#on his hind legs while he flails and bellows

[darkwood-sleddog]

Well. Sigurd ripped a dewclaw out bc he snagged it in my sweater, literally while we were both either on work meetings or about to go to work meetings…so to the emergency vet we went. Where we waiting for an hour to be seen bc we were non emergent. Finally, a hero tech came to see us and told us it was either wait four more hours or she can try and rip the nail off now. Me and Me D held Sigurd (muzzled) while he flailed and growled as dramatically as possible but we were somehow able to get the nail off and bandaged. That tech had fingers of STEEL and we were super appreciative of her. Then Sigurd got McDonald’s French fries on the way home. Urg. What a night.

[novankenn]

Unbreakable Machine Arcs (2)

The mass of inky black flesh and pale white bone armored plates bowled over the pair of distracted blonds, sending them tumbling and rolling through the undergrowth. Slowly it turned and then rose up on its hind legs. Its slavering maw opened and bellowed a rage filled challenge at the pair of teens as then rose to their feet. As if mirrors of each other, they stood and cracked their necks, while clenching their hands into tight fists.

“Jaune?”

“I know, Joan, I know.”

“It’s…”

“In…”

“Our…”

“Way…”

The massive Ursa bellowed a second challenge at the pair of bond teens, who responded with snarls of their own. With spurts of dirt and grass erupting from where they pushed off the ground, Joan and Jaune shot forward. The Ursa raised it’s great paw, hooked claws gleaming in the light of the shattered moon. These two were nothing like the others it had faced and crushed. Those all ran, fear flooding from them. No, these two stunk of absolute rage. It was relishing the taste, secure in its superiority.

A pair of pale, bared fists struck home upon the beast’s exposed chest. The Ursa bellowed in pain filled rage, it’s primitive mind unable to grasp that its prey had closed upon it, in fractions of a second. Inky flesh rippled at the site of the impact, and then caved in. The once fearsome and formidable monster fell backwards, its chest compacted. It flailed about for a few moments, before finally growing still and disintegrating behind the pair of teens, as they walked off, onwards towards Beacon.

“This is all your fault.”

“This is my fault? How do you figure that?”

“Well, Jaune you lost the map, and then distracted me by trying…”

“No, no, no. You lost the map, Joan. You did. Not me, you.” Jaune responded in annoyance.

“Well, if it wasn’t for you, I would have heard that thing coming and put it down.”

“As if.”

“As if? What is that supposed to mean?” Joan questioned, her deep blues eyes narrowing on Jaune.

“It was my punch that put it down.”

“I hit it exactly at the same time you did!”

“So?”

“So if anyone’s punch killed it, it was mine.”

“You wish!” Jaune snorted.

“It’s not a wish if it's the truth!”

Stepping into a small clearing, the pair stopped arguing and allowed their gaze to drift upwards into the starry night sky.

“Jaune?”

“She said she’ll be here.” Jaune replied, answering Joan’s unvoiced question. “So she and Ren will be here.”

/==/

“They are, powerful.” Glynda commented as she watched the video feed from over the Headmaster's shoulder. “A single punch to kill an Ursa, impressive.”

“That they are.” Ozpin agreed, “Are you sure we are not missing any applicants?”

“They are all accounted for, though we do have an odd number this year, so we will end up with one three-person team. If everyone passes.”

“Really, how so?” Ozpin asked as he picked up his mug, as he watches the pair walk out of view. “We only accept an even number of students each year.”

“One individual withdrew their application for medical reasons.”

“Pity.” Ozpin took a sip from his mug, as he regarded the two figures standing in the small clearing. “Well, with an opening, maybe they can be enticed to enroll. They would make fine candidates.”

“Regardless, they are wandering a grimm infest forest the night before we conduct our initiation. They shouldn't be out there, despite how strong they seem.”

“Very true. Who is closest?”

“Bart.” Glynda confirmed while looking at her tablet,

“Ask Bart to pick them up and escort them to Beacon. Also inform Ana. We should have them looked over, as we have no idea how long they’ve been out there before coming with in range of our cameras.”

“Done.” Glynda reported. “Though if we recruit them both we will stall have an odd number for initiation, and depending on what Ana reports… they may not be allowed to take part.”

“If that is what happens, then it happens. But I’m sure you’ll agree, getting them to the safety of Beacon is a primary concern.”

“It is,” Glynda’s tablet pinged. “ And Bart has just reported that he has located them."

/== Table of Contents ==/

[loominggaia]

...“Hello! I have questions!” Elska called to the goblins in the field. They looked up at her warily, four of them total. As she walked closer, they fled together towards the barn. A farmhouse lie just beyond across another field. Elska broke out into a gallop and shouted, “Do not flee!”

    The goblins huddled together, screaming in fear as she approached. But she only stopped before them and said, “I am looking for the People of Stone and Bone. They have been captured by Kelvingyard slavers and sold across this land. Tell me where I can find centaurs like myself.”

    The goblins stared up at her, quivering in fright. They wore nothing but rags of burlap and the iron shackles on their wrists. They sunk lower when Elska bellowed, “Tell me now!”

    Finally, an old goblin spoke. His long ears drooped low with age, green skin weathered like a well-worn shoe. “There are no centaurs around these parts. This is only a small family farm; your power isn’t needed here. I haven’t seen one of your kind since I was a chulder in Kelvingyard.”

    Elska narrowed her eyes. “Tell me who buys centaurs,” she said.

The old goblin replied, “Folks who need heavy lifting done, I suppose. I seen your kind sell for a lot. It must be rich folks who took your people.” He waved her away and added, “Now please, you have to go! If our master catches us talking to a runaway, we’ll all get the iron poker!”

    “Come with me,” demanded Elska, offering her hand. “Join my quest and you will be free! We will fight these dogs together!”

The goblin shook his head and exclaimed, “No, no, miss! Please, leave us! Go!”

    With that, he ushered the group away and they scurried off towards the farmhouse. Elska trotted along beside them and growled, “This is your chance to be free, and still you choose to serve a master! Where is your pride, creature?”

    “We’ll all be caught and sent back to the yard!” another goblin told her. “Just get out of here and leave us be!”

“You are cowards! I will not let you shame yourselves this way!” growled Elska, and she jumped in the slaves’ path.

    They shrieked and flailed as she snatched two of their wrists. The other two sprinted away into the farmhouse. Elska shouted after them, “Come back!” while she struggled to wrangle the elderly goblin and a younger female.

    “Please, don’t! Don’t do this!” the old goblin begged. But Elska kept a firm hold on them, carrying them towards the house in pursuit of the others. The escapees disappeared behind the door, closing and locking it behind them.

    Elska heard their muffled voices inside, calling, “Master! Help us!” She reared up on her hind legs and bashed her hooves against the door. It broke off its hinges and hit the floor with a loud thud.

    Elska tossed her captives onto the floor. She pointed her finger at them and commanded, “Do not move!” Then she equipped her warhammer and slowly made her way further into the house.

    The interior was humble and rustic, the furniture built to seat small, human-sized species. Nearly everything was made of wood, with a stone fireplace in the center of the sitting room. Elska passed through a corridor, listening to the panic breaking out in some other room.

     She opened the first door she encountered. It led to a closet with a latrine inside. The next door opened to an empty bedroom.

     Before Elska could open the last door in the hall, someone else did it for her. He was a human man with an unkempt brown beard and matching hair, likely middle-aged. Though he was large for his kind, he was nowhere near large enough to fight Elska on his own, and he seemed to know it when he staggered back into the room at the sight of her. The two goblins cowered against the wall behind him.

     The man picked up a wooden stool, brandishing it as a weapon. “Oh, gods! Back! Back, you animal!” he shouted. Elska charged towards him without pause and bashed her hammer against his stool. The stool exploded into several pieces, leaving the man with nothing but one of its single broken legs.

     “Tell me who you are!” demanded Elska, looming over him like a cloud.The man backed himself against the wall, pointing the sharp end of the leg at her. “I’m the owner of this property!” he told her. “Get out of here! I don’t care who your master is, I’ll kill you if I have to!”

     Elska raised her hammer and the man let out a fearful scream. The goblins screamed too, shielding their eyes when his head exploded. Elska’s hammer crashed through his skull, splattering the wall with blood and gore. His body slumped over with a thump. In that instant, he was dead.

     Elska turned back to the goblins. “Now you serve no masters! Go forth and be free!”

     She exited the house just as swiftly as she appeared. The other two slaves had disobeyed her, for the sitting room was empty when she passed through it. When she stepped outside, she saw one of them bolting down the road on a horse.

     The man’s property now belonged to them, she thought, and they could do with his livestock as they pleased. She crossed the fields and headed for the next house on the horizon.

-Elska forcibly “rescues” some goblin slaves in the story “Unbreakable”

I love this scene so much because it describes Elska’s whole character in a nutshell. She will always do the right thing, but she will do it in the most insane, chaotic way possible lmao

[only-hyuran]

w.i.p. wednesday?

a little something i wrote for chai because we are hyping through shadowbringers. it still has a lot of formatting issues and needs an ending. hope it is not too scuffed!

"That's it, then? One of the hive-minds of this scourge."

June marched with certainty and patience into the Lightwarden Philia's grotto, a round expanse of flowery beds of grass, and stone walkways leading only in circles. The terrible creature met their presence with a slobbering roar, barring vicious teeth as it steadied itself on its enormous hind legs. Torturous chains draped from its body jingled metallically as it readied for battle, smashing its spiked tail into the ground in ruthless impatience.

In the godly luminescence of the 'Everlasting Light', the rogue's hair appeared a vivid bleached white, advancing a few yalms closer to his prey with what looked to be a bounce of excitement in his step. His neck turned to face her half-way, smirking lips visible beneath the tangled tresses twisting down to his eyes, his devilish expression all too fitting of the horned circlet adorning his head.

"Take it easy for a few more minutes, Nowi. You need to learn what you're up against first."

After a quick squat to stretch his knees, June breathed deeply and closed his fists around the curved hilts of his daggers. A telltale sound of metal on metal gave away their brandishing, jutting his hands out by his sides as his legs burst into action to take him closer to the center of the arena. Utter confidence exuded from him, until the chilling fingers of an unexpected magic came crawling across his abdomen. He felt as though he was being held around his waist, struggling against the force of the spell to try and take another step forward. With great speed, June's body suddenly slingshot backwards, his boots grinding into the soil as he was 'rescued' back to the Mi'qote's side.

"Please. I've been doing my research. How's about you take a break, mister."

"St-Stupid--... Where'd you learn to..." He struggled to find words after such a heart-stalling surprise, furious yet embarrassed as he turned his body to stand back-to-back with her. "A White Mage, hm? Finally taking care of someone other than your self?" June prodded rudely, but Philia had grown impatient of their banter, decidedly ripping a small dead tree from the ground and hoisting it at the heroes with killing force.

A springy, electrical thud echoed through the arena as Nowi stood at her tallest, an open hand extended forward in just timing to raise her bubble barrier, glistening graciously above them. The tree had shattered into mere twigs upon impact with the shield, warranting the first cocky grin to be seen from the Mi'qote in some time.

"Lets just get this over with." She concluded smugly, cueing them both to charge graciously into battle, side-by-side. With staff extended, Nowi circled to the flank of the rampaging beast, lifting her hands in rhythmic gestures as she deployed her defensive magics on her partner. June had already opened the floodgates of the action, weaving choreographed steps between the ravenous swipes of Philia's claws, and the erratic waving of her tail. The Lightwarden went still a moment, before emitting a terribly ear-piercing screech, enough to interrupt the nearby ninja to close his hands over his ears and droop his torso forward. In this advantageous moment, the Sin Eater swatted one of its forearms forward, closing its beastly fingers around June's middle and lifting his flailing body off of the ground.

In panic, he sunk both of his daggers into Philia's massive hand, only to find them stuck in her flesh. The warden winced, but it only caused it's grip to grow tighter, a breathless gasp leaving his lips as his ribs were compacted, soon threatening to crush him. Nowi scowled in quick-witted offense, swaying her staff off to her side to quake a stray boulder to life, willing it to lift off of the ground and launching it with pinpoint accuracy at the back of the monsters' head.

A dazed, wobbly cry hissed from it's lips when the stone shattered into pieces in impact, toppling backward in pain, dropping June to his hands and knees. He felt a sudden resurgence of energy when the comforting stardust of Nowi's Cure rained down on him, finding the strength to climb to his feet and stare up at the temporarily immobilized Philia.

"D-Ditch the stick and do some real damage, will’ya?"

Having lost his weapons, he was left no choice but to provide support. Nowi watched in confusion for a few long moments as he crunched his knees down to a squat, holding his hands open in front of him, as if offering her... a boost? The enraged Lightwarden had begun to flail again, running short on time as the Mi'qote caught on to her partner's plan. She nodded in agreement, her eyes fluttering shut as she lifted a hand in front of her face, a flow of aether lifting her off of the grassy ground and shrouding her in blinding light. The flash faded to reveal her elegant robes had transformed into brazen black armor trimmed with gold, and her effeminate cane into a thorny gun-steel lance, taller than her in stature.

The visor of her mask sank down over her eyes as she elegantly metamorphosed into the skillset of the Azure Dragoon, her head bowing forward as she broke into a sprint. It took her but a second to close the space between her and the awaiting June, lunging her last running step to plant her foot in his clasped hands. His arms wrenched upward in all of his might with a powerful roar, working in tandem with the kickoff of her legs to send her bellowing up nearly a malm into the air. He stared fearlessly at the monster as Nowi began the descent of her assisted leap. The speed of her fall guided her lance straight downward, crashing with the impact of a fallen meteor blade-first into the creatures' crown, her steel meeting with Philia's flesh resonating a sound not unlike a gunshot.

