12-16-2011, 05:31 PM

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A world drenched in red...of demon skulls overflowing with glistening streams of the finest red trickling from gaping maws spanned in horror. What was kept within the mind's eyes were these and the expectations of a future shattered by lusting fangs seeking only blood. And blood… the very essence despised by the merciful eyes of the golden Nomad. A precious essential wasted due to misunderstanding and blind rage. Blame was a fickle thing to place, for whose fault was it really? In the grand scheme, had they not all played a part in this? Even the victim himself for treading unprepared into the unmerciful teeth that lined the coyote’s den. It had become painful to even think about; that fangs belonging to her pupil were among them, nestled comfortably… ready and willing to become useful. But to what extent?

A grave disappointment settled upon her shoulders, dragging down both broad back and step as she trudged along with the wounded in tow. She had offered her back as support as the devastated male hobbled on mentally and emotionally torn. To see him like this… to see any for that matter this broken turned her nose away and kept her eyes on the familiar windings of the path ahead. She could not look at him because in part she felt she had caused him this pain. Association was both a blessed thing as well as a curse that damned any unfortunate. The Nomad had never believed she would experience such damnation.

As his feeble body dropped down to the ground, she turned to look at him at last, eyes dulled with indifference, her face growing empty as she peered at his pitiful state. It pained her to look at him, but she did none the less, watching as he wound around himself holding onto what solidity his form could give without further damaging himself. She saw in him not a broken man, but a pup forcibly thrust into one of life’s cruelest lessons; that not all that bore faces were friendly, and he had experienced the pain of unbiased hostility not for force submission but genuine pain upon him; just because they could. Wearily, she smiled as he addressed her and turned her broad shoulder toward him to offer her support. The larger of her four-legged forms became a support for him to muster and develop his strength upon til he was able to walk on his own and be lead toward the she-wolf’s den.

The golden beast kept to the outskirts of the territory straying not too far from where her den and company resided, but kept the distance should they be found by the inquisitive eye. She hadn’t the will nor patience to explain this outcome and felt better in dousing the possible conversation all together. She lead the two of them beneath an uprooted tree using its naked roots as a shelter. Silently she turned her muzzle to her wounded companion and woofed softly for him to sit.

ooc: 500 words.

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Frodo Silvertongue · 12-16-2011, 06:56 PM

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Word Count ::885 your writing is just beautiful!! <33 *cries*

Gingerly he trudged on, an aching in his heart that even so held its very own mustering strength. For within the walls of pain that was his body there was a distant feeling, an urge to prove himself and to keep on going. He refused to be shown up like that again. Refused to. The young man had seen much of pain in his second year, and now it was nearing to his birthday he felt as if it had been a whole year wasted. Not completely wasted; for sure he had made a couple of good choices in his life. But despite that, he’d made very many bad. For the first time in his life, his thoughts were flooding on the negative side of things instead of the positive. Frodo had always been a cup-half-full kinda guy but this had turned to be quite the opposite. He’d spent all his childhood hours pretending, pretending he was off somewhere else, on an adventure of some sort. Whether it was fighting as a heroic knight or playing the villain, the alternate universe seemed better to his reality. And how he wished he could go back there now. How he wished the tables could have turned in his favour. Sure, Frodo liked his life in AniWaya, but the man was beyond lonely. He longed for his family again; siblings, mother…father. Yes, even his father who had been so cruel to him on his last days there. It was just the anger though. Surely his father still loved him.

The man blatantly refused to be helped further by X’yrin. He was a man now. A man. Not a snivelling little child, not someone to be looked after. All though he did need looking after at this moment, however stubborn he was to believe it. Hunched over and defeated, he skulled after X’yrin, mimicking the pace of a blind mouse. His lopes were feeble and his limbs were like lead, picking them up one after the other felt harder than it had ever done before. The old wounds on his back had been reopened. Where he’d been whipped as a cabin-boy, back on the days where he’d worked on the ships, Frodo had been struck repeatedly on the back if he put so much as a wobbly foot out of place. The long, gaunt strips of pink on his back had only just started to heal, and now it seemed they’d never heal. Frodo was almost certain there’d be scars there. How embarrassing. How terrible it would for him to have to carry the scars for the rest of his life.

