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ice inside my veins will never bleed // [Silver vs. Cant]
Dec 3, 2022 15:12:24 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Dec 3, 2022 15:12:24 GMT -5
As the color leeched from the world Cantara retreated into the shadows. More than the obscured sun, the bleached white tree was seared into her mind's eye. At first she'd thought she could triump over Elvena Fray, trap her and starve her. But very quickly she came to see the tree not as a prison, but for what it was: a throne.
The lake's inky shadows cloaked her retreat. She'd tried to retrace her steps, her snout working furiously. But she'd been so careful not to leave any prints and the arena smelled entirely of sweet, sickly rot.
By the time the sun set she was certain she would not find Cash. That what she'd been afraid of -- the disintegration of her pack -- had come to pass. She chittered in rhythm to the rumblings of the arena, anger bubbling. How dare he betray her after promising she could trust him? And how dare he leave her for dead! She'd licked all of her wounds clean and felt maybe a little tired. But she was not weak! He would need her. She'd make him see, to understand that it wasn't time yet, that they were still more District 5 than victors --
She collapsed in a shivering heap, sleep claiming her for a time.
She woke just as suddenly. The blood moon drew her yellow eyes skyward.
And there he was, cast in bloody hues. Static. Lifeless.
Panic, crystal clear and compelling, swelled. She leapt for the moon, ready to howl her betrayal, when she tasted iron on her tongue.
A confused yelp escaped in place of the howl. Blood? She tasted blood? Her hot breath come out in misty puffs. She shivered.
Something writhed in her gut.
This time when she put all four paws to the arena's earth she was not careful. She kicked up big chunks of mudd and moss and slime. Her gold-tipped claws, tarnished already, dulled permanently. She ran faster than she ever had before. Daring the blood moon to track her, she raced through the arena, pushing herself on and on. The endorphins flooded her brain, quieting her thoughts. She did not have a direction or a goal or a purpose. Only to run. Only to be.
She passed several of the bat caves' mouths before she finally veered into one. It did not smell good, per se, but neither did it smell sweet. She slowed, slinking into the darkness. Her pupils filled her eyes and still she could only see shadows. But she listened to the comforting hum of bat wings and parsed the caves' scents.
The longer she spent in the caves she more she became certain it was not the many wounds she had sustained which had lit her blood. The agitation in her stomach, the prickling of her skin, the hunger -- those weren't common reactions to blood loss, nor infection. Maybe Cash --
Cantara keened.
She'd gone so many hours without thinking of him. It felt like slicing her belly open, her organs pink and raw and grieving. She almost collapsed right there except as she inhaled to give into the tears, she finally smelled something other than the bats:
another wolf. One who had attacked her.
She wiped her snotty muzzle on the tattered remains of her uniform and then slid down a tunnel, around a corner, moving quickly. If Cant had smelled her, surely she also recognized her scent. Neither of them would have the advantage of surprise.
She'd have to hit her as hard as she could. "Are you here to finish me off?" Cantara asked and found the muted echo of her words deeply satisfying. Bitter, Elvena had declared herself. Cantara slung her crossbow over her shoulder; she wasn't hunting that kind of tribute today.
Instead came to stand on her hind legs, striking as Silver crossed her path. Her right paw came up empty. But her left claws sunk deeply into her prey. Pulling her as close as she dared, Cantara whispered, "this fight is to the death."
The lake's inky shadows cloaked her retreat. She'd tried to retrace her steps, her snout working furiously. But she'd been so careful not to leave any prints and the arena smelled entirely of sweet, sickly rot.
By the time the sun set she was certain she would not find Cash. That what she'd been afraid of -- the disintegration of her pack -- had come to pass. She chittered in rhythm to the rumblings of the arena, anger bubbling. How dare he betray her after promising she could trust him? And how dare he leave her for dead! She'd licked all of her wounds clean and felt maybe a little tired. But she was not weak! He would need her. She'd make him see, to understand that it wasn't time yet, that they were still more District 5 than victors --
She collapsed in a shivering heap, sleep claiming her for a time.
She woke just as suddenly. The blood moon drew her yellow eyes skyward.
And there he was, cast in bloody hues. Static. Lifeless.
Panic, crystal clear and compelling, swelled. She leapt for the moon, ready to howl her betrayal, when she tasted iron on her tongue.
A confused yelp escaped in place of the howl. Blood? She tasted blood? Her hot breath come out in misty puffs. She shivered.
Something writhed in her gut.
This time when she put all four paws to the arena's earth she was not careful. She kicked up big chunks of mudd and moss and slime. Her gold-tipped claws, tarnished already, dulled permanently. She ran faster than she ever had before. Daring the blood moon to track her, she raced through the arena, pushing herself on and on. The endorphins flooded her brain, quieting her thoughts. She did not have a direction or a goal or a purpose. Only to run. Only to be.
She passed several of the bat caves' mouths before she finally veered into one. It did not smell good, per se, but neither did it smell sweet. She slowed, slinking into the darkness. Her pupils filled her eyes and still she could only see shadows. But she listened to the comforting hum of bat wings and parsed the caves' scents.
The longer she spent in the caves she more she became certain it was not the many wounds she had sustained which had lit her blood. The agitation in her stomach, the prickling of her skin, the hunger -- those weren't common reactions to blood loss, nor infection. Maybe Cash --
Cantara keened.
She'd gone so many hours without thinking of him. It felt like slicing her belly open, her organs pink and raw and grieving. She almost collapsed right there except as she inhaled to give into the tears, she finally smelled something other than the bats:
another wolf. One who had attacked her.
She wiped her snotty muzzle on the tattered remains of her uniform and then slid down a tunnel, around a corner, moving quickly. If Cant had smelled her, surely she also recognized her scent. Neither of them would have the advantage of surprise.
She'd have to hit her as hard as she could. "Are you here to finish me off?" Cantara asked and found the muted echo of her words deeply satisfying. Bitter, Elvena had declared herself. Cantara slung her crossbow over her shoulder; she wasn't hunting that kind of tribute today.
Instead came to stand on her hind legs, striking as Silver crossed her path. Her right paw came up empty. But her left claws sunk deeply into her prey. Pulling her as close as she dared, Cantara whispered, "this fight is to the death."
[Cantara attacks Silver; claws (knife)]
6aWK9|WFp7knife
[Miss -- 0.0 damage]
Accuracy - Day 7
knife
[Stabbed in Forearm -- 8.5 damage]
title lyrics "Sacrifice" by The Weeknd
6aWK9|WFp7knife
[Miss -- 0.0 damage]
Accuracy - Day 7
knife
[Stabbed in Forearm -- 8.5 damage]
title lyrics "Sacrifice" by The Weeknd
knife·knife