A last wretched gurgle escaped the slain stewardess of Light, collapsing lifelessly, a thick cloud of dirt masking its immediate area after it tumbled forward with body limp and mouth agape. Through the obscured, dusty view of their target, Nowi emerged triumphantly, leaping off from the corpse and landing back in June's view with a dramatic pose. The remains had began to dissipate into a clear white gas, seeping from the dead Lightwarden as it rotted and shriveled into nothingness. The flowing cloud of toxic ivory mist seemed eerily attracted to Nowi. In absolute focus, Nowi remained still as she let the essence of the Lightwarden gather and flow past her -- to no effect. It worked.

"Haa! haaah! Don't ever tell me to 'take it easy Nowi~'." She remarked proudly, even going as far to imitate  his deeper voice as she quoted him. "You should've seen the look on your-- ... June?"

The glossy pearl-white mist exhuming from the fallen Sin Eater tumbled past Nowi to her relief, her heart rising to her throat when she noticed it clustering around her partner. He had staggered to one knee, hands on the ground to steady himself while he fought to catch his breath.

“I’m, - I’m fine... Hhn...”

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Allegiances || Chapter 22 || Chapter 23 || Chapter 24 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 23 [TW: Violence, death]

The cave exploded with the sound of dozens of cats yowling and screeching in panic. Their battle lines, so carefully arranged by Stoneheart and Crag, fell apart as Sharptooth crashed right into the cave-guards, and the smell of blood bloomed from the creature’s paws. Feathertail heard a sickening snapping noise, and Boulder’s voice rose in a hoarse caterwaul:

“Sheer!”

Feathertail’s stomach clenched, and her legs trembled with fear. Our plan had been good! She thought desperately, watching as Sharptooth raised its massive, blocky head from Sheer’s body. Its jaws opened, letting out a rattling growl as its eyes flickered between the scattering cats. StarClan, why?!

“Feathertail, run!” cried Brook.

Feathertail forced her paws into action as Sharptooth’s eyes fell on her. She skidded against the cool stone floor and ran towards Brook’s voice, aware of Sharptooth’s hot, stinky breath above her. The Tribe prey-hunter had taken shelter on one of the ridges that ran along the cave walls – most were wide enough to hold a cat in single-file. Feathertail charged for the nearest wall, ears pinned.

In the gloom it was difficult to find a pawhold in the cavern wall. Feathertail scrambled, her gaze unfocused and her heart beating so hard she feared it might burst before Sharptooth even reached her.

She hazarded a glance back, eyes widening as she saw the monstrous cat looming behind her. It raised one paw to strike, and Feathertail heard Brook wailing in terror above her. Feathertail curled herself into a ball, bracing herself for the impact as if she were about to plunge into the river during flood season.

The blow never came.

Feathertail opened her eyes as Sharptooth let out a frustrated growl. The creature was taking clumsy steps backward, tufted tail lashing and teeth bared at the line of cats that had suddenly formed before it. Feathertail’s heart lifted, just a little – perhaps there was hope after all!

She forced her legs to move, unsheathing her claws as she joined them. Red was their leader, his back arched and fur puffed so that he looked twice his size. Beside him, spitting and hissing, lashing out with their claws, were Boulder and Crowpaw. Feathertail copied them, puffing out her fur and rising onto her hind paws to flash her claws.

“For Pale!” spat Red, lashing out with his claws. His eyes were blazing pools of hatred. Thunder crashed outside, loud enough to make the cave tremble as if it were made of the Tribe’s grief and desperate rage. “For Spray!”

“For the Tribe!” crowed Crowpaw, darting forward to swipe at the air between himself and Sharptooth. “For the Clans!”

Feathertail willed him to be careful, especially when Sharptooth’s eyes focused on him. The beast aimed a swipe in Crowpaw’s direction, but the nimble WindClan warrior dodged easily, taunting Sharptooth with a lash of his tail.

“Push it out of the cave!” Boulder cried. “For Sheer!”

The big gray tom darted to the side, flashing his claws. Feathertail’s heart lurched as she saw the blow land on Sharptooth’s hind leg. Instantly the monster whipped around, its thick black claws scraping against the stone. Lightning flashed, and Feathertail saw Boulder’s body flinging up into the air. The next flash showed him hitting the jagged, stony ceiling… and a third showed his body motionless on the stone floor.

No! Feathertail’s ears rang. Not Boulder! He had been the cave-guard Feathertail had hunted with the most, big and threatening but quiet. He had kits, for StarClan’s sake! Feathertail thought of Hawk, Swoop, and Ice, and how they would now grow up without a father. If they even make it through this at all…

Sharptooth turned around again, facing the line that had tried to herd it so bravely. Fear bubbled up in Feathertail as she realized that, while they had stunned the creature for a moment, it had only been trying to pick out which target to go for first.

It chose Crowpaw.

Shaprtooth lunged. Feathertail felt time come to a halt as, for a brief moment, she saw Crowpaw’s eyes widen with realization. Time sped back up and thankfully, Crowpaw was quick enough to dodge, sending Sharptooth skidding across the stone floor on paws damp with blood.

“Now!” howled Stormfur from above.

Feathertail looked up, spotting several cats perched on the ledges of the cave wall. Stormfur was one of them, his eyes bright and blazing as he bunched his haunches and leaped. Mistyfoot followed him, along with Brook and Crag. All four cats sailed through the air, aiming for Sharptooth’s exposed back.

Crag and Mistyfoot managed to land squarely on the monster’s shoulders and spine, digging their claws in. Brook missed, landing neatly on the stone floor and spinning so that she was in front of Feathertail. The prey-hunter lunged for Sharptooth’s foreleg, wrapping her forepaws around the limb and sinking her teeth into it.

Stormfur’s landing had put him in front of Sharptooth’s muzzle, and he lashed out with claws that shone in the moonlight. Thunder rumbled outside, and the tang of blood in the air grew fresher. When lightning flashed again, Feathertail saw that Sharptooth’s muzzle was stained with blood.

Feathertail felt another flutter of confidence. She got to her paws and dashed, sliding beneath Sharptooth’s belly. It stood taller than any cat, but that just made it easier for Feathertail to rear up and sink her claws into fur and flesh.

Sharptooth writhed, howling. Feathertail dug in deeper, feeling like her claws would tug out as Sharptooth thrashed above her. She saw Crag fall off, only to be replaced by Swift as the silver tabby gave a mighty leap from the stone floor onto the beast’s haunches.

Brook was flung away, and Feathertail’s heart lurched – but the nimble prey-hunter recovered, shaking out her pelt and howling as she rushed back into the fray. Feathertail, invigorated by Brook’s determination, gave a yowl of her own as she dug her claws in as deep as she could manage, trying not to choke on Sharptooth’s horrible smell.

We might do this! She thought. By Silverpelt’s starry tail, though, this monster’s fur is thick!

“Tribe!” yowled Stormfur, ducking beneath a heavy swipe. “To me!”

His voice echoed through the cave. Soon enough, Feathertail was joined by Claw, who began to slice at Sharptooth’s hind legs. Crowpaw took another hind leg, sinking his teeth in deeply. Nightpaw and Stoneheart darted in and out with Cloud and Flight, striking where they could find space. Feathertail saw a flash of ginger, and saw Red sliding in beside Stormfur, rearing onto his hind paws to slash at Sharptooth’s eyes.

Feathertail’s heart began to beat with hope – We might not be able to kill it, she thought, slashing away at Sharptooth’s belly. But we can make it never want to return! She and Claw dodged smoothly to the side as Sharptooth tried to twist and reach them, its foreclaws missing by a whiskerlength. Feathertail and Claw dove back in together, joined by Gray.

Sharptooth roared with frustration. It kicked out with a hind paw, catching Claw in the throat. Blood gushed as Claw flailed, caught briefly on Sharptooth’s toes. He was dead before he was thrust away, sliding across the cave to rest near the softpaw’s den.

Feathertail wanted to retch. Just as we feel hope again… She looked up at Sharptooth’s pale belly. This monster is too powerful!

“Stay focused!” howled Crag from the front. He was keeping Sharptooth’s forepaws busy trying to strike him while Stormfur and Red sliced at its face. “Drive it out of the cave!”

“Make it never come back!” howled Red.

There was a surge of bodies as every cat seemed to cluster around Sharptooth at once. Feathertail was nearly carried off her paws by Wing and Sun as they darted beneath Sharptooth’s belly, slicing at the backs of its forelegs. Talon and Bird sailed onto the monster’s back, joining Mistyfoot in clawing it to strips. Rock and Jag clustered near the hind legs, darting in and out with the others. Even Snow and Shadepaw had joined the fray, clawing and biting wherever they could, with Crowpaw protecting them as best as he could.

Thunder crashed again, followed quickly by lightning. In the shadows painted on the cave walls, Feathertail saw that Sharptooth was absolutely covered in writhing, screeching Tribe cats.

It’s too many, she realized suddenly. We can’t organize like this!

It was just as Feathertail’s claws unclenched that Sharptooth let out another bellow. The beast heaved upward, dislodging Crag and Mistyfoot. Feathertail managed to push Gray out from beneath the monster’s belly as it crashed back down, Sun and Wing darting out beside them.

“Look out!” Stormfur warned.

Breathing desperately, Feathertail turned around in time to see Sharptooth’s next move. Most of the cats, Tribe and Clan, had backed off in time, realizing that Sharptooth was breaking free. The lion-cat shook its body with a snarl, kicking out again with its hind legs. It spun to swipe at Swift, catching her under the belly as she leaped to flee. The silver tabby was flung to the side, smacking against the cave wall and sliding down limply – her side shuddered twice before laying still.

Sharptooth’s growl rippled through the cave as the cats fled, bristling with fear-scent and eyes flashing in the dark recesses near the back. Lightning flashed again, and Feathertail saw the monster-cat’s body, covered in bleeding cuts and bites.  

It worked, Feathertail thought, her limbs aching. But it’s just not enough. She couldn’t imagine some cat trying to tear open the beast’s throat with their claws or teeth. It was just impossible – and no cat had the strength to keep tearing and wearing away at the monster’s defenses like this. It’ll pick us off one by one before we can deal a death blow!

Sharptooth’s muzzle turned, its eyes flashing over every cat surrounding it. It shifted on its paws, its tail curling close to its body.

Feathertail’s whiskers twitched. Hope sprang in her chest. It’s hesitating!

She wasn’t the only one to notice. “Begone, monster!” cried Snow, stepping forward. Her eyes glowed with determination; her muzzle spattered with blood. “You are not welcome here!”

“Begone!” chorused the Tribe cats.

Feathertail raised her voice: “Never return!”

“Leave us in peace!” Talon added, bristling.

Sharptooth curled its lip. Whether or not it understood what they were all yowling about was unclear, but Feathertail didn’t care. They only had to make it never want to return, that was all…

“Vile beast!” Red snarled from the other side of the cave; his shoulders highlighted in moonlight. “Killer! Murderer!” He stepped forward, tail lashing. “You do not own these mountains!”

The beast turned its head to Red, and lunged again.

No!

Sharptooth skidded as Red leaped away. It stretched his neck to snap at Red, missing his foreleg by a pawstep. The cats around Sharptooth and Red scattered again, jumbling and tripping over one another to escape towards the back of the cave – but Sharptooth seemed focused on Red.

Thunder growled through the sky as Red darted away from Sharptooth, just barely escaping its jaws and claws. Feathertail pressed herself against the cave wall, her heart thudding in her ears. All Sharptooth had to do was leap, and Red would be dead.

Lighting flashed, highlighting Red as he scrambled up to one of the high ledges on the cave wall. Sharptooth lunged for him, its claws scraping and sparking against the stones. It roared in futility, bristling, and turned back to the other cats.

Its eyes landed on Feathertail.

Once again Feathertail found herself desperately trying to find a way to flee the monster. Her paw slipped, and she found herself tumbling into one of the sharpclaw dens, scattering feathers and bracken into the air. She pressed herself against the farthest wall – but these dens weren’t protective caves like the nursery or the Cavern of Reflection, they were just shallow scoops in the floor. There was nothing here to protect her as Sharptooth prowled forward.

StarClan, Tribe of Endless Hunting, help me!

Moonlight shone through the waterfall, highlighting Sharptooth’s body. Feathertail swallowed – was this the last thing she’d ever see?

A shape moved in front of her as the moonlight faded. Claws flashed, and Sharptooth groaned in pain.

Another rumble of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning, showed Feathertail what had happened – Stormfur was before her, bristling to the ends of his fur, one of his paws raised and drenched in blood. Sharptooth raised its muzzle, glaring down at Stormfur with what was now it's only eye.

“Stormfur!” Mistyfoot screeched from her perch along the wall. “Get out of there!”

Stormfur glanced back at her. There was an apology in his eyes. Before Feathertail could stop him, Stormfur was already halfway to the waterfall, with Sharptooth hard on his paws.

Feathertail pulled herself out of the sharpclaw den, her limbs quivering. Mistyfoot flashed past her, her fear-scent flooding Feathertail’s senses and giving her paws energy to move. Putting on as much speed as she could manage, Feathertail followed them.

The storm was still raging outside, and the pool beneath the waterfall had broken its banks again. Thunder and lightning clashed together as Feathertail half-slid down the Path of Rushing Water. She searched desperately for Mistyfoot, or any sign of Sharptooth and Stormfur – she spotted Mistyfoot’s tail disappearing up the trail to Eagle Rock, and followed her.

