Post by .:.Gambler.:. on Apr 28, 2012 16:49:07 GMT -5
Something else. So, I joined a wolf/large cat roleplay that Ringo is on. I have three characters in it as of right now: Viggo (a lion), Fiona (a lion), and Machai (a wolf.) Here is a post I recently posted for Machai. The back plot is some shadow darkness things are attacking the pack, and they're all worried about it. One attacked a puppy that looked like Machai's son (who died a while ago.)
Machai
He didn't give her much time to respond before something nagging came about in the back of his mind. A small memory; a little voice. Eyes shining brightly with the full compassion of life, love, and pride. Those gleaming eyes so much like his; with an added fire behind them of youth. Yes, the eyes of his beloved Horme, staring up to him with curiosity, the want of knowing. Daddy! Daddy! The little figure called out, as it ran over rolling hills much like those found in their current abode of Halycon.
The form shifted then, as Machai looked on, to the form he last saw his son in. The twisted, gnarled mass of fur that he had crumpled into after the last attack by the enemy. His perfect black pelt streaked with crimson wine. And his last words pounded throughout Machai's whole skull; reminding him of everything he held dear vanishing within a matter of weeks. Dad...dy....Dad...dy... He had said, and then-just like that; the flame in his eyes had turned to darkness.
Machai's gaze, he found in that moment, was glaring into the ground, his nails dug into the grass beneath his pads. He was trying not to let the tears fall in front of Usiko; he was trying to not appear weak in front of the fair maiden. And, instead, he was looking quite insane. This was no ordinary flash of memory; it was a message. But of what sort?
As his brain raced to find the answers, to try and figure out what danger the world he stood in was now in, the answer came running at him like a stampede of wildebeast. A great crack; as if a tree had instantaneously out of a clear blue sky been struck by lightning. It came from the direction he had originally been heading, before he had come to search for Usiko. The pup. The pup he had mistaken for his son was in trouble. Grand trouble, by the severity and quickness that the memories had shifted and flooded his mind.
His gaze shot up to Usiko, and there was no longer a playful banter in the tone to his voice; it had changed from anything Usiko had heard from him thus far. Instead, it was commanding; as if an officer higher up in the army. Not demanding, but pleading almost; looking for help.
"Follow me."
He said, and left no explanation to his words. He felt that she would; she seemed the type of girl that would follow him just to scream at him for ordering her around. At least, in a way he hoped. Because whatever trouble the boy was in; surely Machai would be blamed if anyone came into it in the middle..instead of hopefully Usiko following and seeing it from the very beginning. Machai knew he would be crucified if she did not, he knew he'd be thrown into the barbeque pit and eaten one night for dinner or fed to the fish. As much as he loved his wife; he did not wish to join her just yet...afraid she might still be mad at him. No; torment on earth was much better than torment in heaven. At least the earthen plain ended at some point. Heaven went on forever.
Without another word, the male about faced. He stared the direction he had come, scanning the surroundings with his nares flared. The boy could not be much further along then where he had originally been heading; not enough time had elapsed. And like a flaming arrow let by a minion of Ares, Machai shot off. The patterns on his side, tail, and head were glowing with a brilliant light; as if determined almost to show him the way. But his vision was faltering-so set into his mind with the vision and the idea of saving the boy, he forgot to blink, to rinse the dust from his eyes and end the tunnel vision that was taking over in his one useful eye; the other had just gone numb and given up. Half the world was dark to him.
And yet, his step did not falter as he continued to spring into action. Flying across the land on surefooted pads; the male knew exactly where to put his feet without even having to look. Every step he took had a hidden meaning in it, had a purpose. He could feel the grass beneath him, he could feel every divet in the hill; he could feel every blade of foilage that brushed against his pads as he stepped and sprang off it a moment later.
