the earth isn't humming

[Nikita Eirisa]

For Endymion.

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She was no optimist now. Worse. She was definitely feeling worse.


But of course she wasn’t as bad off as the wolves — they had to be shut up in some of the few shacks that Esper Hollow had to offer and be kept away from others, because they were having seizures intermittently between hallucinations. She had heard they often lost their grip on reality. But that was all she wanted to hear; she didn’t want to hear on how they were progressing in the illness, because that would make her think she was seeing into her own future. For now, however, she felt as though she was standing on the threshold of the worst part of it. Apart from feeling like having the worst head and chest colds at the same time, constantly having a blistering headache, and being constantly thirsty and never hungry, she had developed a sort of nervous twitch. It was a sudden spasm of the muscles in her face across her right eyebrow and forehead, right up to the muscles that attached her ear to her head. They would clench suddenly for a brief second several times a minute. Self-conscious of looking like some nutjob, she had taken her bandanna and wrapped it around that side of her face. It was covered, yes, but she still felt like she was going totally insane. Maybe she was.


Her mind drifted more now. As she sat out on the fringe of the clearing that made up the band’s main camp, she took no heed of the rain. It wasn’t a violent rain, but it was one with a lot of volume of water. She was totally soaked, but she didn’t really care. It was water, and it made her feel less like she was burning from the inside out. She sat with her body propped up against a tree, her knees pulled half-way up to her torso and her arms resting limply on them. Her eye — as the other was covered up by her make-shift head bandage — stared out into the empty and sodden camp. She saw nothing, and she thought nothing. But she remembered a lot. Her memories danced before her eyes as if she was seeing them for the first time again. They seemed so much closer than they had before… and it scared her.


The sun, hidden by rainclouds, edged further and further into the sector of the sky that designated afternoon. But Nikita hadn’t really noticed; she hadn’t noticed time passing since the sun had rose this morning. Much of it seemed the same.

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[Endymion Russo]

Thank you! :]
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It was sweltering in the shack. Sweat rolled into his eyes and down his neck, and he had already consumed an entire gallon of water since that morning. Panting, Endymion dabbed at Laruku's forehead and his own alternatively with a damp cloth, trying to be as quiet and delicate as possible, more for his own sake than the hybrid's. He gazed into the tawny man's face, full of scars, worry, and regret. When his scarlet eyes were open, Endymion could see that Laruku saw things that weren't there, and sometimes he could see the pain it caused him. He let the cloth lose its coolness on the man's forehead, and then became aware of Jasper stirring in the opposite corner. The wolf tip-toed across the room to check on him. The younger boy was restless, but that was normal for the disease. Had they been making no progress at all? Endymion examined his face also: it was young and relatively unmarked, but still full of regret and pain. He remembered it when he met him nearly a year ago. His dark hair was brushed away from his face, revealing his dual-colored eyes when they were open. The red wolf sighed.

The floor was cleaner now, thank goodness; he'd swept the waste into a large pastic bag and buried it outside the borders, then mopped a bit while the pair was quiet, which didn't last long. Now he didn't have to weave around the shack like it was a minefield, though he kept tip-toeing out of habit. After a few minutes, the shack grew still again. Endymion dropped the damp cloth on the floor, unconcerned with tidiness for the moment. He needed fresh air. Taking long, swift strides, the wolf opened the door just wide enough for him to slip through, and exited the stuffy ward.

The air felt unnaturally cool as he stood on the porch, but also extremely lovely. It cleared his mind tremendously, allowing him to gather himself. It couldn't just be their combined body heat making it so hot in the shack, he realized. Was he getting sick, too? Was it a fever than was coming over him? Endymion's stomach clenched, but didn't heave. He had to keep a a positive attitude, or no one was coming out of this alive. There was a vast number of other thoughts under those, but he suppresed them. He was doing that a lot lately, suppressing. Almost involuntarily, the wolf descended the few steps, becoming soaked in moments. He began walking around the edge of the camp, stretching his aching legs. The cool, wet mud felt marvelous on his feet, and briefly he thought about taking a mud bath. Before he could fully process the thought, however, he nearly stumbled upon a woman under a tree. Under a tree, in the rain? The sight was just too odd to ignore. Walking closer and crouching down next to her, Endymion peered into her face. She looked distant.

"Hello?" he said, almost shouting over the rain. "Are you alright?"

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[Nikita Eirisa]

No problem. ^^

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She found herself watching the mist that the rain created as it fell into the trees and onto the clearing. It reminded her slightly of the smoke that she had also watched come from the flames of the campfire days prior, though this was far more soothing than the rough and choking smoke. She glanced then to the campfire — it was nothing but a heap of sodden branches and soaked embers. She frowned, a small part of her mind thinking how much of a mess it would be to clean that out and get dry firewood put on it. It never ceased to surprise her what things she found important, and what others she found trivial. Oh, well. She sighed, flicking her gaze once more to the sheets of rain that continued to cascade from the monochrome sky.


Her free ear twitched as she heard someone plodding through the mud. At first, alarm shot through her body like lightning — old habits from her earlier life came flying back. The scent, though very diluted through the rain, was one that she did not recognize. Those she did not know carried danger. Her hand flitted to her waist, though she had the sickening realization that she didn’t have her knife with her. That was a first; she couldn’t remember the last time she had braved being out and about without her knife. She did so just for circumstances like this. Her throat clenched, and she turned her eyes stubbornly to the wolf that was approaching.


He was already there, crouching down closer to her level and peering at her curiously. She returned his gaze unsteadily, her olive eyes bleary. He spoke loudly — strongly — so his voice could be heard over the steady rumble of rain falling on the landscape around them. She didn’t have the constitution to do so; she spoke in a voice that was slightly smaller than her usual, though it was still audible over the rain… but only barely. “Hello,” she responded, slightly bemused-sounding. “And… I don’t think so. Sick. ‘S not… not bad, though.” As if to contradict her, the muscles around her hidden right eye and forehead clenched and unclenched a few times in a nervous twitch. She was suddenly thankful for wrapping her head as she did so — this stranger would probably only notice if he was paying intense attention through the rain.


But he seemed nice enough, this stranger. She was immediately calmed, not feeling endangered in the slightest. He seemed like he meant well, though the scent of illness hung over him like a thick curtain. Her nose wrinkled ever so slightly, and she was suddenly very thankful for the rain.

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