The wolf repeatedly cursed himself over and over again, calling himself the foulest things under the earth. Frodo had always seemed a fair man of little anger, his temper held safely within the soft caverns of his gentle mind, but now all this built up collection of extremities was splitting out of his maw easily. Like an earthquake waiting to happen for years. After finishing his cursing of himself, he went on to curse Inferni, and then the pirates, and eventually his parents. He had loved his mother but she’d been too weak, to mild, too meek to stand up to his father as Frodo was cast out. Even though it was his father that had gave the order, he still blamed his mother equally as much for the life it had cost him. It was because of them he’d had to start afresh, in this terrifying new world where he was the stranger and they were the inhabitants. Being beat up back there had been the last straw, and the short male would be changed forever. Perhaps it was a good thing he’d been kicked and beaten out until every bit of strength faded away, because there was thing for sure; he’d learnt a great deal from the experience.

When he finally fell silent, Frodo felt better. Empty now of feeling, he was just numb as she gestured for him to lie beneath the roots. He sat in the corner of the sloped pit, hunching against the wall, his face fair like a child’s but foul at the same time. I will repay you for taking me from hell, when I can. his voice had more meaning than usual, but it was filled with spite, so the lack of accent and the more matured tone meant nothing. It was emotionless when usually it was lit up with colour and melody. Grating his fingers through the earth, Frodo wondered about Makhesthai. The poor little kid. Dead. The man spat, his intense green eyes fading a grim sort of grey. Everything good in this world had to be taken. His emotions and pain dulled for the time being, the man slowed down his breathing by thrusting both hands against his chest and telling himself to be calm. Once a fluent and avid talker his tongue now felt obese and heavy in his mouth, and he found himself lost for words. Staring up at X’yrin, his saviour two times round, Frodo contorted his face into a makeshift smile that only turned into a grimace. Usually smiling came so easily to him. Frodo was not himself.

Image courtesy of Scott Hudson **; Table by the Mentors!

X'yrin Exultare · 12-16-2011, 07:42 PM

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Comforting silence emanating from the surrounding woods, shrouding the pair in a calm that deepened as the distant sun continued its decline and slipped away beneath the barren canopy. The loss of radiant light, having burned the brightest only for an instant in defiance of its pull toward the earth, brought on the chill of night. The creatures that once stirred so alive and purposeful fell quiet to the haunting breath as it wisped through the trees whispering mournfully to the loss of day. But in this darkness birthed hope for light. The cycle of death and rebirth would flow seamlessly, continuously. What transpired in the day would fall away to memory in the night and once the resurrecting glow of the sun cast loving upon the land, a new life would be birthed, and with it a new opportunity. And for the possibility of what may come, the Nomad could smile fondly despite the witnessed transgressions of her friend. For the morrow offered a chance of understanding… of healing, for all those involved and not just the broken male sitting silently beside her.

To him, she turned her gaze, foregoing the sight of the emerging stars within their endless sea of velvet night. The stench of blood had gone stale but apparent and the cloud of self-loathing encompassing his form nearly kept her at bay. But for the sake of healing she crossed the suffocating threshold holding what breath her exhausted lungs could muster. “You will get infected if you are not treated,” the she-wolf explained quietly, already coming to settle on her belly beside her rescue and gently nudged him to unfurl with a heavy, albeit determined paw. “Allow yourself to rest while your wounds are cleaned,” she instructed. “Unless you want to rot and make a winter meal for the scavengers.” To this, the woman smiled softly, hoping a little jest would ease the young male’s discomfort. “It will not hurt.”

ooc: 324 words. *o.o* thank you. I enjoy yours as well. Tis very deep when he's having an emotional breakthrough.

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Frodo Silvertongue · 12-17-2011, 09:26 AM

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He flinched away at the lady, at her words, despite him knowing her to be right. He didn’t want any more help, but in truth, in the pit of his stomach he knew he needed it. It was essential. Perhaps he wasn’t a man after all, like he’d thought he was. Not yet, anyway. For now he was just a boy. He made a mental note to try and act more mature, try and act his age. He would learn to defend himself. Nothing like this would ever happen again, he swore it in his heart. I know. he said coldly, looking to the wall and refusing to meet her eye. He faced silence for what seemed like hours but was actually a couple of seconds, before finding the strength to speak again. I know. I d-don’t care. he scowled as he stumbled through his words and closed his numb lips together, a growl forming in his throat. But he soon pulled himself together. What was he doing? Being rude to X’yrin… she didn’t deserve it. She hadn’t done anything to allow Frodo to get angry around her. He was just taking out his anger on the closest thing to him.

