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I love you, Tsunami.
Ahren had known that for what felt like forever. When times had been unchanged and they were both young, inexperienced and staggering in shoes far too large for their feet. He had wanted to imagine that something would let everything live happily ever after, and that he and Laruku could have gone off into separate sunsets. Instead they were crashing into a deep-red eye, screaming, hurling head over feet because they couldn’t admit anything (because there wasn’t anything-you’re a liar a fucking liar!) and were too stubborn to speak about it.
I love you, you know.
Matinee’s fucking voice was in his head, pounding, screaming, accusing. He hated her more then he had hated anything that he could remember because she had done the unforgivable. She had left without word and without question and left him no sign. She had broken him apart because he had overreacted and made one goddamned mistake—
“FUCK!” Ahren shouted, and slammed his fist into an oak tree. The impact caused his knuckles to break open and he let out a strangled snarl, shook the bloody paw and stumbled to the side. From his hand the fire was spreading, and he felt like his body was going to break into flame. The buzzing in his head was stronger now, voices and wasps and glass was in his bones. A coughing, mad laugh shook his frame, though his feet had been doing this long before he got this far from the shed.
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The sound of birds scattering into the open air followed the sound of a certain voice. A certain swear that Laurel had heard from his mouth once before but not in such an enraged manner. He had seen the blonde leave the cabin in a rush and was now trailing after him out of curiosity. The further away from the campsite he got, the darker the forest seemed underneath the cloudy sky; the taint of blood in the air caught his attention not too far off from where he found the blonde standing either. Laughing that same laugh. It made him think of Conri, only Ahren wasn't trying to lobotomise himself. Words failed him, even though he had made his presence known.
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A noise behind caused Ahren to jump, and he spun as if someone had set off a firecracker. Both of his eyes had gone wide, fever-bright, and his muzzle pulled back in a snarl. His lower jaw had dropped slightly, and a faint glimmer of drool was beginning to hang from his muzzle. The blonde took one step forward, and then his knees locked. He was wavering slightly, like a young tree in a thunderstorm. “You know, you remind me of someone,” he said lowly, thickly, and lowered his head. A growl was forming in the back of his throat. “This fuckhead coyote whose throat I should have cut.” Except Ahren was unarmed, as his weapons were left in the sick cabin.
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There was no more denying that the sickness was spreading from body to body, slowly but surely. The look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, even the way his body quivered very much in the fashion of those who were lying in the shack. Laurel's expression did not waver at Ahren's words because he barely heard them. He was already trying to decide what to do, trying to decide if everything was as bad as it was seeming. What was that being about lines of misfortune and curses he had talked about with Laruku? “What stopped you?” he caught himself asking, wondering if Ahren wasn't ill enough that his motions were as jagged as his stance. But his delay between questions was short. “You're just as sick as the ones in the shack, you know that? Do you even know what you're saying any more, what you're seeing?”
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The wolf lowered his head, fur along his spine rising. In his head the noise was growing more and more, and was filling his ears with white noise and feedback. A jolt of pain like lightning shot through his skull and down along his spine and he cried out, staggering to the side before gaining his footing and lifting his head. All of his hair was in his face and he looked like a madman bum on a bender. “You’re fucking sick,” he spat, saliva dripping from his jaw. “I didn’t kill him,” he continued, then sneezed violently and sent drool and snot flying. “I didn’t fucking kill him!” He screamed, advancing in a jagged line. “I found him and I tore his jaw out, I gave it to her, she should have told you she should have fucking told you!”
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He could smell and taste the sickness in the air again. That putrid, wilting smell that reminded him far too much of charred flesh and formaldehyde and it didn't matter if it was kin or food. It was terrible enough to send a wave to make him recoil in the pale light. For every step taken, he took two back, he wanted make him believe that he could be cornered because by the words out of his mouth, it was apparent he needed to be restrained. Knocked out, shut up somewhere, he didn't know, but one or the other would work; whatever one he thought he could pull off without making too much of a scene. “I know you didn't kill him, I know that now. She told me all about it,” he said, not knowing what any of it was about. Pieces of a past he wasn't supposed to know, he reckoned. “But what can you do about it? It's water under the bridge now, it was a long time ago.” And maybe it was just last week, for all he knew.
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The hysterical laughter began again, and Ahren was shaking as he laughed, giggling and shaking his head. “No, no no no no no!” One of his hands shot out and tore off a low, brittle branch from a tree, and he held it loosely. His red eyes were burning and hazy, but locked ahead on the coyote. He saw him there, but he saw Segodi, and he saw his father, and he saw all the strangers that had died in the backalleys because Ahren just could not control his temper and his violence. “Don’t you fucking treat me like a child!” Laughter at his side caused the blonde to jump and he staggered, spun, and saw Matinee in the tree above him, smiling and laughing as if she had known this all along. “You whore!” He screamed, then swung up at the branch with the stick, lost his footing, and landed hard on his back as the dry branch shattered in pieces all around him.
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He was losing it, Laurel could see it. He was losing his grip on reality just as fast as the words fell out of his mouth. If he was going to be beat by a stick, he'd take it. But it didn't seem like he'd get the chance when Ahren screamed at a tree, swung and went off-kilter with the world; the ground seemed a little too happy to say hello too. But Laurel didn't waste a second to move in and restrain him. Grabbing at the belt he had, he deftly unbuckled it and pulled it free, turning the stunning blonde quick enough to tie his arms behind him. Kind of like catching a calf and tying it down, only if this calf got loose, Laurel knew it just wouldn't run away.
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The movement and the motion was so quick that Ahren didn’t have time to react. He felt like the glass in his body was melting and he bucked wildly, trying to force the taller male off. “Get off! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” Ahren screamed, writhed, and fought against the belt. Under his feet the ground was falling apart, and he began to kick wildly, trying to pushing himself up. A toss of the head was thrown back, trying to strike the coyote with his skull. As he did so, his hair tumbled back into his face and he continued to writhe, screaming in German so much that he was frothing at the mouth, smacking the tongue ring against his teeth and screaming at the sharp noise it caused in his skull.
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“SHUT UP,!” Laurel screamed back at him, finding the scratchy sound of his voice up close to be all the more annoying and harsh on his own ears. What he did next was simply out of irritation, out of a sudden burst of anger that wouldn't have otherwise been there—he squarely punched the blonde in the back of the head. It certainly would make dragging him back easier, but there was the case of what to do with him. Standing back up, the glass beads in his hair clicked together, revealing the pulse of a headache that had started to brew. Pulling him along by the belt that bound his arms together, the walk back to the campsite was far too short and it was eerily quiet. But the perfect idea dawned on him as he approached the shack, remembering the small shed beside it where he had intended to store wood. It would do, it would have to do—Laurel sure as hell didn't want Crazy running loose while he was that sick. Dragging the blonde inside, Laurel left him to lay in a heap and pulled the door firmly shut.
When Ahren would wake, he'd be in a world of pain either way.
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