By the time he was too the river where he had turned from the pup in the first place; his vision had fuzzed out entirely. He didn't need it to fight; he didn't need it to pursue. Vision and voice were two senses that he did not need to fight; to survive. Granted, in this foreign land sight was a useful thing-to take in his surroundings and gauge an enemy. But when your son, or an almost carbon copy of him was about to die, no enemy could stand in your way.
The water did nothing to pull him from his trance, despite the water droplets clinging to his side and trying to stay his progress, trying to make him appreciate their existence. The only thing he noticed about the water was that it was a change in terrain. It needed a different muscle set to bound through it, and on autopilot he switched it over. He didn't even seem to care the few times his head slipped below water and he was fully submerged; it did not phase him in the least.
I'm coming Horme, I'm coming. Hang in there.
He heard his thoughts speak, though no words dripped from his lips as he splashed out of the water. Though his movements were far from graceful; they were fluid like the stream he had just trampzed through and they got the job done. He did not care when he stumbled out, he just picked himself right back up and darted off again. This was as far as he had seen the boy; now it was time to employ scent.
The boy's scent continued on for a while in a straight line...if the boy had thought he was an enemy, he should have at least veered his path periodically. He had to teach him that, in time. In time came all things. The scent of a rabbit pierced his mind, causing his stomach to twist and contort-but he did not hear it now, his sense of hearing had lost it's touch by now as well; so deep into the trance was he. Following his nose, he veered toward the rabbit scent-as the boy's had followed soon behind.
The only time he paused in his rampage was when he had fast approached the scene. The boy's scent was strongest here; and no longer was his use of scent employed. All he needed to fight this enemy was his mind and his existence. His body grew numb as his step almost faltered; flattened by the immense energy radiating from the beast that had attacked what in Machai's mind was his son; he'd come to his senses soon enough. Machai had learned young that the only thing to fear was fear itself...well, here you had it. The wave that almost knocked him from his feet was that of fear-radiating from the beast; as if its soul existence was to cause fear in the hearts of others. That was why it held such power; because it had sucked the fear out of the living; out of those that met Thanatos for the first and final time; and left them as empty sacks. This was the entity of fear.
The glowing red of his coat was almost blinding now; but the entity seemed not to care. It sized Machai up as if he were just another treat for the thanksgiving table, just another fool trying to have his name written in the stars. Trying to be the hero. It stepped away from the fallen pup, beady red eyes drilling into find Machai's soul, drilling in to find his weakness. And it got what it wanted; seeing the pain of losing Machai's family. The pain of his father disowning him. The pain of his wife attacking him. The searing pain of his son's final breath. And it jeered a cackling, blood curtailing laughter as it looked upon the beraggled, dripping wet, hunched over and staggering as if drunk Machai.
"They're both dead," It hissed out, it's tone mocking as it seemed to saunter over toward him thinking he'd be easy pickings. Thinking this heaving creature before him was going to collapse before it even touched him. That the slightest breeze of wind would knock him over. "You failed, brother, they're both dead. I tasted his sweet blood on my lips."
The shadow's words fell on deaf ears; all of Machai's senses except for perception had faded. He did not see the shadow coming toward him, he did not hear the words that dripped from its poisoned lips, he did not smell its lack of existence, he did not feel the nothingness that brushed against his side. His body was so numb at this point, his vision so black, his mind so set on the idea of protecting his "son" that he did not realize the words that slipped from his lips.
"Moros, Deimos." ((Doom, fear.))
At these words, the entity took a second to pause; trying to find where those words were in its macabre vocabulary. Not finding them in any of its immediate reference guides, it wrote them off as an insane man's dying jibberish. And oh, how it had misjudged.
His voice trumpeted from his lips; enough for it to rattle his ears almost; but still he did not hear his own words. No; Machai had fallen into his warrior state-where nothing else mattered but spilling his opponents blood. At this point, very little misery had ever been shown.
"FOR HORME!"