She instructed him to rest with a prodding paw, stern words, even throwing a little joke in the midst of her demands. At this one corner of his lip curled up just ever so slightly, and slowly he turned towards her, scuttling down against the wall, sliding so he was on his back, lying down in total submission. He was hers to clean and heal. Woah, like, déjà vu, skipper. he croakily exclaimed, startled. Frodo instantly remembered the time he’d been laying down and both X’yrin and Jace helping him out. It had been somewhere quite different to where he was now, though. And his physical condition at the time had been very different to how it was now. Then he had been almost mentaly disturbed, unaware of everything around him, shivers racking his body to the core and hunger gnawing at his stomach. Wheras now everything was so startlingly true and real, and vivid, fierce, painful. Frodo’s eyes flickered upwards where he focused on the roots of the upturned tree, crawling with insects and scattered with mud. His eyes found a particular centipede he thought was rather pretty (Frodo’s just weird like that), and he tried to think only of that single creature. X’yrin swore it would not hurt but he knew otherwise. Tending to wounds always stung his frail and petite form. In thanks he reached out to lay a single paw on her arm. Gee, I'm sorry you have to see me like this, my old china. But...thanks. Really.

Image courtesy of Scott Hudson **; Table by the Mentors!

X'yrin Exultare · 12-17-2011, 12:18 PM

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Luck could not have played in their favor, but it was only whom she could thank for arriving as swiftly as she had. It was luck that lead her to Inferni so early and it was luck that stole the boy away from further mutilation and death. But still, it was an unkind mistress letting one of her own come to harm to this extent. And knowing this the she-wolf was not offended or angered by the boy's refusal to her aid. If anything, she understood whole-heartedly and did not let it discourage her from her helping hand.

When he complied at last making sense of his place again, she began to work on his back rolling a coarse tongue across his wounds to pull away the dried blood and debris. It began as a slow, thorough process, digging deep within the wound to completely cleanse it of the chance of infection then followed swiftly to a quick, careful rasp to smooth the rebellious fur. Her tongue had gone numb during the ministrations tasting not the bitterness of blood or the grit of dirt as she brushed it away then swallowed thickly, wetting her tongue to begin again. Having been on the receiving end of this many a time in her early seasons, she imagined the pain... the sting, such treatment must have caused him though she promised it would not hurt him too much. As her beloved Shepard had done for her, so did she reminded the male in her care in gentle rolling octaves of her voice that this was for the best. He needed to endure this trial if he wanted to be well again. Soft growls soon rose to a more sound reverberation as she placed silent words to the melody of her hum to soothe his weary soul.

ooc: 304 words.

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Frodo Silvertongue · 12-17-2011, 07:30 PM

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He fell silent now and ushered himself to be still, his tongue falling thick in his mouth and maw closing firmly. The man breathed heavily, great shattering groans of breaths that racked his body in the most unpleasant of ways, however he did his best to subside these shakings for he couldn’t be scared. He had to face up to what had happened, and be altogether brave. He complied to her will by rolling onto his stomach, so she could tend to the wounds on his back. They were the worse. They were the bleeding ones. Oh yes, there were more cuts, but not as bad as those. The majority of his pain came from bruises though. For some reason, kicks and punches hurt more than bites. He felt breath on his back as she bent down and immidieitly tensed up, his back going solid and ridgid, and taut. The reflex was only to be expected from what he had been through.

Her breath changed into her tongue and he winced as the first sting came. But then after a while, it became easier to manage, and it felt soothing rather than burning. Quickly the man grated the floor with both hands and clamped his iron grip around whatever debris he could find, firmly clenching firsts to take his mind off the horror, the pain. Graciously his eyes closed as she worked and he said nothing; a little squeak here and there from the man however altogether as silent as possible. It was after all, all he could do. He’d let her into his mental block now, and there was no going back, no taking it back. He’d not just feel respect towards the woman as he had done before but now think of her as a friend; though it was hard to be in the debt of your friend. She had saved him twice over and he planned to return what he owed her. But how?