What is he doing?! Feathertail thought, stretching her legs to their limits like Crowpaw had taught them what seemed like seasons ago. She caught up to Mistyfoot, who was struggling on the damp rocks, easily. She sank her teeth into Mistyfoot’s scruff and hauled her to her paws before continuing on after her littermate. He can’t do this alone!

Feathertail climbed the steep trail with ease, winding between rock and boulder, following the clinging scents of Stormfur and Sharptooth. In places she smelled them almost as one – but saw no evidence of any other animal blood than the occasional splatter from Sharptooth’s injuries. Whatever Stormfur thought he was doing, he had StarClan on his side.

It was where the trail met the top of the waterfall, that place where the Clan cats had tumbled down in such a similar storm days ago, that she spotted Stormfur and Sharptooth.

The two were circling one another on a rocky outcrop just beside the waterfall, as if they were daring one another to fall. Up above the storm raged, the clouds rankled and colored a gray so deep they were almost black as they folded violently in on themselves.  

Mistyfoot was at her shoulder a moment later, her eyes wide and her sides heaving. “Stormfur, please,” she pleaded through the rain. “Please come back!”

Stormfur couldn’t seem to hear them or see them, and that only made it worse. Feathertail’s heartbeat skyrocketed as thunder shook the mountain again, the deafening roar tingling the fur in her ears. Feathertail dug her claws into the stone, willing them to hold her there despite their soreness, and she felt Mistyfoot hunkering down beside her, as if the winds might pull her off the narrow path.  

Above them Sharptooth roared, snapping at the space between it and Stormfur. Stormfur lunged just as the lightning came – Feathertail felt the heat on her whiskers as she saw the bolt claw down from the sky, striking the stone outcrop beneath Sharptooth and Stormfur. With a crack that sounded like the world splitting in two, the battling cats fell, stone and rock showering around them.

Feathertail barely felt her paws as she half-skidded, half-leaped back down the trail to the pool below. Mistyfoot was hot on her heels. By the time the she-cats reached the Path of Rushing Water, the rain had eased and the dark, angry clouds had dispersed over them, as if their purpose here was done.

Down by the flooded banks laid their bodies, Sharptooth limp beneath charred, crumbled stone and Stormfur lying several tail-lengths away, the waters of the pool lapping at his pelt. Feathertail barely noticed herself twisting a paw on a stray pebble as she scrambled to her littermate’s side.

He’s still alive! She thought, seeing his flanks heaving in the half-moon’s light.

Shadows covered his body as the others crowded around him. Feathertail’s ears were still ringing from the thunder – she barely heard their pleas for Stormfur’s life. Shadepaw was desperately trying to rouse Stormfur to his paws, but she gave up as soon as she lifted one of his legs and found it hung limp. She backed away, her eyes wide with horror – and that was when Feathertail, and the others, knew:

Stormfur was dying.

All the sound rushed back at once as Stormfur’s eyes opened, bleary and shot with pain. He asked, his voice tight, blood trickling from his lips, “Did I… do it?”

There was silence, for a moment – and then Mistyfoot wound herself around his body and licked his ears, answering, “Yes. Yes, Stormfur; you did it.”

Feathertail’s legs trembled. “N-No,” she stammered. “No, Stormfur, no… you can’t die. You can’t leave me!” She pressed her paws into his fur, and though she felt just how broken he was inside, how the heat was leaving his body; she couldn’t accept what was happening in front of her. Fear welled up, threatening to choke her.

Stormfur’s eye flickered to her. “R-Remember what I-” he broke off to cough, his entire body heaving - “what I said?”

You’ll have to learn to live without me sometime. Feathertail swallowed around the lump in her throat, and she nodded.

Stormfur smiled as best as he could. “I heard them…” he rasped on. “Their voices, in the… in the waterfall.”

“It really was your destiny,” Shadepaw murmured.

Stormfur blinked in affirmation. He looked up at Mistyfoot. “I’m so… sorry,” he said. “I will always love you, M-Misty… Please… take the Clans home for me, would… you?”

Mistyfoot’s voice was choked. “I-I will,” she promised, pressing her muzzle against his. “I loved you, too,” she whispered. “Oh, Stormfur…”

Stormfur closed his eyes. He looked... happy. How could he look so happy? “Thank you,” he breathed. “Don’t… forget… Don’t forget the sun-drown-place…” His sides shuddered, and he opened his eyes again – but this time, they were unfocused and far away, his pupils dull and blown out.

No, Feathertail thought. She knew it was coming but she couldn’t believe it, wanted to do anything to stop it.

“Y-You… made it here?” Stormfur murmured. His lips curled into a smile. “I-I’m coming, Brambleclaw… I’m sorry for sleeping in…”

Stormfur closed his eyes, and did not open them again.

[andisinger]

Black Crow Ch.5

Hello everyone! I just wanted to do a quick poll and see if you would prefer to read my stories here or on AO3. Please let me know, but anyways, onto the story! Word Count: 3957

