Solo [The Fringe] A Nightmare's Salvation (SOLO)

[Kahno]

Timestamp: Fourth Day of Spring, 513 AV The night spring air had settled in and around the forest. The cooing of bird calls had ceased, and the subtle shifting of animals into their nighttime homes echoed all around. The sun just barely shone, only a glimmer of light-life left before all stood still in that brief moment that signaled the transition between night and day. It was Kahno’s favorite time. Nose barely off the ground, he sniffed for his territory boundary to fade. He trotted along until he lost his own scent. It was how he knew he was getting closer to the city. Fiery amber eyes searched the thinning treeline for any trace of adversary. Keen senses searched the air for scent or sound, but there was no immediate danger stalking him. He shook the forest floor debris from his coat. Brindled hairs dispersed and floated away like seeds from those fuzzy little weeds that grew in the grass. The frigid days of winter had come and gone in a flash, the shortest season he had ever experienced. It baffled him, but at the same time, he knew that most of his time had been consumed with hunting and hiding. The winter required the two-paws to come out to the forest in search for wood for fires and heat, and animals for food and pelts for warmth. He had sat back and watched them from the safety of his makeshift den until the spring had fallen. Speaking of dens, he would have to fix himself a new one. A large, dead tree had fallen and continued to rot. The wood softened enough for him to dig and chew his way to the center, but the snow from the winter made it so weak that it caved in and became unusable. It had served its purpose and kept him rather warm in the winter, but now he needed something more suitable. The two-paws were out and about, but gradually, seemingly, moving back inside the city walls for the night. Hind legs folded underneath a firm frame, long fluffy tail curling beside them. Front legs, too, folded, so that Kahno could lay down beside a bush and watch the sky above without the blockage of the forest canopy. He had learned over the course of the past two seasons that perhaps not all two-paws were back. Perhaps they were not all harmful or ignorant or greedy, but simply living life as they had been raised to do by their own kind, just as he was. The last tendrils of the sun’s light burst from the horizon as it sank down, letting the giant sea of darkening blues and purples seize the dusky sky. Time seemed to stand still except for the simple transition of the grasp of night. His heart yearned to leap out and fly towards the little clusters of stars that dusted the night sky as they slowly became more visible. He wouldn’t trade being a wolf for anything. He could protect himself, he had a heavy, muscular form suited for hunting and fighting, but why couldn’t he be born with wings? The little skybird, Dust, the raven-woman, she had wings. He had envied her, and yet he was satisfied with what he had. Perhaps, someday, he could get closer to the sky. Until then, this would do. It was simple, but it was beautifully so. The darkness took over, tinges of orange and pink gone, the purple and blue washing into deep, dark navy and black. The stars shone like the sparkles that reflected off some rocks and stones, but more brilliantly. His body uncurled itself to stand back on all fours. Time moved forward again, and the familiar smell of nearby prey filled his lungs. The smell was just as lovely as the sight he had just witnessed. If he had his man-face on, he would be smirking. Some animals had the most delicious flesh, the most exciting chase, and they were more prone to coming out at night. Jowls dropped to allow a dark tongue to slip out and swipe across ivory white knives for teeth. The bloodlust, as he referred to it, was taking him over. It was an empowering feeling, the bloodlust. It was the drive to chase, to fight, and to kill for the sake of obtaining sustenance. It fueled his swift thoughts and actions, creating a deadly predator. Once overtaken, he would not – could not – be stopped. He would run and run until his prey lay at his paws, still warm from the life that once filled it and allowed its heart to beat. Blood would spill in and around his jaws as he fed, the coppery smell and taste so savory. When he had had his fill, he would leave the rest for scavengers, for he knew what it was like to be desperate for food. The bloodlust would subside once satisfied, and his full belly would require him to take a nap and allow it to digest. And then the cycle would repeat. It was the everyday life of the predator. At least, Kahno assumed so. What predator didn’t experience that ghastly possession? There was no way it could be ignored. One paw in front of the other, he made his way back into the depths of the forest, the place he was most familiar with. What would he do tonight? He was not sleepy, his belly was not entirely empty yet, though, either. Perhaps he could find something productive to do until he was hungry enough to hunt. He had napped all day after having a long night. He preferred the night, for some reason. He had always been more nocturnal, it was his favorite time to be active. He had the darkness on his side, to hide from predator or prey, whether for protection or to stalk. Kahno picked up speed from the pace of his proud, high-chested walk. His tail leveled out behind him as his legs pounded the ground below him, muscles coiled and contorting around and against bone, working with tendon underneath a canvas of furry skin. With the warmer season came the shedding of his winter coat, revealing more muscle rippling underneath