He shrieked, the battle cry of a wounded father. Not seeing the entity, he did not know that it was almost translucent. Not feeling the entity, he did not know that it was something he could not touch. And he didn't have to; because of these, which others might call "crutches", the lunge for the beast's side was not met with a rush of air and a lightheaded feeling. Instead, it was met with an almost shrill, agonizing shriek of surprise from it's victim, and Machai connecting with the shadow's side, tossing it off it's pedestal and knocking it to the ground. It writhed underneath the weight of his body as he staggered on top of it.
"NO! No, this is wrong, Master said I could not be beat!"
It hissed out, biting at him, scratching at him, flailing as it was caught off guard by so easily being able to be attacked. It could see the crimson liquid flowing from several spots that it had punctured and slashed along Machai's body, but Machai did not even seem to notice. The adrenaline pumping through his body left no room for the feeling of pain; endorphines were quickly released to mask the sensation.
The shadow twitched a moment, staring in a somewhat awwed state, before it regained composure and it's strength, and threw the wounded wolf off of it, flipping topside as Machai's weakened body went flying.
Machai's mind was blank; playing tape recorders of the memories of his son. Home movies seemed to flash through his mind of the love and adoration that his son had for him, and then it would flash back to his dying day. It is what fueled Machai. It is what brought him to this state, to save a boy he had mistaken for Horme. He couldn't see, he couldn't feel...he felt like he was a ghost, standing on the sidelines in utter horror as he watched the scene play over again of his son's death. He would not let it happen again.
He did not notice the staggering as he stood. He felt as if it was one fluid movement, as he and the shadow regained composure. It was the shadow that lunged first, going straight for Machai's jugular. Though somehow, it seemed, Machai was a step ahead of him; as if he could feel the spirit of battle moving the chess piece closer. He reared up onto his hind legs-that muscle would be out of commission for some time probably when he finally awoke from this trance state. It was almost like he was not even telling his brain to move it; his mind was the one calling the shots, his spirit was the one reacting. That was why he could connect with the shadow-because he was not fighting on a physical or even mental level, but a much deeper spirtual level.
The shadow's teeth missed his jugular, sinking rather into his tail that hung limply between his legs. And thank goodness for that...otherwise the family jewels would not have been the same. Machai, now on top of the beast, bit down at the base of the hips, ripping into what would normally be the epaxials. Spirit energy flowed from the wound; a brilliant light seemed to be seeping from the wounds of the beast as Machai bit down harder, his claws digging into its sides. The beast writhed in pain, letting go of Machai's tail and rolling onto its side, slamming Machai's body into the ground, and slamming his tooth grips loose. For a moment Machai laid there, the memories still playing like home movies in his mind. As did the shadow, confused of how he could be attacked.
Machai stood. The shadow stood. And with a growl, the shadow lunged again. All Machai had to do was side step, his leg dragging behind. But-it didn't matter to him. No; he felt on top of his game as he snaked his head around and grabbed the beast by the base of the tail. It yelped, it squirmed to try to loosen Machai's grip; but he held fast. The shadow snapped at his back feet, unable to twist around for the seering pain in its back. It could do nothing to stop the torment that was creeping into its being from Machai's teeth sinking deeper into its tail, that bright light of spirit energy oozing around Machai's lips as he severed his way down to the bone...
"NO MORE!"
It shrieked, and the existence of fear seemed to disappear; as if it seemed to implode on itself. Yes, the fear entity had become the coward, and would be dealt with by its higher ups accordingly, as it dissipated itself into the wind.