When I was younger, I ran through woods not too far South of here; it was my first run alone with Hod before his naming ceremony. His face was a more consistent color and his teeth were whiter with a pup like attitude. My swords were my only weapons; in my childish wisdom, Hod and I galloped through the woods carelessly. Hod’s young, untrained, mind brought his focus to prey, discarding me in the process. I was rolled into a sacred tree circle where nothing would grow, where no leaves fell, where no animals dared go.    Father had warned me of this place, of its viscous protector; a large guardian with a tail that would wrap around you to squeeze the life from your lungs. A hideous beast with four arms, a jaw that dangled as he shook his head; his weapon of choice was a scythe he used to cleanly cut the trees from their stalks as he chased you. His six black eyes could find you better than any hawk from the same height. He was told to tower over the circle, waiting for unbelievers to attempt to enter this circle.     There I sat, panting as I looked around for Hod; my throat clenched, keeping me from calling his name as I spun to search the crowded woods for him; once more, I was a lost child. Tears blurred my vision as I reached for the cloth covered handles of my swords. The metal rang out as they left their bone sheathes from beside my hips. I circled, turning endlessly, waiting for the guardian to slither his tail. Leaves would rustle catching my attention to my left, then to my right, only to repeat. The guardian was toying with me; he could smell the fear drowning my lungs.     I ran towards one side of the circle, my moccasins scattering the sacred dirt from its holy place. A tree dropped from the heavens above. The branches shattered, splinters of every size piercing nearby wood. I leapt over the tree, fleeing for my life while whistling rapidly for my young warg. A rattle sounded, similar to a child’s plaything. Trees bellowed as they fell, their winds knocking me to the ground. My swords still in my shaking palms, I searched for the guardian.    I listened closely for the sound of his tail slithering amongst the leaves like wind. The weight of his body damaged the earth, tearing into it as he combed through the trees for me. His rattling tail wrapped itself around my ankles, his sharp scales cutting through the leather around them to burrow into my skin as he lifted me. We stared at each other, his jaw bounced while his tongue wagged; a punishment from the spirit of the woods for his greed. I crunched towards his tail and stabbed between the scales.    The roar bellowed through his gaping mouth, the bleeding tail uncoiling then falling to the forest floor below taking me with it. I screamed as I fell, my limbs flailing to latch onto anything. Hitting the ground, my vision dulled as I was left bleeding from my remaining sword that stabbed through my left shoulder. I could only watch as the guardian took up his scythe and slithered back to the sacred circle.    Hod found me, his whimpers and stomping feet thickening the thread that clung me to life. My young beast had dragged me to Myomel, the safety beneath the yellowing trees an immediate forcefield to the world around us. Hod stayed by my side as I healed over the years; we both grew larger and wiser in gathering years. I was young, inexperienced then; inattentive to the stories my people shared. I went in search of the guardian many years later, only to find my sword, still coated in thick blood beside the decaying, fallen tree just outside the circle.    The memory clung to my brain while we looked on through the woods close to Myomel. Hod’s hair stood on edge as the two young wargs lept around the woods gleefully playing with each other. Kav walked behind me escorting Jaskier who held a cautious hand to her shoulder. A loud call echoed around the woods; the call lifting at the end questioning my heading. I responded, two lingering whoops at the end to inform them of my destination. The silver warg paused before the crouching black female, his ears forwards with his paw lifted. He looked towards me, his head lifted in a howl that erupted into smoke. “What is he doing?” Jaskier asked, still walking with an obedient hand on my beast. I smiled as we closed in on the gates; two soldiers readying their swords and bow. “Ya auta eller? (Who goes there)” A familiar voice asked, staring beneath his helmet at the overeager bard and the unexcited Witcher. “Mankoi uma question, calanon?(Why do you question, Calanon)” I dismounted to welcome my childhood friend once more. “Ya uma lle brien?(Who do you bring?)” Calanon demanded, his swords aimed behind me at the foreigners with uncovered faces. “Y' Lindar ar' i' witcher. (A bard and the Witcher)” I watched his face tense, his lips turned to white steel as his guard firmed.    Placing a hand on his elbow, I moved closer to him. “Ron naa n'uma threat.(They are no threat)” I whispered. “Witcher's Ndengina  lye gwaith. (Witcher’s kill our kind.)” He exclaimed, stepping closer. “Il- sina er.(Not this one)” I murmured. Calanon shook his elbow to rid my hand. “Amin owe ho y' winya roch. (I owe him a new horse)” “Sana ta ar' auta. (Take it and go)” Calanon snapped. His black eyes glanced at me now. Furrowing my brows, I nodded and made my way inside. Stopping before being seen, I turned to the men and my wargs. “Hod, E' ale'quel. (In front); Kav, behind.” The experienced beasts stood behind me and behind the Witcher and the Bard while the two nameless animals stayed on the sides to shield my people of their presences. “Do not speak, Bard.” I demanded.    Jaskier looked around, the smile never leaving his mouth. “Manka ro quena, sakkata ho apart. (If he speaks, tear him apart)” I informed my wargs. Jaskier looked at me and I covered his mouth. “If you speak, my wargs will shred you. Limb from limb.” I glanced to the Witcher who stood with his arms by his sides and his disdain plastered permanently to his face. “And they might take you with them.”    We walked slowly through the town, many of the children excitedly jumping onto the fence to watch as we returned. I smiled as two hooded children took my hands to walk with me, offering some wolfbane to Hod who sneezed from the smell. “Er re, amin nauva y' warg rider. (One day, I will be a warg rider)” The child tugged on my elbow as he spoke, his hood nearly falling from his jumping. I chuckled and picked him up. “Sut uma a're tyava?(How does today feel)” I asked, placing him gently on Hod’s back. The boy's smile brightened as he bounced around the mature beast. His small hands curling in his mane while his small feet hardly stretched over the sides of his ribs. The other child was content speaking nearly as much as Jaskier was used to. Jaskier would open his mouth to speak, Kav would lift her lip, her eyes darkening.    More familiar cloaks stepped by the road, their animals rejoicing with wagging tails, howls, or roars. We walked along the dirt road, yellow leaves falling to rest on the ground around us; the city of Myomel was quiet as usual, whispers from townsfolk and sounds of our beasts, laughing of the children as they ran beside me. Geralt hummed between my beasts and Jaskier, the man longing to speak and shout and sing of his new adventures in the undiscovered city. The child had long since abandoned the ride of my Wargs, their backs an uncomfortable ride in the beginning; a thing you must learn to tolerate then perhaps, if you’re lucky, enjoy.    I approached my father’s house, the dark beams of the wood striking against the bright white light of the sun. The dyed red door opening with a creak, my father stepped out; his hair now bound in plaits that fell onto his chest from beneath his hood. A bright smile lit up my eyes as I ran into his welcoming arms. “Atar!” I exclaimed happily. He chuckled as he held me close to him, the smell of cedar from the trees and honeysuckle from his potions cleared my mind for the moment. “Atar, Amin caela  somethien Amin caela  nyar- lle.(Father, I have something I have to tell you.)” My smile faded, and fear filled my breast. “Naa ta i' witcher? Amin caela  been watchien lle e' amin kaimela. (Is it the Witcher? I’ve been watching you in my dreams.)” He said, his hand grasping onto mine and tugging me down towards my wargs.    I nodded in silence. “Atar, sina naa jaskier.  Ro naa y' Lindar. (Father, this is Jaskier. He is a bard.)” Father pushed the young black warg aside, to get a closer look at the bright clothes of the bard. His hands tugging at the hem of his jacket and vest, his fingers strummed the strings of his lute as he circled him in silence. “Sina naa il- i' witcher. (This is not the Witcher)” Father said. I chuckled and shook my head; the Witcher standing next to him watched my fathers movements carefully, his golden eyes lingering on his hood. “N'uma.  I' edan yassen i' nim loske naa i' witcher.(No. The man with the white hair is the Witcher)” I corrected; father sighed with a small smile and turned to look at the Witcher, searching him up and down. “Do not touch me.” The Witcher demanded. His harsh tone lifted the anger of my wargs.    I whistled, calling them to my side. “You waste your breath, Witcher. My father does not know the common tongue.” I informed him. Jaskier sighed a heavy breath of relief being allowed the freedom to speak. “It’s beautiful. Everyone wears their hoods, as you said. I have yet to see any elders, though, I would very much like to meet them.” I shook my head with a small smile. “You will see some elders at the naming.” Both men looked at me, watched me, waiting for something to happen. “I am very hungry, so might we skip the pleasantries and get some food?” Jaskier asked, moving towards the door. Father’s large beast stood on its hind legs before the door, its front paws dangling as it roared deeply. Father lifted his hand, waving it lazily as he walked in the direction of the barn. His large beast followed him as he went past us.    Jaskier stood with wide eyes as he looked at me once more; I couldn’t help but chuckle as Jaskier practically ran towards me for help. “We have a routine in Myomel. Putting away the animals, then foraging and farming for our food.” My wargs ran excitedly towards their stalls. “Do you eat meat?” The Witcher asked in his gruff voice as we followed behind my father. I shook my head at his gruff intrusion of our lives. “No. Only our beasts eat meat.” I answered, closing the stall doors behind my beasts who had their noses deep in their feed. “Why is that?” Jaskier questioned, looking around the barn at the farming tools that clinked against the wall. “Some animals can not live without meat, we can. The spirits have told us to spare innocent lives if we can help it.” I responded, my hands steadying the tools. The Witcher sighed heavily, his fists bawled as he brooded near the door of the barn. “When will I get my horse you owe me?” The Witcher asked. I lifted my brows as I turned to him slowly. “The day after tomorrow. Tomorrow is for a naming celebration.” I told him.    We sat around the table in silence while the fire crackled nearby. Our spoons clattered gently around the bowls of vegetable stew and broth. “Atar, lle said lle nae watchien amin imya lle kaimela?(Father, you said you were watching me through your dreams)” I questioned. Father nodded, swallowing his mouthful of steaming stew. “I' spirits sent amin sights en' lle.  Ar' i' witcher.  Never i' Lindar. (The spirits sent me visions of you. And the Witcher. Never the Bard)” He said. I could tell he wanted me to look into his light brown eyes, see what he was seeing. “Amin omente i' yeste' fea.(I met the first spirit)” I informed my father. He dropped his spoon, staring up at me with the fire’s glow licking at his cheeks and chin.    Father swallowed deeply, his tongue poking out to lap at his bottom lip. “Mani ume ro quena en'?(What did he speak of)” The Witcher sitting next to me stirred his stew in silence, golden eyes flickering like stray flames; Jaskier sat on my right, devouring his stew with fervour while watching my father and I speak in our foreign tongue beneath our hoods. “Ro nyare amin en' y' ohta tanya will destroy i' palurin vee' lye sinta ta.  Niflgaard will sakkata lye ndor apart.(He told me of a war that will destroy the world as we know it. Niflgaard will tear our land apart.)” Father placed his elbows on the table, nimble hands intertwining together as he bowed his head and mumbled prayers under his breath. “Atar, i' fea nyare amin a' stay yassen i' witcher. (Father, the spirit told me to stay with the Witcher)” Father continued praying, his words growing louder. I sighed and licked my lips, leaning back in my chair while rolling my head slightly. “What’s he doing?” Jaskier asked, his face leaning closer to my hood. I put my hand out in a gesture to silence him until father finished his prayer.    Father continued his prayer of thanks and begged for mercy against the coming war then finished a while later as the three of us looked on in a ringing silence. “Uma vee' i' fea says.  Mani ume ro maa ve'?(Do as the spirit says. What did he look like?)” He asked, resuming his eating. I licked my lips after finishing my bowl while he prayed, dropping my spoon in the bowl with a wooden clatter then told him of the whole experience. “Ale' ro hyarya, amin cam nae kalye.(After he left, my hands were illuminated)” I said, my palms facing the ceiling then turning as I told him. “Ro one lle ho templa.(He gave you his magic)” Father was breathless for a moment, I feared the worst; perhaps the spirits would flood him in this second, his face would be revealed, and I would be helpless to stop the possession. Father was my greatest concern; as his jaw began to tremble, it was happening. “Get out! Both of you!” I demanded, rushing to my father’s side as his head dropped and his hood fell to rest on the back of his shoulders.    Jaskier and the Witcher sat watching as spirits nestled themselves inside my fathers soul. “Then look away, damn you!” I shouted. My fathers hand in mine, shaking and shivering as if he had been sitting in the winter snow. “Ro one lle ho templa.  Magha ta.(He gave you his magic. Use it.)” My fathers voice crumbled as he struggled to speak. Father dropped my hand to pull my cheek to look at him. His brown eyes blown into a light green that covered the entire eye. “Amin hin.(My child)” The spirit murmured. Jaskier had respectfully cast his eyes aside while the Witcher stared at us. His face was straight as he watched, as if we were actors in a play.    My fathers hand pushed back my hood, my face was revealed to the spirit before me. “Lle naa il- en' sina palurin.(You are not of this world)” I nodded at the spirit, the fact far too familiar to myself and my father. “Am', i' yeste' fea brought lle sinome knowien lle (use -aya at the end of the verb) gurtha protectien sina ndor.  Knowien lle fight alongside i' witcher.(Yet, the first spirit brought you here knowing you would die protecting this land. Knowing you would fight alongside the Witcher)” My father looked at the white haired, silent Witcher. “Geralt of Rivia,” He began, “You do not believe in the spirit's existence. Know this; we watched you in the woods as a child as your mother left you to fetch a pail of water.” I rushed to my feet to cover his face, conceal his identity; the Witcher’s lips pursed, his shoulders tensed and Jaskier turned his head slightly. “How do you know of this?” The Witcher growled, beginning to shake with rage.    The spirit chuckled, his green eyes blinking, his feet shuffling as he leaned back in his chair. My fathers voice began to distort, change, altered by the powerful spirit he channeled. “I was there.” The voice echoed as it spat the information at the Witcher. The bold man shot to his feet, his fist clenched at his sides. The Witcher growled, staring at my father. Waving his hand as he chuckled, the Witcher was sent flying back into the wall where he was stuck by magic. “You can not hurt the spirit’s people.” I stepped back towards the heat of the fire, Jaskier watched the Witcher as he attempted to fight against the magical hold. “Sii' hin, utua i' edainme meant aut- a' nilfgaard.(Now child, find the woman meant to go to Nilfgaard)” My fathers body said, looking at me with green eyes. “Manke uma amin yesta?(Where do I begin?)” I asked.     I was afraid of the power shown by the spirit, my back pressed into the stone of the hearth, my heart surging beneath my breast, my lungs burning as I forgot to breathe. The spirit used my fathers face to smile as he told us of an underground teaching place for the gifted women. “Aretuza.” The word escaped his lips like a whisper as the spirit left him. My fathers head dropped behind him and the Witcher fell from the wall. I ran to my father’s side with wide eyes, grabbing his hands and holding his cheek as he slowly regained consciousness. The Witcher rushed over, his hands grabbing at my father’s cloak. “How did you know that?” The Witcher shouted. I pushed the white haired man away from my frightened father who fell back into his chair with his hands reaching for his weapons. “He doesn’t know anything, Witcher! He does not understand what you’re saying.” The Witcher and I yelled over each other while Jaskier watched the entire scene. “Mani ume i' fea say?(What did the spirit say)” Father asked behind my shoulder, his longbow ready to fire a quick arrow at the loud man before me. “Ro quene en' i' witcher's past.” I said, my shoulders tensed as I stood between the two men, prepared to fight either of them or perhaps both.    Blood rushed loudly through everyone’s ears, the three of us yelling at each other, demanding different things. I stood facing the window, the darkness of night taking over the world outside. I closed my eyes, clamping them shut tightly in an attempt to block out the men surrounding me. My hands stretched out, light scattering the room in a flash then dispersing. The room fell deathly quiet save for the crackling and snapping of the fire. I looked towards my father, his bow now resting by his side while his opposite hand held the arrow by the thin wooden shaft. Father was quiet beneath his hood, his breathing was steady; I looked towards my traveling party, Jaskier had been watching, observing my face with wide blue eyes and a slack jaw. I looked towards the Witcher, his white hair blown behind his broad shoulders, his golden eyes softer now as the three men waited for something. “Enough yelling.” I said, I panted questioning what I had done with a wave of my hand. “Atar, lye caela y' namien e' i' amrun.(Father, we have a naming in the morning)” I stated, looking at him and slowly lifting my wool hood. “Atta.(Two)” Father corrected, his hands replacing his bow in its proper place.    I nodded slowly, exhaustion taking hold. “Uma, Atta.(Yes, two)” Father rushed about the small home, searching for his book of names. I wanted to sit at the table, to rest my eyes until the morning woke the earth but I could not; instead, I washed the bowls and spoon and waited for father to find his books. “What happened?” Jaskier asked as Geralt sat next to him and relaxed in the chair; the wood squealed as it adjusted under his weight. Inhaling sharply, I shook my head. “I don’t know, Jaskier.” Father rushed around the corner, his arms full with thick books in every color, bound in dyed leathers with golden or silver writings. “Amin dethole lle essa tuulo' sina sai- parma.(I chose your name from this very book)” Before me was a blue book with golden letters worn from use; Father and I smiled.    The memory of father flipping through the pages as I sat next to him while he called out different names then looked at me before shaking his head. I would play with his beasts as he would call out different words that I never responded to. I was picking bright, colorful flowers the day I responded to a name. Gleefully turning around to search for my father with armfuls of blooms from the garden outside; father was watching through the window with a smile that beamed with kindness. Now, I sat retracing the lines of where his fingers once stroked for hours. The writing was black against the worn pages, stains of tea or stew littered and bled through some of them. The names and their meanings did not stick out to me, only the fond memories behind them. Flipping through the pages, I searched and found few that clung to my brain but one that rang out like a bell of clarity. Putting the blue book to the side, I spent the remainder of the night searching through the other books while my father helped Jaskier and the Witcher to their rooms.    I searched book after book, the only name I found standing out to me the most in the dark of night. Exhaustion clung to my shoulders and eventually began to tug on my eyelids. I closed them for a moment, resting my head against the crook of my elbow. My fingers slipping through the pages absentmindedly. At sometime in the night, the fire dies out to rest as well, it’s embers dying in the cool morning that absorbed the darkness throughout the world. Outside the window, the beasts were released from their stalls; their cries pulled me from my sleep. I sat up slowly, observing the mess I had made during the night after whatever happened.    Only two books were open; the purple book with the thick, black spine crossed with light brown laces and golden ink and the blue book. The purple book was closer towards the end pages, the last names; the blue blue was open directly in the middle, equal amounts of names going in both directions. I smiled at the names that gleamed backed in white light.

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

A Boy Becomes an Alpha

Stiles was never meant to be an Alpha, but fate had other plans.

Give away commission for @s-is-for-stiles. I hope you like it. ❤

Stiles’ feet slowed beneath him, his feet sinking slightly into the cushion of damp autumn leaves, piles of rotting flesh which littered the forest floor.

The usual autumn tones of brown, gold, orange, and red were darkened by the night, now a dreary mix of greys and heavy black shadows. Dense foliage hung overhead, enclosing the space, shutting out the sky and filtering moonlight. Streams of silver light surrounded him, not enough to see but just enough to distinguish shapes from shadows.

Among the darkness he could make out the fluorescent bleached skeletons of the birch trees, their slender trunks lining the shadows as eye-like rings watched him from all angles.

He turned in circles, the pale light of his torch gliding across the forest floor.

It was around here somewhere.

The police report had said there was a body in this part of the reserve.

Twigs and leaves rustled and broke beneath his feet as he slowly turned in circles, surveying his surroundings. Fallen branches snagged at his ankles, scratching at the pale skin. He hissed in pain, pulling up the cuff of his jeans just enough to see the small droplets of blood.

There was a rustle in the bushes in front of him.

He bolted upright, holding his torch out in front of himself and staring at the bush.

Clumps of leaves and low hanging branches crackling, shaking and bowing as a shadow moved in the darkness.

“Scott?” Stiles whispered. “You came after all, huh?”

There was no reply.

“Scotty,” Stiles said, his voice flat. “It’s dark, we’re in the middle of the forest looking for a dead body. If you think so much as think of sneaking up on me to try and scare me for fun, I will kill you.”

The cold air blew through him.

Stiles took a hesitant step forward. “Scott?”

The figure burst out of the bush, slamming into Stiles and knocking him to the ground.

He curled up in a ball, shielding his face with his arms as the thundering hooves pounding the ground. He slowly opened his eyes, watching as the deer disappeared into the darkness.

His heart hammered against his ribs, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

He braced his hands against the ground, sharp sticks prodding his palms. He grabbed his torch, hands shaking as the echo of the deer drifted away into the cool night air.

Stiles drew in measured breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. He slowly turned back to where the deer had come from.

His heart stopped. His blood ran cold in his veins.

He watched as the shadows shifted around the figure.

Claws dug into the mud, upturning the dirt and releasing the sweet earthy scent. Crimson eyes turned on him as the creature rose up on its hind feet.

Its large form was unhuman; standing tall on curved, slender legs. The bright red eyes were set above an elongated snout. Long arms hung at its side, disfigured hands – hairy, like a wolf’s paws – tense, and thick, curved claws lit by the bleeding streams of moonlight.

Stiles swallowed against the lump in his throat, his eyes wide with terror. He held his breath, his pulse pounding in his eyes.

The creature let out a low growl and lowered its head, arching its shoulders like a predator about to pounce. Glowing red eyes narrowed on him.

Run, his mind screamed. Run!

Stiles flailed about, stumbling backwards. His feet slid out beneath him and he hit the ground. He used a hand to steady himself, digging his feet into the dirt and tearing into the darkness beyond the trees.

He sprinted through the dense forest, weaving his way through the labyrinth of thick tree trunks. He sprung over the fallen trees, broken branches and thick shrubs, his nimble legs and spring-locked ankles projecting him over the large logs. The thick undergrowth and claw-like twigs dragged at his feet. He tried to keep himself upright, struggling not to stumble or trip as he sprinted away from the creature.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

The creature pounced on him.