his body’s surface. Not quite in a full sprint, he was still making great distance. Branches and remnants of fallen dead leaves crunched beneath his massive paws, the rubbery pads protecting him against the rocks and other hard, sharp debris. His hind legs coiled and he launched himself into the air and over a fallen log. Like a spring, his body loaded tight and released, stretching open to clear the obstacle. It was a feeling of pure freedom, and he reveled in it. His legs burned with the familiar tingling sensation that they always do when pushed to their limit. He was lengthening his stride, elongating his legs to reach further. The trees were a blur, faded and smudged images of what they really looked like. A dark tongue lolled in the back of his mouth as his jaws parted to breathe better. The air was fuel for his lungs to keep them inflated so that he may press on. It wasn’t until he completely passed it did Kahno recall what he had just seen. Hind legs slapped the ground into an almost sitting position as front legs locked up, paws spraying dirt as he skid to a stop. Tail whipping the air as he turned, Kahno trotted back the way he came. His furry head tipped to the side as he inspected what was before him. At the base of a dying tree, the roots had been dug between. He stuck his head down into the all but collapsed hole. His legs remained tight, ready to shove backwards and yank his head out should anything unpleasant rear its ugly head at him for intruding. But there was nothing there. No sound, no animal, just a smell. He pulled his head out and looked around. Nothing was stalking him, he was not uneasy, just curious. With his two front paws, he inched closer and stuck his rearend up into the air to see down inside. Using an alternating motion, he scraped with his front paws, long black nails digging down into the soil, breaking it and moving it up, under, and behind him. He worked to widen the mouth of the hole, tossing the dirt out of his way, nosing his face deeper. It felt as if he had been digging forever when he finally ceased the action and took a look at his work. The mouth of the hole was more suited for his frame to fit, and the collapsed area was broken through and tossed out around the mouth. The slope down inside was narrow, so narrow that his bottom would barely fit through. Inside there was something on the floor of the den. It resembled the mucous trail that dried after a snail or slug had passed by, but it was in bulk. It smeared the furthest-most side of the hiding place. This had been someone’s home, undoubtedly. Looking up, there were traces of the tree’s roots, holding the dirt from breaking and falling in. The inside of the den was spotless, and quite roomy, even for him, leaving just enough room for him to make two to three paces in every direction, to turn in a complete circle in the center, if necessary. He wasn’t sure what dug this little place, but it was for certain that something had intended to intrude, what with how the entrance was all but completely collapsed. Upon closer inspection, Kahno found the dried slime in the back to have a peculiar, yet familiar smell. It was the smell of blood, musty with age and something else. He walked over to it slowly and dropped his nose to the den floor. Afterbirth. The smell was that of afterbirth. To be sure, he tentatively licked the spot and looked around. There was blood, also, on the floor of the home. Something had given birth here, some kind of mammal that could have more than one offspring, much like the female specimens of his own kind. As he turned around and stared out up and out of the hole that served as the entrance and exit, he thought. Something to dig a den this big couldn’t have been a rodent. The amount of afterbirth and blood suggested a mammal about his size, maybe slightly bigger or smaller. Perhaps another wolf? Could it have been? A flashback came to him, then, of his pack. He remembered going out to hunt to bring food back to his pack under the guise as being one of them, rather than a shapeshifter. The females would require a den to be dug before birth. The smell was almost frightening, but it was the smell of life, and that was enough to make him proud of his pack, his family. Then, his memory and imagination melded to something cruelly in between. The image of the female wolf in the den became rudely shadowed and she began to cower. Her teeth peeled back over her deadly ivory white teeth as she rose to her paws in a defensive crouched position, and behind her lay six hairless, blind, slimy, whining pups. Glowing red eyes peered down into the den, large enough to fit on something three or more times his size. Massive tusks for teeth and spikes along it’s back, a thick, matted mane and leathery wings adorned the nightmare beast. From the large mouth spilled a thick, foamy saliva with the most putrid smell he had ever inhaled. Her tail tucked down between her legs as she refused to leave her babies behind. She was corned by a monster the likes of which he could have never believed existed… And it didn’t. The image faded as Kahno found himself back in his own body, cowering in terror with his own tail tucked. His insides wept for the wolf and her babies, for whatever animal had made this place its home and been slaughtered here. The despair filled him, and fueled him into full motion up and out of the den. He ran and ran, again, just out of sight of the den, where he stumbled over his shaky front legs. He huffed for breath and looked around. Nothing around, he tossed his head back, a mournful, unsteady howl rippling from his exhausted chest. Again, he sounded off. Misery filled him as he tried to