The first sensation to return was feeling; as Machai's head seemed to tremble when the force of his jaws came down upon each other, as the creature he had been holding disappeared; still alive and cowardly. The wave of feeling rushed over him, and he was suddenly aware of the wet blood soaking his side, the stiffness and almost inability to move his right hind leg, the seering pain that shot through it everytime he moved it because he had torn the semi muscles, the oozing of the gash on his left shoulder, the tender puncture wounds around the base of his right hind hock. The second to return was the burning of his nares as the putrid scent of cowardace hit them; that stale smell of bacterial infection breeding urine scald that coated the underbellies of the weak; and as if it were a sickening stench that made you want to wretch it curled back onto his tongue so he could taste the irony, sour, putrid taste of the spirit's energy seepage that living creatures would need as blood. Then returned the feeling of cheese graters and needles stabbing into the back of his eyes as his vision slowly returned to it's normal weakened state, and he saw the destruction of the land around him-the bloodied paw prints, the flattened grass from when they slammed each other about. Last was as if a plug was removed from his ear; though not much was to change there...it still seemed a deafening silence. Slowly, entering into the mixture of his own heaving breath, came the soft and gentle sound of Skye's breathing. Ha.....uh....ha.....uh...it slowed Machai's own as he turned to the fallen youngster, a small smile creeping over his lips. He did not know the youngster's name.
He did not turn to look for Usiko, he merely limped over to the pup-standing over him for a moment with blood shot eyes from having not blinked for so long. His voice was hoarse from a dry throat feeling that he obtained from trying to swallow the demon's energy seepage. The usual, mocking and playful ring had returned to it however.
"Hey, wake up. You missed the best part..."
His body heaved with each breath he took. He wanted to make sure the pup was okay before he tended to his own wounds.
But little did he know he was standing in exactly the same position that the shadow had been standing when Skye had passed out...He just gazed down at him, his eyes stinging as he tried to blink the redness away, hoping the pup was okay. If he had done all of this for a dead pup…he would be very angry with himself. Not because the pup was already dead, but because he hadn’t made it in time. Though the home movies had stopped, he still cursed himself for it. He should have kept trailing behind the pup, making sure it was getting where it was going. He should have watched the pup more carefully. He should have found out its name, and where it had come from. I’ve failed you again, Horme. He scolded himself, looking down to the pup.
His neck stiff, the vertebrae popping as he lowered it to the pups throat, gently nudging it to try and give him more stimulation to wake up; to cough out whatever was “stuck” in his windpipe. Please wake up, Horme… He heard himself thinking, and scolded himself some more. This was not Horme. This was not his son…but maybe, just maybe, he could fill a little of the void in his heart left by his son’s death…if he’d only just wake up.
He didn't give her much time to respond before something nagging came about in the back of his mind. A small memory; a little voice. Eyes shining brightly with the full compassion of life, love, and pride. Those gleaming eyes so much like his; with an added fire behind them of youth. Yes, the eyes of his beloved Horme, staring up to him with curiosity, the want of knowing. Daddy! Daddy! The little figure called out, as it ran over rolling hills much like those found in their current abode of Halycon.
The form shifted then, as Machai looked on, to the form he last saw his son in. The twisted, gnarled mass of fur that he had crumpled into after the last attack by the enemy. His perfect black pelt streaked with crimson wine. And his last words pounded throughout Machai's whole skull; reminding him of everything he held dear vanishing within a matter of weeks. Dad...dy....Dad...dy... He had said, and then-just like that; the flame in his eyes had turned to darkness.
Machai's gaze, he found in that moment, was glaring into the ground, his nails dug into the grass beneath his pads. He was trying not to let the tears fall in front of Usiko; he was trying to not appear weak in front of the fair maiden. And, instead, he was looking quite insane. This was no ordinary flash of memory; it was a message. But of what sort?
As his brain raced to find the answers, to try and figure out what danger the world he stood in was now in, the answer came running at him like a stampede of wildebeast. A great crack; as if a tree had instantaneously out of a clear blue sky been struck by lightning. It came from the direction he had originally been heading, before he had come to search for Usiko. The pup. The pup he had mistaken for his son was in trouble. Grand trouble, by the severity and quickness that the memories had shifted and flooded his mind.
His gaze shot up to Usiko, and there was no longer a playful banter in the tone to his voice; it had changed from anything Usiko had heard from him thus far. Instead, it was commanding; as if an officer higher up in the army. Not demanding, but pleading almost; looking for help.