The air was knocked from his lungs as he hit the ground, rolling down a rocky embankment. His head striking one of the rocks, his body falling still among the jagged slate and the moon-lit water.

He wheezed as pain tore through his body, his head pounding and his side burning. The creature caught up to him, their weight bearing down on him and claws digging into his shoulders.

He felt his eyes grow heavy, darkness creeping in with the promise of relief. The cool water of the stream caressed his face, his unfocused eyes watching the way the silver moonlight caught the water, making it look like ribbons of silk as it threaded through his fingers.

Beyond the pounding blood in his ears, he heard another growl. A dark figure sprinted towards them, tackling the creature and knocking him off of Stiles.

His lungs flooded with air, a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Stiles didn’t spare a second look. He pushed himself to his feet, struggling to find footing among the uneven rocks and trickling stream. He staggered to his feet and sprinted away.

The air was filled with animalistic growls and snapping jaws, draining away the further he ran into the dense forest.

His legs burnt as he forced himself to run further and further, until he was sure he was away from them.

He slowed, running on the spot as he turned about to check whether he was being followed.

His shallow breath swirled before his in a thin white cloud. His eyes flickered among the shadows.

He took a second to orientate himself, running towards the end of the reserve that backed onto the small children’s park a few streets over from his house.

His lungs burnt and his ribs felt like they had been shattered, but he couldn’t slow down. Tears streaked his face, pain coursing through his veins as he held his arm to his ribs and ran.

He ran until the golden glow of the streetlights broke through the dark labyrinth of trees. He ran across the open soccer field and down the abandoned street. He sprinted to his house, climbing up the through his window and into his bedroom.

He staggered across his room, reaching for the light switch, but froze.

He took a step back, turning to look at the mirror that hung on the inside of his open closet door.

His hands shook as he reached down and pulled back the hem of his jacket.

He swallowed hard against the bile that rose into his throat, tears welling in his eyes as he stared at his reflection. The sickening smell of copper filled his nose as he stared at the growing red stain that covered his side.

He reached around with his free hand, fingers brushing against the frayed edges of his torn shirt and gouged flesh.

He slowly lifted the hem of his shirt, his heart sinking into his gut as he realised there was a pattern to the bleeding wounds.

A bite.

  Peter’s dark eyes were distant as he stood before the ashy ruins of the Hale house. His face was still rippled with burns and scars, slowly healing.

“Power tends to corrupt,” the man mused, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “And absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed as he stared at the man in confusion.

“My sister used to say that a lot.” His voice drifted off and he fell silent for a while. “I once knew an Alpha who controlled a pack of Alphas. He tried to enlist my sister, but she was too stubborn—too blind—to see the power he offered her,” Peter said, staring at the withered wood and scorched glass that had once been his home. “She thought the price to pay for power was too high; said that he was asking too much of her.”

Stiles swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “What did ask of her?”

“To become a stronger Alpha, you must take your Beta’s power,” he replied.

“Take a Beta’s power,” he repeated.

The mulled the words over.

“Like, make them human? You mean, you make me normal again?” Stiles asked, hope filling his voice.

Peter was silent for a moment. He lifted his hand to his face and flexed his fingers, his nails extending into jagged claws. His eyes lit up red as he turned to look at Stiles.

His voice was deep and merciless as he said, “No.”

Stiles didn’t have time to react.

Peter grabbed him by his throat, hoisting the boy off his feet.

Stiles lashed out, dragging his claws across Peter’s arms but the man wouldn’t let go. He slammed his feet into Peter’s chest.

The Alpha cried out in pain as he dropped the boy, his eyes burning brighter as he glared at Stiles, livid with rage.

Stiles scurried backwards, scrambling to his feet but his was too late.

Peter grabbed his ankles and pulled him across the ground.

Stiles kicked out, the sole of his shoe hitting the Alpha’s hand, but this time he didn’t let go. He knelt down on the boy, pinning him to the ground as he raised his hand.

“Peter!” Derek bellowed, catching the Alpha’s attention. He turned to glare at his nephew.

In that second of hesitation, Stiles acted without thinking. He swiped at Peter, his claws tearing open the man’s throat.

Blood sprayed across Stiles’ face, gushing from Peter’s throat as the man stared at him, eyes wide.

Stiles stared back, sickened by the smell of blood. He watched in horror as Peter gasped for air, choking on his own breath as he tried to hold his hands against his throat.

Blood spilled over his hands. The red glow from his eyes faded as his irises returned to their natural hue. He collapsed to the ground.

Stiles kicked himself free and scrambled to his feet, staring in horror as Peter’s body grew still. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision as he turned to look at Derek.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, tears clearing trails through his blood-splattered cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Derek said softly, stepping over to Stiles’ side and pulling him close. “You’re okay.”

“He was going to kill me,” Stiles rasped.

“Come on,” Derek said softly, gently leading Stiles back down the long driveway to his car. He pulled the door open and helped Stiles into the passenger’s seat before hurrying around to the driver’s side.

Stiles felt numb, watching the world flash by. Street lamps strobed, lighting the world before plunging him back into darkness.

They made their way down the abandoned streets of Beacon Hills where no-one else dared to go at night. The glass of the streetlamps were clouded and muddy, the old bulbs strobing and flickering as they struggled to hold onto life. The surrounding buildings were decrepit: old workshops and industrial buildings, some in ruins – with buckling walls, crumpled bricks and streams of water coursing through the rubble like ravines – and others were just abandoned and tagged with crude sprawls of spray-paint.

The building they were looking for stood tall among the rest, old but not the least bit damaged.

The loft.

Derek helped Stiles upstairs, shoving open the heavy iron door and guiding him into the open lounge room. He stepped away from the boy, hurrying over to the small corner of the room where the large bed was shoved up against the wall.

He dug through a dresser, pulling out a grey Henley and a pair of jeans. He set them down in the bathroom before returning to Stiles’ side.

“Get yourself cleaned up,” he said softly.

“We should call the police,” Stiles uttered.

“No,” Derek replied firmly.

“It was self-defence… They’ll understand, right?”

“They’ll understand how you tore open a man’s throat with your bare hands?” Derek said. “I don’t think so.”

“What do I tell my dad?”

“Nothing,” Derek answered.

“You don’t understand—” His words drifted off as he struggled to breathe.

Derek took a step closer, craning his neck to look Stiles in the eye. “You’re right, I don’t understand. I was born like this, I don’t know what it’s like for you. But I know you want to keep your dad safe. So, for now, it’s best that you don’t tell him.”

Stiles opened his mouth to object, but Derek cut him off. “You can tell him one day, just not today.”

Stiles nodded.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.

“It’s okay,” Derek said softly. “I’ll take care of everything. Just get yourself cleaned up.”

Without another word, Derek left.

Stiles did as he was told. He showered, watching as the blood swirled across the shower floor like ink through water bleeding into the drain. He dried himself and got dressed.

Derek still wasn’t home when he came out of the bathroom.

He made his way over to the couch and sat down, pulling his legs up to his chest and burying his face in his knees. He drew in deep breath, letting the soft must that clung to Derek’s shirt sooth him.

Finally, Derek returned. He made his way over to Stiles’ side.

Stiles could smell the rich heart that clung to his clothes, but he didn’t question it. He knew what Derek had gone to do.

“Stiles,” Derek whispered. “Show me your eyes.”

Stiles shook his head, his tear-stained cheeks glittering in the light of the full moon.

“Stiles, look at me,” Derek said softly. He gently cupped Stiles’ cheek, turning the boy’s face towards his and forcing him to look into his eyes as they flickered and glowed red.

“How am I an Alpha?” he asked. “I didn’t take the power from my uncle, so how am I the Alpha?”

“You’re the last Hale, it’s only natural that you would inherit the power,” Stiles suggested.

Derek shook his head. “No, the power is only inherited through a familial hierarchy if the Alpha dies of natural causes or by human hand,” he explained. “When an Alpha is killed by another werewolf, the power is passed on to the one who killed them.”

So, Peter really is dead, Stiles thought, dropping his gaze.

“Stiles,” Derek said with the authority of an Alpha. He craned his neck, his glowing eyes catching Stiles’. “Show me your eyes.”

Stiles blinked heavily, his irises igniting with an unhuman glow.

Red.

Alpha.

  “Oh my God!” Stiles threw his head back, slumping back against the couch as he let out a frustrated groan. “Will you please shut up.”

Peter narrowed his glare on the boy. “You killed me, remember that?”

“I also brought you back, so quit your bitching,” Stiles replied.

“I died,” Peter said. “I feel like I’m doing an adequate amount of bitching.”

“I can always kill you again,” Stiles said without a beat of hesitation, his eyes lighting up with a crimson glow.

Derek couldn’t help but smirk.

Peter opened his mouth to say something when the blaring alarm echoes through the loft.

“What’s that?” Isaac asked.

Derek’s eyes drifted to the flashing light by the heavy iron door.

“Bad news,” he answered.

Stiles rose to his feet, standing into the middle of the room. Derek stepped forward, instinctively ushering his Betas behind him.

There was a thundering bang as the iron sliding door was thrown back.

A woman with tan skin stood in the doorway. Her long hair billowed down her back, streaked by gold and orange. She had a slender figure but she had enough muscle on her that she looked like she could hold her own in a fight. She was bare foot, her nails curved and dark like claws.

Behind her stood a tall man with no hair. He was built, with a square jaw and cold dark eyes.

The woman casually stepped forward into the loft, her nails tapping against the concrete floors.

Derek instinctively edged closer to Stiles, ready to step in or push him aside.

Steels didn’t move, he squared off his shoulders and set his jaw, his dark eyes shifting from the man in the doorway to the woman who took another step closer to them.

She turned her glare on the boy.

“Move and you won’t get hurt.” she growled. She turned to look at Derek. “We’re just here for the Alpha.”

Stiles’ was eerily calm as he levelled his eyes on her. His irises lit up red. “Think again.”

“Two Alphas?” the man in the doorway said, shocked. “In the same territory? How have you not torn each other to shreds yet?”

“Because I’m his,” Stiles answered.

The woman – Kali – frowned in confusion. “His what?”

“His mate,” Stiles said as if it were obvious. He glanced over his shoulder at Derek. “You’ve been tiptoeing around it, but you’re not exactly subtle.”

A soft blush coloured Derek’s cheeks.

Stiles turned back to Kali, his crimson eyes filled with rage. “And if you want him, you’re gonna have to go through me.”

Kali arched a brow at him, impressed. A smirk played across her lips as she shrugged, her eyes glowing red. “Very well.”

She lunged forward.

Stiles caught her arm, turning into her body and hauling her over his shoulder.

She hit the floor with a painful thud, snarling as she rolled over and dug her feet into the concrete.

Stiles was grabbed from behind. He slammed his elbow into Ennis’s gut, balling his fist and slamming his knuckles into the man’s jaw.

Ennis staggered backwards, snarling as he glared at Stiles. He lunged forward, swinging his arm in a wide arc.

Stiles ducked under it, slamming his knuckles into the Alpha’s ribs.

Ennis doubled over, staggering back and falling to his knees.

Kali leapt forward, catching Stiles from behind. She pulled him back, tipping him off balance so his feet pedalled beneath him uselessly. Her claws dug into his throat, drawing small beads of blood.

Stiles winced, sucking in a sharp breath through gritted teeth.

Derek tensed, rage brewing in his eyes.

“Do you know how an Alpha gain more power?” she whispered in his ear.

“By killing their beta,” Stiles answered, shooting a glare at Peter.

“Someone’s been doing his homework,” Kali teased.

Isaac and Boyd edged closer to Derek, their eyes darting from Ennis to Kali, then to Derek as they waited for their Alpha’s orders.

Derek took a step forward.

Kali took a step back, pulling Stiles back with her.

“Uh-uh-uh,” she scolded.

Stiles gasped, grimacing as her hand tensing around his throat, nails digging into his skin.

Derek stood still, his anger intensifying.

“Now, since you’re so smart, can you tell me why this little predicament you’re in is so interesting?” Kali asked.

“Because his beta is another Alpha,” Stiles answered.

“Very good,” she said condescendingly. “Now, Derek – here – is faced with a choice; either he kills you and joins us, or we kill his entire pack.”

“That’s not a choice, it’s an ultimatum,” Stiles corrected. “And you’re forgetting one thing.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I’m an Alpha too.”

Before she could react, Stiles reached behind himself, digging his claws into her shoulder and hauling the woman over his shoulders. He pounced on her, using his knees to pin her arms to the ground and holding his claws against her throat.

Ennis took a step forward but Stiles’ head snapped up, his glare pinning the man in place.

“And you can tell your Alpha that we’re not interested,” Stiles growled, blood dripping down his throat. “You have twenty-four hours to get out of our territory.”

He rose to his feet, letting Kali scramble to her feet.

She skulked back to the door, retreating with Ennis in tow.

Stiles waited, making sure they were gone before turning back to the others.

Derek just started at him, his expression a mix of shock, admiration, and arousal.

“Everyone okay?” Stiles asked.

“You’re bleeding,” Derek said, shaking himself from his stupor.

Stiles waved his hand dismissively. “It’ll heal.”

Derek didn’t listen to him. He ran to the kitchen and grabbed the First Aid kit. He hurried back to Stiles’ side, guiding him over to the couch. He opened the small metal box, pulling out the rubbing alcohol and a small cotton pad. He knelt before Stiles, carefully pressing the disinfectant to the gashes in his throat.

