Slam pigs aren't pretty (Denen)

[Daeva Timandre]

84th Winter 510AV Tag Denen Most of the days spent in Endrykas consisted of following Masou around the plains whilst he searched for morsels between the tall stalks of grass. She was in no real hurry to leave the city, no matter Citlali’s constant nagging and the uneventful time spent under tents and near campfires. All that was truly on her mind was honing her suvai skills and increasing her abilities in magic; to make herself a formidable opponent that would and could not be taken lightly. They never strayed far from Endrykas. The few, precious moments Daeva took upon herself to speak with various Drykas they had all told her it was unwise to wander far by oneself. That there were Zith and slavers and glass beak out in the untamed wilderness, and that someone such as her would be like a walking target. Daeva scoffed at this, while Citlali took it to heart. They had not wandered far until she heard the call of Masou from beyond a rocky point ahead. He sounded distressed, and when he came bounding back toward Daeva, the akontak strained her sight to catch a glimpse of what she could only assume was a lumbering swine-like creature with enormous tusks. It was miniature, but larger than Masou alone could handle. Daeva sprinted forward, just as the animal swept Masou up in his tusks and tossed him into the air. There was a yelp as he landed, but fortunately he had gotten to his feet to attack the rump of the beast once more. A distraction. Petching beast! Wait Daeva! It was too late, Daeva swept her suvai down toward the creatures neck, and caught it just enough to splice open the thick hide and send blood spraying in the air. But the creature had wailed, whipped it’s head around and pierced Daeva’s shoulder with it’s strong tusk. She cried out, tossed onto the ground as the beast dug into the compact earth with its hooves for a charge. Masou came from the left, lunged into the air and sunk his fangs into its rump, but Daeva’s fate was his own. Masou was knocked to the floor just as the creature’s abominable tusk struck him in the thigh and he yelped in frustration. Blood that was shed from it’s corpse slowed it’s movements, and it began to stumble. Daeva, with all the adrenaline and fury she held stood and charged at the poor beast, dragging the suvai deep into the throat of the creature until the blood pooled beneath them and the stalks of grass were left soaked in the crimson liquid. She heaved and winced at the deep crater in her shoulder, but bounded toward where Masou had fallen. He whimpered quietly, unable to stand as the pain for him was much too great. “Shh,” Daeva said, “We’ll take you to a healer, just pull through you stupid wolf, just pull through.” Her voice strained. Daeva… He’ll be fine. Just hurry and take him back to Endrykas. I know! Daeva erupted, I know, petch! She coaxed the wolf to stand, but most of the work was done by the Akontak, who half-carried, half dragged the animal back to the mass of tents and pavilions, until the sudden weight of her own wound bore upon her and she collapsed with the bleeding canine in her lap just on the rim. “Help, my wolf needs help!” She called, unsure if the sound of her worry-stricken voice would be heard over the mass of others.

[Denen Sunsinger]