"Follow me."
He said, and left no explanation to his words. He felt that she would; she seemed the type of girl that would follow him just to scream at him for ordering her around. At least, in a way he hoped. Because whatever trouble the boy was in; surely Machai would be blamed if anyone came into it in the middle..instead of hopefully Usiko following and seeing it from the very beginning. Machai knew he would be crucified if she did not, he knew he'd be thrown into the barbeque pit and eaten one night for dinner or fed to the fish. As much as he loved his wife; he did not wish to join her just yet...afraid she might still be mad at him. No; torment on earth was much better than torment in heaven. At least the earthen plain ended at some point. Heaven went on forever.
Without another word, the male about faced. He stared the direction he had come, scanning the surroundings with his nares flared. The boy could not be much further along then where he had originally been heading; not enough time had elapsed. And like a flaming arrow let by a minion of Ares, Machai shot off. The patterns on his side, tail, and head were glowing with a brilliant light; as if determined almost to show him the way. But his vision was faltering-so set into his mind with the vision and the idea of saving the boy, he forgot to blink, to rinse the dust from his eyes and end the tunnel vision that was taking over in his one useful eye; the other had just gone numb and given up. Half the world was dark to him.
And yet, his step did not falter as he continued to spring into action. Flying across the land on surefooted pads; the male knew exactly where to put his feet without even having to look. Every step he took had a hidden meaning in it, had a purpose. He could feel the grass beneath him, he could feel every divet in the hill; he could feel every blade of foilage that brushed against his pads as he stepped and sprang off it a moment later.
By the time he was too the river where he had turned from the pup in the first place; his vision had fuzzed out entirely. He didn't need it to fight; he didn't need it to pursue. Vision and voice were two senses that he did not need to fight; to survive. Granted, in this foreign land sight was a useful thing-to take in his surroundings and gauge an enemy. But when your son, or an almost carbon copy of him was about to die, no enemy could stand in your way.
The water did nothing to pull him from his trance, despite the water droplets clinging to his side and trying to stay his progress, trying to make him appreciate their existence. The only thing he noticed about the water was that it was a change in terrain. It needed a different muscle set to bound through it, and on autopilot he switched it over. He didn't even seem to care the few times his head slipped below water and he was fully submerged; it did not phase him in the least.
I'm coming Horme, I'm coming. Hang in there.
He heard his thoughts speak, though no words dripped from his lips as he splashed out of the water. Though his movements were far from graceful; they were fluid like the stream he had just trampzed through and they got the job done. He did not care when he stumbled out, he just picked himself right back up and darted off again. This was as far as he had seen the boy; now it was time to employ scent.
The boy's scent continued on for a while in a straight line...if the boy had thought he was an enemy, he should have at least veered his path periodically. He had to teach him that, in time. In time came all things. The scent of a rabbit pierced his mind, causing his stomach to twist and contort-but he did not hear it now, his sense of hearing had lost it's touch by now as well; so deep into the trance was he. Following his nose, he veered toward the rabbit scent-as the boy's had followed soon behind.
The only time he paused in his rampage was when he had fast approached the scene. The boy's scent was strongest here; and no longer was his use of scent employed. All he needed to fight this enemy was his mind and his existence. His body grew numb as his step almost faltered; flattened by the immense energy radiating from the beast that had attacked what in Machai's mind was his son; he'd come to his senses soon enough. Machai had learned young that the only thing to fear was fear itself...well, here you had it. The wave that almost knocked him from his feet was that of fear-radiating from the beast; as if its soul existence was to cause fear in the hearts of others. That was why it held such power; because it had sucked the fear out of the living; out of those that met Thanatos for the first and final time; and left them as empty sacks. This was the entity of fear.