“Please don’t tell my dad about this,” Stiles said, gesturing to his blood throat and stained shirt. “He’ll freak out.”

“He’s probably going to find out,” Derek told him. He was as gentle as he could be as he held the gauze against his torn flesh and taped it in place. “Alpha wounds take longer to heal.”

Stiles shrugged. “I’ll tell him I walked into a tree.”

Derek smirked. “He’ll believe that.”

He set the First Aid kit aside. “So, uh… You know.”

“That we’re mates? Yeah,” Stiles replied. “It took me a while, but yeah.”

Derek let out a measured breath.

“I know you don’t like to talk about what happened to you,” Stiles said. “But I’m not her. And I want to be with you.”

Derek looked up at him, stunned.

“That is, if you want to be with me,” Stiles added.

A breathless laugh escaped Derek’s lips as he smiled sweetly.

“Yeah,” he said. “I want to.”

Stiles leant forward, craning his neck and pressing a soft kiss against Derek’s cheek.

[AO3]

[nitewrighter]

reidan fairy tale au

Me @ me: Sarah you gotta work on Breach. You can do this later. Don’t get distracted just because you have an excuse to write a Hazards of Love/Child Ballads rip-off.

Me, already typing: I can’t hear you. I’m busy writing a Hazards of Love/Child Ballads rip-off.

…yeah this one’s gonna be a two parter. Not my usual route with Fairy Tale AU’s but look, I wrote a paper on the Child Ballads in college so let me have this.

—

Once upon a time, a powerful fae queen shaped herself a son and heir from pale birch wood. She carved fair features for him, gave him two eyes of red agate and blue sapphire, and hair orange like autumn leaves. In his chest she embedded a heart of amber, and she filled his lungs with the wind that shook the trees, and he awoke.

“Your name is Aedan,” she told him, “You are a prince and guardian of this forest. And should man or my enemies ever slay me, you will take up arms and avenge me, and then rule in my stead.”

The prince understood this, and accepted this, and so for many years he fulfilled his duties with grace and solemnity, content in season after season, century after century. Kingdoms rose and fell around their forest, but no human could penetrate its heart. The Queen’s kingdom thrived in its isolation, while other dynasties of fair folk collapsed and were forgotten. Sure it was a bit lonely, but Aedan found comfort in the song of birds and the chatter of squirrels, and he himself took to the habit of taking the form of a red stag, dappled with white, by day.

He knew of humans–most of the humans he had seen had been burly aged woodsmen and would-be hunters, though he had seen his fair share of mortal women as well. There were the witches and their apprentices, who would walk through the woods gathering mushrooms and herbs, leaving saucers of milk, small cakes and vials of brandy, and wedges of cheese in exchange for safe passage through the woods. There were pretty young women from the towns as well, giggling girls dressed in green, kilting their kirtles above their knees and daring each other into the woods on full moons because legend said that would draw his attention—usually he only had to turn into a fox and keen to send them running, shrieking and laughing out of the woods and back to the safe arms of civilization. Mortals to him were, at best, an amusement to trick or leave little gifts for, and at worst, the potential destruction of all he held dear. So, like any Fae worth his salt would be, he was fascinated by them, but knew well to keep his distance.

…until he didn’t.

One day, the prince saw two figures crossing through his forest on horseback. A grim man with graying dark hair, and a cloaked figure riding behind him.  Aedan, in the form of a red squirrel, watched them from the bough of an ancient oak. The grim and graying man carried a bow, and the smaller figure behind him held a sparrowhawk aloft on their gloved hand.

Hunters, thought Aedan, disdainfully, Must be very brave to come to my forest… let’s see how brave they are with a swarm of hornets bearing down on them.

As he was willing his magic to the tree and the earth to call a plague of stinging insects upon the pair of hunters, the cloaked figure with the hawk pulled their hood back.

And Aedan stopped.

The second figure was a girl with bright eyes and thick eyebrows, and wild, flame-like dark hair tied back in a voluminous ponytail with a green ribbon.

“It’s beautiful here,” she said, looking around, “Do you think there are really faeries in this place, Uncle?”

The graying man scoffed. “That is only a tale they tell to keep children and fools from wandering into the woods.”

The girl sighed and let her eyes trail up to the forest canopy. Aedan watched her tuck a stray bit of hair back from her face, until she made eye contact with him. Well… he was a squirrel. Nothing unusual there. Nothing to worry about if a human saw him. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and a smile spread across her face.

She’s smiling at me, he thought, and for the first time in centuries he felt his amber heart swell and crack with sweet sap within his chest.

Then she took the hood off of her sparrowhawk. The hawk’s head swiveled around to look at him and its pupils shrunk to pinpoints.

Oh, thought Aedan, and the hawk shot toward him. He leapt off of the tree limb and the bird swept upward. He landed in a batch of ferns and heard the hawk screech and change direction, moving to dive-bomb him. He didn’t think. He turned into a wolf, the largest wolf he could, and charged out of the brush.

“Look out!” shouted the grim man with the bow as both of their horses spooked. He was thrown from his horse while the poor girl struggled with one foot caught in her stirrups as her horse bolted through the forest. Aedan heard something whistle through the air and felt a burning pain in his left hind leg, but still he kept running while the bowman was still trying to calm down his horse. He lost sight of the girl, but he could feel blood running down his leg. He ran and ran and ran, fueled by fear and instinct until he tripped over a tree root and tumbled into a glade carpeted by ferns and wood anemone, retaking the shape of a man in his fall. Groaning, he rolled over on his side and gave a glance to his leg, where an arrow was embedded in its side. He heard a groan nearby and flinched and ducked low as the girl, apparently thrown from her horse in its mad gallop, rose up from among the white flowers, picking stray leaves from her hair. She staggered to her feet and he stared at her, transfixed, until the slightest movement in his leg sent searing pain shooting through him. Iron. Metal. Mother had always told him to stay away from the stuff, and now it was stabbing into his leg. He couldn’t help but let out a grunt of pain. She quickly turned her head in his direction and looked at him.

“Who are you—Where did you–?’ she started but then her eyes widened at his his leg and she hurried over and stumbled down to his side, “Oh no…” she said, looking at his wound, “Hold still.”

“Wait—” said Aedan, “Give me a second, I need to—”

She yanked the arrow out of his leg.

“GRAHH!” he cried out in pain, but suddenly he felt something tingling, but not stinging over the wound. The girl had put a poultice over it and was quickly binding his leg up.

“Mother taught me some healing arts,” she said, wiping her hands on her trousers.

“I…thank you,” he said.

“We’d better get you out of these woods, there’s a wolf about, and he’ll probably smell–” she cut herself off and looked at the arrow she had pulled from his leg. Her eyes flicked from the arrow to him, “…blood,” she finished her sentence, but it was clear her mind had raced far ahead of the thought now.

“…This is one of my uncle’s arrows,” she said.

“…Yes,” said Aedan.

“Why would my uncle shoot you?” she asked.

“It… was an accident?” said Aedan.

“My uncle doesn’t ‘accidentally’ shoot people,” she said, looking at the trail of wreckage his tumble had torn through the carpet of wood anemone and sorrel. She pursed her lips and she looked at the area around them with the keen eyes of a hunter. She saw the edge of the glade, where a single wolf’s pawprint had sunk into the loamy earth, and claw-marks marked his loss of footing. She slowly turned and looked at him.

“What… what are you?” she asked.

“I’m a human,” he replied stiffly.

“Were you a human five minutes ago?”

Aedan opened his mouth, then closed it.

“You were the wolf,” she said, looking down at the arrow.

“I–what? Me? The wolf? That is ridiculous. Preposterous. I cannot believe you would for one second assume that that is anywhere close to possible. I have never in my life heard of anything as silly as–Look out behind you!” he pointed over her shoulder and she turned around and he turned into a stag and attempted to sprint off, only for pain to sear through his side and force him to collapse before he even reached the edge of the glade. She turned back around to see a stag struggling on its side, its forelegs flailing amidst the white flowers.

“You know… the way the locals talked about you, I assumed faeries were far more dangerous,” said the girl, walking over.

“We’re very dangerous,” returned Aedan, his voice half a rutting bellow as he shifted back to human form.

She giggled a little and everything his mother had taught him told him he should be furious. How dare she giggle at him? He who had the blood of kings and gods and the rivers of the earth running through his veins? But he wasn’t furious. He loved the sound of her laugh, somehow both lilting and rich.

“Rei! Where are you?” a voice broke through the trees.

Rei. The girl’s name was Rei. Rei of sunlight. Rei-of-Raven-Hair. Rei-diant. He probably would have been more transfixed by the name if Rei hadn’t shouted, “Coming, uncle!” and immediately alarmed him to the fact that another mortal was in the immediate vicinity.

“I can’t let him see me,” Aedan’s voice was low and hushed.

“Then you should leave before–” Rei whispered and then caught herself, “Oh! Here!” she took the green ribbon tying her hair back, and it fell thick and wild about her shoulders. She took his hand and put the ribbon in his palm. “You need to give the faeries a gift for safe passage through the woods, right?”

“I–yes..” said Aedan.

“I don’t have any sweet cakes or milk on me. Faeries like green, though, right?” said Rei.

Aedan nodded a bit blankly before catching himself. “I–I can’t give you safe passage if you insist on hunting here,” said Aedan.

“I’ll find an excuse,” said Rei, smiling, “I’ve never met a faerie before. I suppose that’s worth more than a few braces of squirrels and coneys, right?”

“Rei!” Rei’s uncle’s voice drew closer.

“I’ll be right there!” Rei called back.

“You can come back,” Aedan blurted out.

“Come again?” said Rei.

“If… if you want to come back to these woods, you can. Not your hunting parties. You,” said Aedan, “As prince of these woods, I give you leave.”

“Ooh, a prince!” Rei said with a grin, “I didn’t know I was talking to royalty, your majest–”

“Aedan.”

“What?”

“My name is Aedan. Call me that,” said Aedan. With that he turned into an impressively large dragonfly, still clasping the green ribbon in his six twig-like legs, and zipped off out of the clearing just as Rei’s uncle came into sight, the reins of two horses in one hand, and Rei’s sparrowhawk perched on the other. The dragonfly watched from atop a toadstool as Rei’s uncle handed her the reins of her horse.

“Who were you talking to?” asked her Uncle. 

“Oh no one,” said Rei, “I don’t think it would be fair to the horses to continue the hunt after all this excitement, don’t you?”

“Hmm….” her uncle looked at her skeptically, “Your hair ribbon. What have you done with it?”

“It must have fallen out when I was thrown from my horse,” said Rei, “Ah a green ribbon in a forest–might as well look for a needle in a haystack,” she swung up onto the horse, “Shall we go home?”

Hesitantly her uncle handed her her glove and sparrowhawk over. “Very well,” he said.

True to her word, Rei led her uncle from the forest. Aedan watched them through the eyes of dragonfly, robin, and squirrel. He followed them out to the very edge of the wood and watched them ride off toward the town and castle in the distance. His mother had always told him their forest was one of the last bastions of their kind, that mankind was flooding over the earth like decay, cutting down forests, bringing up great tomb-like fortresses of stone, filling the air with stinking smoke and the scent of metal. And yet, he thought, retaking the form of a human and looking at the green ribbon in his hand, They can’t be all bad—not all of them. Something stirred in him then, he who had been so willing to let the empires of men rise and fall like the tides without so much as a thought. It felt like a creek unthawing, the idea that the world beyond his woods was so alien and rapidly changing (And that a certain dark haired girl was somewhere out there in that yonder) and all this time it had not occurred to him to look at it more closely. The stars and sun no longer wheeled so swiftly overhead for him–this was a mortal perception of time, that every second, every moment suddenly had boundless possibilities, because out there was a mortal, and every moment must matter to her.

The days never seemed to pass so slowly, until, 7 agonizingly slow days later, Rei returned to the woods, alone this time. She brought a little cake with her to assure her safe return. “I’ll accept it, this time” Aedan said a bit haughtily, (You couldn’t just let humans walk in and out like the owned the place you know) “You invite much danger by returning to my realm.”

“Oh I’m terrified, your highness,” said Rei, taking out a second cake for herself and biting into it, not seeming terrified in the slightest, “I am quite lucky you are here to protect me.”

Aedan just smiled at this, took the cake she held out to him, then gestured out at the woods, “So–safe passage? What in these woods would you like to see?”

Rei ended up seeing far more of the woods in a matter of hours than most humans had seen of the woods in centuries. Aedan showed her swift-running creeks where silver and green fish darted in and out of sight, he took her to the top of the tallest tree in the wood, where the canopy of the forest lay out before them like a plush hilly carpet of greens and browns and golds, he showed her the standing stones which marked where god-kings of ages past had fallen in bloody battle.  He would have shown her even more, but then the sun was nearly setting and she had to return home. But something started then. 

While doing her best not to neglect her lessons and her responsibilities on her family estate, Rei snuck off to the woods every chance she got. She could see him once every few days or so. Aedan as well, while being mindful to keep to his princely duties, always made time for her, dropping everything when he saw a familiar head of dark hair coming to the edge of the wood. She brought little gifts for him to assure her safe passage every time–a small cake, a wedge of cheese, brightly colored buttons (None metal, of course) and ribbons. Eventually Aedan was giving her gifts too. Rei’s mother and father wondered what she got up to in her wanderings, coming home with a dreamy look in her eyes and snowdrops and forget-me-nots braided into her hair. It was taken as a postulate that neither of their families could know of their relationship–both sides considered the other too dangerous, and while Aedan and Rei prided themselves and laughed over ‘knowing better’ in all the foolishness of youth, they still knew that if any of their parents knew of their meetings, that they would be forced to end it. So it was their secret, and the fact that it was secret made it all the more thrilling. 