The day was drawing close. Denen knew it. Deny it as he may, he knew without a doubt that Reth's time was near the very end. He had done everything he knew how to help the Strider, to make his life as comfortable as possible, but there came a point when helping was hindering, and it was time to ease Reth on to his next life. To keep him tied to the earth was selfish. There was, after all, an eternity waiting for him. A new life. A new body. And who was Denen Brokensong of the Opal Clan to deny him that? Quiet and mild, Denen had never thought it would be his hand to end the life of his Strider. The bondmate of his heart, the constant friend and companion. He'd have been given his Windmarks earlier had he been healthy. As it was, Reth had been a part of his life from the moment he was born. He had been a guiding spirit, wise and patient, for a child who had been robbed the mother of his birth. Jada had reared him, but there had always been the knowledge that things should have been different, always been that cold, lingering doubt in Jada's eyes. Unknown murderess, proclaimed saint for her generosity towards the son of the girl she had killed. And Denen, sickly and weak, had needed guidance and patience. So it was that the boy sat, now, watching his old horse, who lay amongst the straw. He hadn't eaten yet, and Denen's heart was sick. He'd tried coaxing Reth to eat earlier, to drink, but the old gelding had simply turned his nose away, as though the very thought was intolerable. In quiet acceptance, Denen laid the date. He thought, silently, of how it must be done. Denen had never considered ending a life, and he was devastated to think that he would be called upon to do so now, especially to poor Reth... And even before the fatal blow, Denen began to mourn. How could he not? Was not this animal his truest friend? He knew that the others—Sama'el and Dymphna—had lost Striders in the past, but he could not tell them of how it hurt. He could not place his pains on them. It was his job to heal them, was it not? Not to burden them with the agonies of his soul. They had already done so much for him. More than he could even begin to express. To ask more of them, he felt, would have been ungrateful, especially when he felt he might never be able to repay them for what they had done in his behalf. Did he not have a family who loved him now? Had Sama'el not offered him a home and sanctuary from his father? What sort of person would he be to demand more? To even think of asking for more? No. This was his burden to carry. Alone. He could not ask anyone else for comfort. Not until it was over, and Reth had been tied to the Web. Even then, he thought, he would be pressing his luck. As such, he left Sam's Pavilion in search of emotional comfort. A walk, he thought, would fit the bill well enough, give him the peace he was searching for, or clear his head at the very least. He walked now, quiet, his head bowed, arms rigid at his sides. His spine was straight, as though the very act of being were painful or repulsive to him. And to be honest, it was just that. Goddess, what am I to do? Can I truly kill my friend? What right do I have to decide if he lives or dies? And yet, the hollow echo in his chest told him that there was no other choice. It was his duty as a Drykas and as a friend to end Reth's current life, to release his soul for another body. He shivered in spite of himself, adjusting the hood Dymphna had given him for his birthday. His blue eyes were dark, pensive, and it was as he walked, that he caught sight of a woman, a blue woman, kneeling with a bloody wolf. A quick analysis of the situation told him the woman was hurt as well. Blue or not, Denen acted. He could not distance himself, as so many others had. He did not speak as he hurried to kneel alongside her. His hands slipped out of his gloves, and he held them out for the wolf to smell. Best to not rush these things. He didn't want to get his hand bitten off. He did not speak, but his pretty face was marked with concern as he groped about for his bag. He brought it into his lap, drawing out his canteen, with which he wet a rag. He set to the wounds immediately, cleaning them first. His eyes flicked up to the woman's face, curious, marveling that a person like that should come to Endrykas. “H-H-He'll...He'll be all right,” he assured. His voice was clumsy, pained. “H-How b-b-badly are you inj...inj...injured?”

[Daeva Timandre]

Daeva was holding Masou tightly, keeping his injured leg secure so that any slight movement wouldn’t upset the wolf and cause him to snap at the air. She was trying desperately to staunch the blood, to do anything for him so that he would survive. It was something so alien to her, this feeling. Of Worry and Anxiety, steadily growing from the devastating realization that at some point something would happen to the canine she called her companion… somewhat like a child she had raised to be the way he was. She couldn’t say she loved him, only that there was a place for him in her own heart. It even angered and pained the Akontak that she had degraded to such a state. There were no tears in her eyes but her throat locked up from the desperation, and she had to swallow hard to answer the boy who had so gratefully come to assist her. She looked him over twice, because she had even nearly mistaken him for a girl. But what did she care for appearances? It made no difference to her whoever had come to heal the wounds of her wolf. He spoke in Pavi, and she could at least grasp of what he asked even with the stuttering. Hands covered in blood, she raised them to allow him to clean the wounds and Masou, after growling softly at the boy reluctantly became relaxed in the lap of his mistress. “I’m..” She began in Kontinese, then realized what she was doing and quickly switched to a thickly accented and most likely embarrassing Pavi, “I am okay. Wolf is worse. Pig we fought it…. It….” She made the motion with her hand of the impalement, not knowing what the word was in the foreign language. “His worse.” This is petching ridiculous. Language barrier of all things. Calm down, Daeva. You’re doing fine, the boy is generous and kind… This will be put behind us soon. She looked at the boy then and said simply, “I am Daeva.” She might as well greet him as thanks for his assistance.