The glowing red of his coat was almost blinding now; but the entity seemed not to care. It sized Machai up as if he were just another treat for the thanksgiving table, just another fool trying to have his name written in the stars. Trying to be the hero. It stepped away from the fallen pup, beady red eyes drilling into find Machai's soul, drilling in to find his weakness. And it got what it wanted; seeing the pain of losing Machai's family. The pain of his father disowning him. The pain of his wife attacking him. The searing pain of his son's final breath. And it jeered a cackling, blood curtailing laughter as it looked upon the beraggled, dripping wet, hunched over and staggering as if drunk Machai.
"They're both dead," It hissed out, it's tone mocking as it seemed to saunter over toward him thinking he'd be easy pickings. Thinking this heaving creature before him was going to collapse before it even touched him. That the slightest breeze of wind would knock him over. "You failed, brother, they're both dead. I tasted his sweet blood on my lips."
The shadow's words fell on deaf ears; all of Machai's senses except for perception had faded. He did not see the shadow coming toward him, he did not hear the words that dripped from its poisoned lips, he did not smell its lack of existence, he did not feel the nothingness that brushed against his side. His body was so numb at this point, his vision so black, his mind so set on the idea of protecting his "son" that he did not realize the words that slipped from his lips.
"Moros, Deimos." ((Doom, fear.))
At these words, the entity took a second to pause; trying to find where those words were in its macabre vocabulary. Not finding them in any of its immediate reference guides, it wrote them off as an insane man's dying jibberish. And oh, how it had misjudged.
His voice trumpeted from his lips; enough for it to rattle his ears almost; but still he did not hear his own words. No; Machai had fallen into his warrior state-where nothing else mattered but spilling his opponents blood. At this point, very little misery had ever been shown.
"FOR HORME!"
He shrieked, the battle cry of a wounded father. Not seeing the entity, he did not know that it was almost translucent. Not feeling the entity, he did not know that it was something he could not touch. And he didn't have to; because of these, which others might call "crutches", the lunge for the beast's side was not met with a rush of air and a lightheaded feeling. Instead, it was met with an almost shrill, agonizing shriek of surprise from it's victim, and Machai connecting with the shadow's side, tossing it off it's pedestal and knocking it to the ground. It writhed underneath the weight of his body as he staggered on top of it.
"NO! No, this is wrong, Master said I could not be beat!"
It hissed out, biting at him, scratching at him, flailing as it was caught off guard by so easily being able to be attacked. It could see the crimson liquid flowing from several spots that it had punctured and slashed along Machai's body, but Machai did not even seem to notice. The adrenaline pumping through his body left no room for the feeling of pain; endorphines were quickly released to mask the sensation.
The shadow twitched a moment, staring in a somewhat awwed state, before it regained composure and it's strength, and threw the wounded wolf off of it, flipping topside as Machai's weakened body went flying.
Machai's mind was blank; playing tape recorders of the memories of his son. Home movies seemed to flash through his mind of the love and adoration that his son had for him, and then it would flash back to his dying day. It is what fueled Machai. It is what brought him to this state, to save a boy he had mistaken for Horme. He couldn't see, he couldn't feel...he felt like he was a ghost, standing on the sidelines in utter horror as he watched the scene play over again of his son's death. He would not let it happen again.
He did not notice the staggering as he stood. He felt as if it was one fluid movement, as he and the shadow regained composure. It was the shadow that lunged first, going straight for Machai's jugular. Though somehow, it seemed, Machai was a step ahead of him; as if he could feel the spirit of battle moving the chess piece closer. He reared up onto his hind legs-that muscle would be out of commission for some time probably when he finally awoke from this trance state. It was almost like he was not even telling his brain to move it; his mind was the one calling the shots, his spirit was the one reacting. That was why he could connect with the shadow-because he was not fighting on a physical or even mental level, but a much deeper spirtual level.