 Eventually in their absences, Rei took to staring longingly out the window of her room, out towards the woods, daydreaming, leaving saucers of milk out in the estate gardens at night (Which, while the fair folk’s reception of it was unclear, the local barn cats’ reception of it was overwhelmingly positive.) Aedan too was completely besotted, and the forest, being a reflection of his will, displayed that in the extreme. Wild strawberry and honeysuckle seemed to spring up where he stepped, great garish blooms of nasturtium climbed up the trunks of trees where he would lean to let out loud lovelorn sighs (Fairies have a tendency for the dramatic, obviously). The very wind in the trees and the groans of the branches seemed to sing in tune with this sighing, and it wasn’t long until the fairy queen noticed the excessive amounts of flowers around her kingdom, and the… distracted state of her son.

“What do you suppose is going on with him?” she said to a courtier as she watched Aedan humming a song Rei had taught to him.

“If I didn’t know better, your majesty, I would say the prince is in love,” The courtier replied.

“How interesting,” said the queen, “How very interesting.”

—-

To be continued.

[wildheart-warriors]

Timelines Chapter Ten

The days before the gathering passed in tense silence; every cat was focused and grim-faced, the usual cheerful atmosphere of camp replaced by one of fear and anger. Mosspaw spent her nights training; battle practice from sunset to moonhigh, and hunting from moonhigh to sunrise.

Featherwhisker was always within calling distance of Thrushpelt, while Spottedpaw gathered supplies tirelessly. The elders reinforced the nursery and camp walls, weaving brambles and strong branches into any gaps. They were preparing for the worst.

“Thistleclaw,” Sunstar called. “Gather Halftail, Oakclaw, Fuzzypelt, Goldenflower, Whitestorm, Tigerclaw, Leopardfoot, Adderfang, and their respective apprentices. We must leave soon.”

The deputy nodded his assent, and paused as he passed Mosspaw. “Could you fetch your siblings and Frostpaw for the gathering?” he asked. Mosspaw nodded quickly and gulped down the last bite of her shrew before sticking her nose into the apprentice’s den. Frostpaw lay inside, curled around her injured sister Brindlepaw. The deep gouges down Brindlepaw’s chest would likely rip open again if the apprentice moved too much. Frostpaw spent every spare moment at her sister’s side.

“Frostpaw, Thistleclaw wants you for the gathering,” she mewed. The gray and white she-cat looked up, her blue eyes glittering like ice, and carefully detangled herself from Brindlepaw.

“Shadowclan better have a good explanation for this,” she growled as she stalked past. Mosspaw shivered and stepped out of her way, noticing for the first time how imposing Frostpaw was. She carried herself with the same quiet power as her mentor.

Mosspaw turned toward the gorse tunnel and spotted Stonepaw, returning with a load of brambles held delicately in his jaws. Everyone was staying close to camp tonight, both in hopes of attending the gathering and to guard against possible attack.

“Stonepaw! Sunstar said we could attend the gathering,” she called. “Do you know where Mistypaw is?”

Stonepaw waved his tail, and jerked his head towards the gorse tunnel. “By the stream,” he mumbled. “She stepped in something rotten.”

Mosspaw trotted out past the slowly assembling patrol to find her sister. Sunstar had chosen more cats than he usually would to attend. Hopefully it would show how strong Thunderclan was; and overpower Shadowclan should the truce break.

She spotted Mistypaw as she rounded the next bend. Her sister had waded out to the deepest part of the stream and stood there, soaked up to her belly fur, eyes closed. Mosspaw’s whiskers twitched and she took a deep breath, sitting up on her hind legs.

“Y’know you only had to wash your paws!” she bellowed. Mistypaw gasped and lost her footing as she turned to face her sister, plunging the rest of her into the stream and drenching her.

Mosspaw tumbled onto her back, laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe while Mistypaw dragged herself onto dry land. The normally elegant apprentice glared at her through dripping fur, her pelt plastered to her sides. Before Mosspaw could say anything, Mistypaw lunged for her and knocked her barely-regained breath from her chest.

“You stupid furball,” Mistypaw hissed. Mosspaw gasped for breath and kicked weakly at Mistypaw’s flanks in a futile attempt to get her wet sibling away from her. Mistypaw grabbed Mosspaw by the scruff, and Mosspaw didn’t realize what she was trying to do until she was almost in the stream.

“Mistypaw no!” she cried, flailing against her sister and trying to contain her laughter long enough to escape. Cold water flooded up the back of her neck and shoulders as she was plunged into the stream, her thick tabby fur soaked to the skin.

The sisters returned to camp dripping wet and the last of the gathering party to arrive. Sunstar narrowed his eyes but said nothing, and they quickly shuffled to the back of the group.

“What in Starclan’s name did you do?” Stonepaw whispered, padding a safe distance away from his dripping sisters.

“Mosspaw made me slip in the stream,” Mistypaw sniffed. “I made us even.”

“You wouldn’t have slipped if you weren’t belly deep! Last I checked that’s not how most cats wash their paws,” Mosspaw retorted.

“How I wash my paws is none of your business!” Mistypaw hissed. Mosspaw stuck her tongue out and shook herself out. Stonepaw let out a little yelp and raced forward out of the splash zone, leaving his damp and drippy siblings to plod alone at the back of the group.

By the time they reached Fourtrees Mosspaw felt mostly dry, but not at all dignified. Her fur was fluffed out and sticking up in spikey clumps; she must look like a messy kit in place of an apprentice! Sunstar paused at the top of the slope, and she quickly tried to smooth out her coat with a few rapid tongue strokes. Nearby, Mistypaw was attempting the same thing, and not for the first time Mosspaw was envious of her longer fur, which seemed to cooperate much more nicely than her mid-length pelt ever did.

She nearly missed Sunstar’s signal, and was at the tail end of the Thunderclan party as they charged down into the hollow. Immediately Mosspaw was swamped with the scents of the other three clans; Shadowclan’s strong pine-needle musk, Riverclan’s wet, fishy smell, and Windclan’s light heather scent. Unlike her own clan, she couldn’t pick out individuals here. They all blended together, foreign to her and indistinguishable from one another.

The Thunderclan cats split apart and vanished into the throng of unfamiliar felines, leaving Mosspaw on her own and entirely lost. Thankfully Oakclaw spotted her, and waved her over with his tail. Stonepaw and Mistypaw joined them, both as wide-eyed and nervous looking as she felt.

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet,” their father purred. He led them through the crowd, towards the center of the clearing where the Great Rock loomed high above them. No cat stood their now, but soon the clan leaders would assemble atop it and call the gathering to order.

Around the base of the rock were eight cats; two were familiar, Thistleclaw and Sunstar, her own deputy and leader, but the others were strangers to her. Oakclaw padded toward them, and a hulking brown tabby tom looked up. Mosspaw had to stifle a gasp. He was big and broad shouldered, with long, thick fur the same shade as her own and warm green eyes; but what caught her attention was his jaw. It was twisted to the side and jutted forward more than was natural, exposing his bottom canines and crooked, misaligned teeth. This was Crookedstar, leader of Riverclan, and her uncle.

Crookedstar rose to meet them, bumping his head against Oakclaw’s affectionately. The two brothers purred greetings while Stonepaw, Mistypaw, and Mosspaw looked on in awe.

“I’ve brought some cats I think you’d like to meet,” Oakclaw purred.

“So you have,” Crookedstar mewed. His voice was warm and friendly, and much cleared than Mosspaw expected. “It’s good to meet you at last, my kin. Now, which one of you is which?” humor sparkled in his eyes, and Mosspaw found herself at ease with the Riverclan tom.

“I’m Stonepaw!” Stonepaw rushed forward, standing up as tall as he could and puffing out his chest.  “And these are my sisters, Mistypaw and Mosspaw.” He gestured to each of them with his tail.

Mistypaw shot him a glare and shouldered him aside. “We can speak for ourselves,” she retorted. “As he said, though, I’m Mistypaw.”

Crookedstar’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “You��re the spitting image of your mother, the two of you. And you,” his gaze turned to Mosspaw. “Just like your father. A little on the small side, though.” he chuckled. “Pity your parents chose to bring you up in Thunderclan, you look like you’d be strong swimmers!”

Oakclaw shot his brother a warning look, but Crookedstar paid no attention. He lay on his side and hummed quietly for a moment. “Did Oakclaw ever tell you how I broke my jaw?” he asked.

“Oh, yes!” Mosspaw mewed. “And he said you even ran away from Riverclan after! Where did you go?”

“Why did you come back?” Stonepaw added.

“Well, I went up past Windclan’s moors and into the farmland beyond,” he began. Mosspaw tried to pay attention, but her gaze kept wandering; they were surrounded by cats from other clans, and she didn’t want to spend the whole gathering listening to Crookedstar tell them stories they’d already heard.

A Riverclan apprentice was her saving grace. A small torbie charged up to them, thrusting her muzzle into Mistypaw’s face. Mistypaw reared back in surprise, and the strange apprentice blinked at her, then spun to face Crookedstar.

“Is this your Thunderclan kin?” she asked. She showed none of the reverence expected towards her leader, acting as if she were his kin as well.

“Ah, yes. Mallowpaw, my brother’s children, Mistypaw, Mosspaw, and Stonepaw,” Crookedstar coughed. “This is my apprentice Mallowpaw. I expect she’s about your age. Oh, don’t let me keep you too long, this is your first gathering! You’ve got plenty of cats to meet.”

Mosspaw gratefully took the opportunity and slipped away, back into the crowd. Stonepaw, too, disappeared. Mistypaw didn’t move. She crouched, tucking her paws under her chest, and asked the Riverclan leader another question. Mosspaw shrugged and made for a group of apprentices near the edge of the clearing. She could see Frostpaw among them, though her denmate looked disgruntled at best.

She  sat at the edge of the group, beside her clanmate, and pricked her ears. A gray tom was sat up on his haunches, clawing the air to demonstrate his point. “Archeye obliterated him!” he crowed. “I think he would’ve killed that Thunderclan wimp, if Stormtail hadn’t pulled him off.”

Frostpaw jumped to her paws, growling. The group’s attention turned to her and Mosspaw. The Shadowclan apprentice was looking at them smuggly, two of his clanmates flanking him.

“It’s against the warrior code to kill your enemies in battle!” Frostpaw hissed. “What Archeye did to Thrushpelt was barbaric! He fought like a filthy rogue!”

The gray tom bristled, curling his lip. “Talk about my mentor like that again, I dare you,” he snarled.

“Your mentor’s a fox-heart,” Frostpaw growled. “And so is every warrior in that patrol. They nearly killed an apprentice, and Thrushpelt may be permanently disabled,” She stalked forward, thrusting her muzzle into the smaller tom’s face. Her tail lashed, and she stood there, waiting, as though daring the Shadowclan tom to challenge her. “It was a completely unprovoked attack,” she added, after a moment. “Your clanmates mauled a border patrol without cause, and Sunstar won’t let you get away with it!”

“Flintpaw, let’s go,” murmured a scruffy gray-and-white tom. The gray tabby, Flintpaw, was on his feet now, his claws curling into the earth. Frostpaw was nearly twice his size; most Shadowclan cats were undersized, and Frostpaw likely had age on her side as well.

“I’d say stealing prey is enough cause!” Flintpaw spat. “That’s against the warrior code too, or does Thunderclan not teach that bit?”

“No one stole anything!” Mosspaw piped up. Frostpaw shot her a grateful glance, glad of the support. “It’s newleaf, and prey is plentiful in Thunderclan territory. Why would we need your slimy toads?”

Flintpaw’s icy gaze turned on her, and Mosspaw puffed herself out. Frostpaw’s size might’ve been enough to deter a fight, but she was younger and closer to the Shadowclan cat’s size. His clanmates stood around him, a tortoiseshell she-cat and a colorpoint tom, equally outraged.

“Brokentail showed us the evidence himself,” the colorpoint growled. “Your clanmates didn’t even bother to finish what they stole! There was a half-eaten squirrel on our side of the thunderpath just the other day, reeking of Thunderclan!”

“Stop it, the lot of you!” a skinny brown tom shoved his way between the quarrelling apprentices, stubby tail lashing. “This is a gathering, there’s a truce! We don’t need Starclan’s wrath over squabbling apprentices!”

“Quiet, Barkpaw,” the tortie snapped. “You’re an apprentice too!”

“A medicine cat apprentice, Fernpaw” the scrappy gray and white tom spoke up again. “We know the will of Starclan better than you, now knock it off!”

The tortie, Fernpaw, whirled to face him, but before she could retort a chorus of yowls rose from the center of the clearing. A hush fell over the gathered cats, and they turned to watch the Clan leaders silhouetted atop the great rock.

Frostpaw turned, lashing her tail across Flintpaw’s muzzle, and stalked over to where Tigerclaw and Whitestorm were sat. Mosspaw scurried after her, not eager to be left alone with the furious Shadowclan apprentices.

Crookedstar stepped forward first. “The prey has returned with the warmer weather, and as always the thaws have swollen the river. Every cat must use extra caution until the water levels have gone down,” he announced. “And, Riverclan is proud to welcome two new apprentices, Mallowpaw and Dawnpaw!”