find the night sky through the trees. He was at a loss. Kahno missed his pack, his family. For the first time in a very, very long time, he was lonely. He yearned for a mate, a partner, he wanted to be accepted again, to have his family back. How would he ever be taken again with this dual form? He was a two-pawed just as much as he was a beast. He wanted to cry for the very first time since losing his pack. He had ruined everything, but then again, he had been ruined from the time he was created! It was a sick, twisted thing, to be stuck between two entirely different forms. What was this second form for? What was he meant to do in that form? Was it a means of help or hindrance? A disguise to deceive? Or was it a means to make communication with the other two-paws? A choice on how to live, maybe? He didn’t know. With his head low, Kahno made his way back to the den and slinked back inside tentatively. Using his front paws again, halfheartedly, he dug the place where the dried slime was in an attempt to mix it with the dirt and rid the place of the faint musty smell. He padded around to pat the dirt back down to a more solidified state. With his nose, he sniffed around, brushing his fur around the walls, and rolled around in the dirt, allowing his scent to fill the place. It would make a nice den, a little home out of the elements for him. Standing and looking around, he broke down and shifted to his two-pawed form. The naked man was slightly cramped in the underground den, but he curled up anyway. He stared at the mouth of the den, thinking. He was nervous, he was uncomfortable, he felt vulnerable. He felt like, if something were to charge down into the hole after him, he would have no hope. He would be devoured in a mist of splattering blood and organs. He shivered. Kahno was afraid. For the first time, his pride and arrogance had failed him. Perhaps… Maybe… Just maybe it was time to start familiarizing himself with this form and putting it to good use. He recalled the two-pawed axe-wielding man, Vanator, with his twin shapeshifter children, his shapeshifting friends, Rhy and Dust, and others. He was a two-paw, and the shifters like himself had accepted him, even mated with him. No animal or pack would have anything to do with him, just as his pack had discovered his secret and abandoned him. He could not bear to get attached and lose another family. Maybe he stood a better chance with those like himself, or the two-paws. They seemed to have some intelligence about them. Perhaps he had been being ignorant all these years. Was it time to finally give in? Kahno buried his face in the dirt and growled, beyond uncomfortable in this form. No, he couldn’t think about it that way. He had to be strong and positive, like the raven-woman, Dust, the skybird. She was so optimistic and outgoing. And Rhy, the beautiful dog-woman… His heart skipped, strangely, like it had when he had been with Vanator. He felt something strange for that dog-woman, how she was made almost in his image, but more domesticated and accepting. Maybe he should have learned something from her. Maybe he should have listened to what she was saying. She protected the people that were hers, her pack, even though they were not all shapeshifters. He slammed his fist on the den floor, dust smoking up the little room. What was he supposed to learn? Was there anything at all? She had been right, he forced himself to think. Perhaps that was even the way to find her again, to see her again. He was sure he hadn’t made a flea on her fur that day, but something she’d said had eaten at him since that day, and her eyes, they stuck out in his head. Her fiery attitude and strong personality. He wanted to see it again. But he couldn’t just go wandering up to the city in all his naked glory looking for her. He couldn’t run up in there as a wolf, either. Two-paws were afraid of wolves. They killed livestock and provoked fear. He could be killed on sight. Then it hit him; Vanator! Vanator had been the last one to talk sense into him. He had talked to him about the two-paws and not to expect them to all be the same, not to condemn them based on one fool’s behavior. He had to find the man again. The moon was high in the sky, Kahno knew it was. He felt his heart sink as he realized he would have to wait until the sun rose to make his way to the treeline by the city. Then, he would go back and watch for him. He would find him, and talk to him, and request his help, his support. Hopefully, just hopefully, the man could help him find himself…and Rhy. And, perhaps, the two of them could help him find his way, and where he belonged in this big scheme of things he called life. For the very first time, there was more to him than just the forest and hunting and tracking and killing and running. For the very first time, he felt like he meant something, and that he could mean something to someone else again, two-pawed or shapeshifter.

[Magpie]

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Kahno :

XP:
Observation +1
Running +1

Lores:
Navigating to Riverfall by Scent
Two-Paws: Living Life Too
Dust: Enviable Gift of Flight
The Benefits of Darkness
The Scent of Birth
Remembering New Life and Death
Ache of Loneliness
Curse of Two Forms
Time to Know the Two Paw Form
Rhy: Heart-Skip
Vanator: Hope for Integration

Notes :

A lovely, lovely read. You were right, there wasn't much experience-wise, but the emotional value can certainly not be understated. It was a real pleasure to read such a strong turning point in Kahno's life.

If you have any questions or concerns about what was awarded, please don't hesitate to PM me.
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