The shadow's teeth missed his jugular, sinking rather into his tail that hung limply between his legs. And thank goodness for that...otherwise the family jewels would not have been the same. Machai, now on top of the beast, bit down at the base of the hips, ripping into what would normally be the epaxials. Spirit energy flowed from the wound; a brilliant light seemed to be seeping from the wounds of the beast as Machai bit down harder, his claws digging into its sides. The beast writhed in pain, letting go of Machai's tail and rolling onto its side, slamming Machai's body into the ground, and slamming his tooth grips loose. For a moment Machai laid there, the memories still playing like home movies in his mind. As did the shadow, confused of how he could be attacked.
Machai stood. The shadow stood. And with a growl, the shadow lunged again. All Machai had to do was side step, his leg dragging behind. But-it didn't matter to him. No; he felt on top of his game as he snaked his head around and grabbed the beast by the base of the tail. It yelped, it squirmed to try to loosen Machai's grip; but he held fast. The shadow snapped at his back feet, unable to twist around for the seering pain in its back. It could do nothing to stop the torment that was creeping into its being from Machai's teeth sinking deeper into its tail, that bright light of spirit energy oozing around Machai's lips as he severed his way down to the bone...
"NO MORE!"
It shrieked, and the existence of fear seemed to disappear; as if it seemed to implode on itself. Yes, the fear entity had become the coward, and would be dealt with by its higher ups accordingly, as it dissipated itself into the wind.
The first sensation to return was feeling; as Machai's head seemed to tremble when the force of his jaws came down upon each other, as the creature he had been holding disappeared; still alive and cowardly. The wave of feeling rushed over him, and he was suddenly aware of the wet blood soaking his side, the stiffness and almost inability to move his right hind leg, the seering pain that shot through it everytime he moved it because he had torn the semi muscles, the oozing of the gash on his left shoulder, the tender puncture wounds around the base of his right hind hock. The second to return was the burning of his nares as the putrid scent of cowardace hit them; that stale smell of bacterial infection breeding urine scald that coated the underbellies of the weak; and as if it were a sickening stench that made you want to wretch it curled back onto his tongue so he could taste the irony, sour, putrid taste of the spirit's energy seepage that living creatures would need as blood. Then returned the feeling of cheese graters and needles stabbing into the back of his eyes as his vision slowly returned to it's normal weakened state, and he saw the destruction of the land around him-the bloodied paw prints, the flattened grass from when they slammed each other about. Last was as if a plug was removed from his ear; though not much was to change there...it still seemed a deafening silence. Slowly, entering into the mixture of his own heaving breath, came the soft and gentle sound of Skye's breathing. Ha.....uh....ha.....uh...it slowed Machai's own as he turned to the fallen youngster, a small smile creeping over his lips. He did not know the youngster's name.
He did not turn to look for Usiko, he merely limped over to the pup-standing over him for a moment with blood shot eyes from having not blinked for so long. His voice was hoarse from a dry throat feeling that he obtained from trying to swallow the demon's energy seepage. The usual, mocking and playful ring had returned to it however.
"Hey, wake up. You missed the best part..."
His body heaved with each breath he took. He wanted to make sure the pup was okay before he tended to his own wounds.
But little did he know he was standing in exactly the same position that the shadow had been standing when Skye had passed out...He just gazed down at him, his eyes stinging as he tried to blink the redness away, hoping the pup was okay. If he had done all of this for a dead pup…he would be very angry with himself. Not because the pup was already dead, but because he hadn’t made it in time. Though the home movies had stopped, he still cursed himself for it. He should have kept trailing behind the pup, making sure it was getting where it was going. He should have watched the pup more carefully. He should have found out its name, and where it had come from. I’ve failed you again, Horme. He scolded himself, looking down to the pup.
His neck stiff, the vertebrae popping as he lowered it to the pups throat, gently nudging it to try and give him more stimulation to wake up; to cough out whatever was “stuck” in his windpipe. Please wake up, Horme… He heard himself thinking, and scolded himself some more. This was not Horme. This was not his son…but maybe, just maybe, he could fill a little of the void in his heart left by his son’s death…if he’d only just wake up.