Image courtesy of Scott Hudson **; Table by the Mentors!

X'yrin Exultare · 12-17-2011, 07:52 PM

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Through rhythmic strokes and the melody stemmed from memory, the wandering heart of the Nomad reclaimed the distance path that lead to home, to a time when beneath was not this scarred form but her own, and above hovered the idealized visage of her Shepard. The gentle serenade was one of his composition meant to ease the young warrior when she had suffered the scrape of relentless claws and teeth of her brethren. Never had he asked how harm had befallen her, for in his eyes was a knowledge brought on my seasons she had yet to touch; of trials she had yet to overcome. This was but a hurdle, he had often told her, and more of the like would follow as the wandered through this unknown life. ‘Learn from this, and be better for it. Recall what brought this upon you, and do what you must to prevent its outcome again.’

They had been the words of lesson, often spoken and reiterated until the young Exultare lived and breathed these words and spoke them with the voice of her Shepard to herself religiously. “Learn from this and be better for it…” the words fell kindly from her lips as they again caressed the wounded back in cleansing. “Recall what brought this upon you, and do what you must to prevent its outcome again. This is not the first and will not be the last. This is but a hurdle even I have crossed… and as I have, so will you overcome it.”

The ministrations ceased she the she-wolf withdrew both tongue and presence from behind her care. A massive form was silent in movement, circling the side of the pained male to sit herself in front of him wrapping her tail around her paws. She trusted he could tend to his own wounds with the worst of them now cleaned, but could not for certain say he was ready to be out of her sight or care. She fixed him with a questioning stare, extending her paw in gesture for his explanation to her unanswered question; ‘What will you do now?’

ooc: 353 words.

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Frodo Silvertongue · 12-18-2011, 06:38 PM

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The soft humming and singing of the woman was somehow comforting to his deluded soul. He pressed further into the ground and dir, body tensing a little in places, his face wincing, but all in all feeling better now his wounds were starting to be clean. As she thought he would tend to them after the brute work had been done in bulk. Graciously his tail wagged when she spoke words of wisdom and his ears perked up. He would remember the knowing words for as long as he could. Grateful as ever a slight smile - just a slight one - came upon him and ever so gently he lifted himself upwards, sliding not against anything but propping himself up all the same with what strength he could muster. The signal for the question made him close his eyes slightly to think, to be silent, until he brought up the will to speak through his numb state. Thanks…I…I just need rest from ‘ere. gently he took his cloak from around him and fixed it not round his neck but round his body, tying it like a sort of toga almost. It covered the wounds all the same, so they would not get dirty for a while. It was the best he could do to dress them, pulling the fabric tight.

Apart from wounds on his back there were just bruises. He was especially winded from being struck in the stomach with the staff; but it was nothing sleep wouldn’t wear off. His eyes locked onto X’yrin’s and they never left the gaze, cautious as he slipped further beneath the roots so he was fully sheltered from any weather that might manage to fall. Ever so slowly the man bent down again from his sitting up position, and managed to lie on his side, eyes still watching X’yrin intently. Don’t leave me, lemony snick‘. was his last selfish request before his pleading eyes shut firmly, and he fell victim to a troubled sleep.

Image courtesy of Scott Hudson **; Table by the Mentors!

X'yrin Exultare · 12-19-2011, 08:16 AM

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His wounds had been tended to and wrapped to conceal them from further dirtying or mess, but the wound of his heart and ego were not so easily treated. To undergo a defeat, she had come to learn, was never easy to endure. There was a wound left unseen but always felt as a reminder, a gambit of sorts to either hinder one down or help them overcome future obstacles. Frodo certainly had a one placed in his tired lap now, but would be dealt with another time.

The she-wolf looked kindly to the boy as he lowered himself to his side, gently taking her leg to anchor her by his side. Silently, she complied to keep watch, offering her presence as security so he could find rest for himself and be at ease. Her mate and Ryu would capable of watching themselves for a night… this boy was far from ready to bear the coming morning alone.

-End-

ooc: 000 words.

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