The hollow erupted with cheering, cats of all four clans yowling the apprentice’s names to the stars. Mosspaw shivered with excitement; would she and her littermates be welcomed the same way?

A tall tuxedo tom took his place; he must be Rookstar, leader of Windclan. “Prey is running well on the moor,” he began. “And Windclan welcomes new life in the nursery; Wrenflight has had a litter of three healthy kits.”

Mosspaw held her breath as Sunstar took his place at the head of the Great Rock. “Thunderclan also welcomes new arrivals. White-eye has had two kits, Mousekit and Volekit. In addition, we have three new apprentices: Mistypaw, Mosspaw, and Stonepaw!”

Their names were yowled to the stars, though Mosspaw noted that many of Shadowclan’s warriors remained silent. Still, she sat up straight, her chest puffed up with pride.

“Unfortunately, I have graver business to discuss as well,” Sunstar said once the noise had died down. “Several sunrises ago, a border patrol was viciously attacked, beyond any normal border skirmish. Thrushpelt was practically mauled. He has had the skin and lips on half his muzzle and cheek ripped away, and we don’t yet know if his eye is damaged.”

Startled gasps and murmuring broke the hushed silence. “Who would do that?” someone yowled. Sunstar waved his tail for silence, and paused before he went on.

“Brindlepaw is on bed rest due to her injuries, as well as Poppydawn. The attackers were Shadowclan warriors, who were completely unprovoked.”

Outraged yowls erupted from the  Shadowclan cats. All around her cats were on their paws, fur bristling and claws out. Raggedstar shouldered his way to the front to face Sunstar, his patchy fur spiked and bristling with fury. He waved his tail for silence, and the Shadowclan warriors quieted down.

“My warriors were instructed to teach Thunderclan a lesson for their blatant thievery,” he hissed. “I’d say half-eaten prey reeking of Thunderclan scent is provocation enough.”

All around her her clanmates leapt to their paws, hissing and spitting at the accusation. Sunstar glared at Raggedstar, his neck fur bristling. “Prey is plentiful this newleaf, Thunderclan has no reason to steal! My warriors have done no such thing.”

“Scent doesn’t lie, Sunstar,” Raggedstar sniffed. The Thunderclan leader growled, his eyes narrow.

“If you don’t keep your warriors under control, there will be trouble for you, Raggedstar,” he spat.

Raggedstar sneered and shouldered his way to the front to make his own announcements, but Mosspaw was deaf to his words. Her eyes were on Sunstar, who stood just behind the Shadowclan leader, his tail lashing furiously.

Finally, the leaders leapt down to the ground below and began to gather their clanmates around them, putting the gathering to an end. Frostpaw lead the way through the crowd to join Thistleclaw. They were surrounded by bristling, angry cats. The truce had not broken, but there would be consequences.

***

“Those dirty fox-hearts,” Frostpaw snarled. The apprentices were gathered around her, listening to her encounter with Flintpaw. Mosspaw’s claws curled into the ear, and she found herself imagining that it was the arrogant apprentice’s pelt instead. “They’re proud of what they’ve done. If Sunstar doesn’t order an attack, I’ll maul Archeye myself!”

Mosspaw glanced over her shoulder toward the nettle patch, where Sunstar was convening with his senior warriors; Bluefur was among them, but she couldn’t tell what her mother thought from here.

Redpaw and Willowpaw were just as outraged; it seemed all of Thunderclan was in an uproar, and they would only be satisfied by battle. Mosspaw couldn’t help but agree, though. Shadowclan deserved punishment for their actions and their lies.

She went to her nest as dawn broke over the horizon, tense with apprehension. If there was a battle, would she be chosen to fight? At first, seeing what they had done to Thrushpelt, she had been terrified of the idea, but now her heart pounded with excitement. It would be her first battle, a crucial stepping stone towards being made a warrior.

[spacewhalewriting]

Of Legends and Fire: The Death of Smaug

It felt like days that she climbed, her nakedness covered by only mud and her fear running high. What if she got there and they had already tried to confront the dragon? What if, what if. It wasn’t until nightfall that she found evidence of the dwarves right outside what looked like a cleverly disguised crack in the mountainside. She clawed her way inside, pushing past pieces of broken stone and squirming into a tunnel. She followed it for a while, bare feet making pattering noises in the dark, until torchlight shone from the other end. What she saw sent her into simultaneous throes of joy and sweet despair. Inside the mountain the stone ran with literal rivers of gold, vast mountains of it, with every imaginable jewel sparkling amidst it like stars, so many stars. Sapphires indistinguishable from ice, opals that shone with white fire like stars, and diamonds with a living sun inside each.

She fell to her knees, sickened a violent, greedy clench within her deepest self, like the most terrible hunger pangs. So warm. So bright. Naked as she was, she could lay in this hoard for a thousand years and desire nothing but the pleasure of gazing upon it undisturbed. Every moment felt indeed as it were an age, intoxicated. She wondered where the white jewels were that Thranduil craved, for they were also her heart’s desire. To wear them and bask and be lost. It was this that took her to her feet, at once enraptured with her surroundings and driven to find them so she could bathe in their light. She wandered until the heard the rumbling heart of the mountain alive, vast forge fires and the crashing of mining equipment. It couldn’t be manned, not with so few as fourteen. The noise led her away from the treasured halls and across walkways of stone suspended in the air, into dimness; soon cries and shouts were mingled with the noise and she began to hasten, shaking off the fog that had enveloped her in the valleys of gold. Thorin’s voice rang out deep and clear, a bellow of rage like metal against stone.

“Here! You witless worm! I am taking back what you stole.”

Silwen heard his voice and through her haze she ran to him, racing across the suspended walkway and into a small transitional hall, stopping in the shadows of shadows as the gallery of the kings opened up to her. From where she stood, the great dragon was the centerpiece and his prey was hardly visible standing far above what kept his attention. The hall was a great hollowing of the mountain, a celebration of air, but the serpent’s head could have easily touched the ceiling had he reared up on his hind legs. Truly, he was larger than any creature than Silwen had ever witnessed, but her attentions were stolen by the same thing that kept Smaug stunned. The largest structure of gold crafted by dwarvish hands in any age, a glowing figure bearded and crowned, taller and wider than the dragon himself.

It was beautiful, dragon enraptured, Silwen enthralled. But something had gone wrong; alarmed shouts in khuzdul rang about the hall- Thorin swayed on his perch, within the reach of Smaug who was beginning to shake himself from the glamour the dwarves had woven. Where she was she could hardly see Oakenshield, but she could clearly see the scales of Smaug’s belly begin to glow like livened coals, snapping her from her dazed glow. Everything compounded into this single moment; a choice between the worm of covetousness in her heart or the very thing that now made it beat.

“Thorin!” She cried out for him, voice echoing down the chambered hall and he sought her but could not source her voice.

Fighting every instinct inside her she put one foot in front of the other, and then the other, breaking quickly into a run towards danger, towards her king. He called for her and she leaped through the doorway and once more into peril. It wasn’t a conscious decision, one breath woman and the next monster, her teeth sinking into Smaug’s armored neck by element of surprise. There was a tremendous roar as the behemoths clashed, the weight of their combined bodies flying into the far wall of the gallery crumbling the columns.

_________________________

Drenched in sweat and grime but somewhat safe where he was above the hall, Thorin could barely comprehend the scene of chaos in front of him. One ivory and the other rust, two dragons grappled before him, tails and limbs whipping dangerously and smashing the walls. The white was smaller than Smaug, barely more than half his size, swinging her body on top of his and ripping, clawing, biting. There was no record or memory of a second dragon in the mountain, nor in Gandalf’s warnings-

Could he have been dreaming Silwen’s voice at a moment like this? A flailing tail sliced into the soft outer layer of the statue and Thorin was reminded of the trap that laid in wait inside. He couldn’t begin to understand what was happening, but something told him that this thing that defended them was her.

“No!” He cried out, reaching, but there was nothing that he could do. It began to melt.

_________________________

The first spray of liquid gold burnt like a brand, but it was nothing compared to the tidal wave of molten metal as the statue disintegrated, collapsing under its own weight and heat. The searing flood crashed over the wrestling beasts, washing them further down the hall and under the impossible weight of the metal- a cacophony of shrieks and howls filled the space as it took them both. It burned like a thousand forges and agony swept over Silwen as she was dragged down, forced under as Smaug scrambled to use her body to reach the surface like a drowning man.

Unmercifully it was not this that took her. She fought her way to the surface before her breath ran out, spraying gold as she sought to free herself from the heavy pool. But as she had wrested herself from the molten grip of burning metal, so had Smaug.

“Deceit! Usurpers! I will not be overcome by this! I will have revenge!” He howled, thrashing and screeching in pain. Dragging herself by columns and stretching of wings, the white dragon launched herself through the air, meaning to again attack, but he caught her neck in his terrible jaws and used the momentum to heave her through the stone shell of the mountain itself. She crashed through the very entrance of Erebor and tumbled heavily to a stop on the rocky lowland outside, the world fiery with pain and spinning. Cat eyes blinked and tracked across the night sky rapidly, trying to clear their vision- ribs crackling and lungs under leather skin heaving like forge bellows. Gold rained down on her and the shoreline as Smaug arrowed through the newly made opening in the mountain and took to the air, shedding it like coins.

“He’s heading to Laketown!”

It was Bilbo’s voice, panicked and faint. Laketown. She remembered the maps. The last of the men of Dale. Smaug had taken the fortress of Erebor in a day- he would slaughter the people of Laketown with ease. With a bellow’s breath, Silwen pushed herself to her feet and then into the air. Several of the company had made it to the broken entrance of the mountain, including Bilbo and Thorin, and they were almost knocked to the ground by the gale of her wings. Reaching as far as her neck would stretch, she snapped her teeth viciously into Smaug’s tail, distracting him like a dog baiting a bear. Their flight did not halt, but rather they tumbled across the sky, Silwen using her small size to her advantage; airborne, and as long as Smaug did not catch her, she was a vexation with teeth and claws, biting and scratching the whole way.

“What manner of dog are you, to consort with dwarves and men?” He snapped, roaring with pain as one of her hind spurs sliced a gash in his haunch. Silwen did not answer because she was neither dog nor proper consort; she no longer knew what she was, simply what course of action she must follow. Narrowly, she avoided a spurt of fire, meeting it with her own and lighting the entire lake’s surface as though they were the sun above. They danced like this in a spiral, up, up. When it cleared, his great toothy grin was in front of her rather than a safe distance away. “There you are, little worm.” He said, his clawed hand gripping her at the shoulder near her wing, talons piercing- she screamed. Thrashing made it worse, so she blinded him with fire and he dropped her to protect his eyes, winging backwards. Immediately she dropped like a stone, wings tangling as she spun out. She splashed down in shallows, the icy water mercifully numbing her wounds. Her vision again danced and flamed.

Fire. They had been so close to Laketown. Finished with her, he was beginning to set it ablaze. From here she could hear the screams. She tried to get up, splashing about like a wounded albatross, and found that Smaug’s claws had sheared through her wing at the shoulder. Pushing off from the mud of the shallows was hard enough, but not only was her wing in agony, she physically could not force it to work through the pain. There was nothing to catch the air. The tower bell of Laketown rang in alarm, but no one was coming to save them.

I will not let people die because of my failure. Not this time.

Panting, she flung herself deeper into the water, doggy paddling with her hind legs and dragging her injury behind her. As she neared the town she found it chaos, but Smaug was no longer blasting the entire region with destruction, his movements seemingly focused on two small figures at the very top of the very bell tower that called their distress. She could not fly, but Smaug was flying low and the buildings in the center of town were high; she clawed into the wood of the closest to the tower and hoisted herself from the water, body trembling as her overtaxed shoulder pulled her upwards. As the bell clamored she climbed, keeping to the shadows lest Smaug catch wind of her survival too early, using talons and the spur on her one good wing to scale the structure like a nightmare ghost. The higher she climbed the more she could see of the two figures he tormented- at one point, a great spear-like arrow ricocheted off of Smaug’s jeweled hide and stuck itself deep into the place where she had sought to place her claw a moment before. She used it to pull herself higher, listening to Smaug’s taunting voice as he played with his victims.

“Now that is a pity. What will you do now, bowman? You are foresaken. No help will come. Is that your child? You cannot save him from the fire...He will burn.” He purred, crushing building after burning building underclaw as he stalked forward. Soon in the flickering light Silwen could see the end; a single archer and a young boy at his aid, bow broken. She was almost there. “Who are you that would stand against me? You have nothing left but death!”

She leapt, flapping and gaining no great amount of height but just enough to latch onto Smaug’s back like some insane rider of foul things. Unlike her, Smaug was covered on all sides, his skin encrusted with jewels where he was not scaled; it hadn’t been until she saw him in the right angle through the fire that she saw the missing scale on underbelly. It was what the bowman was aiming for. Taking him by the back of the neck, she clamped down and pushed with both sets of feet, latched in with claws so Smaug’s body was bent in a backwards arc, struggling and roaring to be set free. Her jaws ached and shoulder screamed as he thrashed, but his belly was bared and his missing scale was exposed. She knew she could only hold him like this for seconds before he wrenched free and finished her off, but one clear shot was all the bowman needed.

The arrow flew true.

Claws locked into the larger beast, she was swept up and away with Smaug as he attempted to escape it, but the iron had pierced his breast. The fire within him died and the light went from his eyes with a terrible scream that could be heard across the whole of the lake- pulling her claws from his hide with great difficulty, Silwen fell apart from him, closing her eyes as the fire ravaged town rose up to swallow them.

Both fell creatures would die here.