ORIGIN

Fisher wanted to scream and scream and scream and WAIL and damn whatever gods existed but then, very abruptly, there was an entire dog around his face.

A very wet dog. A tongue, and teeth, and jowls, and it was incredibly hard to breath so even though his first instinct was to, well, SCREAM MORE he really could only do that for so long, so he just went full noodle and threw his paws up at his friend, pawing at the muzzle of the dog, wrenching himself free from the relatively loose grip of his friend.

... And then Fisher took a few deep breaths, and stared up at his friend with utmost remorse. He still wanted to scream, his face covered in sticky slobber, but he didn't, he just whined and plopped down rather like a noodle would at his friends paws, huffing and trembling from nose to whiskers to furry little rump to tail.

"What are we gonna do, Black?" He practically begged, that sort of soggy-whine still ever present in his voice. "It wasn't supposed to be like this, we were supposed to, Black... It wasn't supposed tobelike this whatarewegoingtodo?!" He gulped down a huge breath of air into his lungs, ready to scream again, but instead shoved his paws into his jaws and whined more, his body writhing on the muddy ground.

Grief still held sway over his emotions, but the dog found that the howl had expressed most of what he needed to express. So while he still sat melancholy, his mind was working again, planning, thinking. At last he began to speak, voice slow and lumbering as his gait as he worked his way through the thoughts.

"...I do not wish to leave her. Yet we should find out what is happening. And we must keep her safe. How can we do both?"

Black realized at once that they might, even now, be in danger. He hauled himself up, moving to peer out of the shelter of the tree--half-expecting to see Baratheon looming just outside--but there was nothing but the mist.

At that moment his body reminded him of how very injured he was. The cold still gripped him, the ache still throbbing painfully in his neck. He felt weak, and sick, and as he turned to hurry back to his warm dirt bed, he realized that he didn't know if Fisher was likewise injured.

Had he asked, yet? He couldn't remember, not in this haze, not with his vision swimming gray. Everything was cold and pain and confusion, and he near collapsed back into his previous curled-by-Fallah position, moving his hind and fore paw to allow Fisher room to come closer, if he wished.

"Are you injured?" he managed to ask.

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"What do we do whatdowedo what do we dooooooooo...oooo...o..."

Fisher didn't really reply as Black moved away-- though he did fall quiet, his insistent whining finally winding down. They did need to figure out what was going on... Which meant asking Aquarian. He was the only one that might know, that was old enough, wise enough to know... But it was a dangerous prospect. He shivered, wriggling over to Fallah's shell, pressing his nose to the cold surface.

Black had come back, flopped down, and the noodle eagerly wiggled up into the black fur, exhausted and still ever vibrating with anxiety. "... No, I'm not hurt..." He sighed, shaking his head. He blinked and tapped into his magic, forcing his heart to slow down, and finally a sense of calm returned to the poor, overexerted noodle. "You remember Aquarian? He might know what's going on. The big noodle. Maybe he'll protect us from the King of Blood, too." He licked at his friend's muzzle.

"But first you need to heal up, and we gotta stay vigilant. I got some stuff we can put on your wounds so maybe they won't bleed to much, and after you get some rest we can see about sorting this out... Okay?"

Black listened, pendulous ears pricking up, as Fisher calmed down--not from Black's answers, but from his question. When his friend leaned up to lick his muzzle he immediately lifted a heavy paw to drape it over Fisher's shoulders--possibly squishing him just a little--to try and give him a friendly and instinctive canine tonguebath, all over poor Fisher's brown fuzzy head.

Then he shifted a bit, releasing Fisher, and sniffing back at his own wounds.

"If it will help, then do it. Do you think Aquarian will listen? I recall him. I wish to tell him that I chased the thing-that-fled, and found nothing; but that I found whispers and histories in the stone. Perhaps he will find it of interest. We do not have food for him. He wished food," Black added, rambling along his train of thought from one car to the other as if they were related.

He then laid his head on Fallah's stone; it was smooth, rounded, and he was fairly certain it had finished forming a cocoon around her. But to what end? He couldn't tell if she still breathed, within; if her heart still beat.

The black dog sighed through his nose, laying still so that Fisher could tend him. But he had one more question to ask; one request to make.

"Fisher," he rumbled, eyes half-closed, waiting for the brown friend to do whatever it was he was going to with the plants, "If we must hunt, or seek Aquarian, please do not go alone."

His voice was quiet, deep, and perhaps Fisher would assume that Black was concerned for him.

In reality, the dog simply did not wish to be left alone.

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Fisher paused, his copper-filled eyes leveling with Black's deep, dark pupils, a quiet breath drawing from his lips. "Of course, Black. I'm never leaving you," he told the dog with absolute conviction, giving the mastiff a quick, brief lick to the underside of his muzzle.

His family needed each other more than ever and now that they were together-- nothing was going to separate them. Fisher didn't care if he had to go through hell and back to make sure that stayed a reality. His breathing slow and calculated, inhale, exhale, the mustelid wriggled to the dog's bloodied neck and gently started to groom the matted fur clean. He didn't want to disturb the scabs, so he was careful not to touch any of the deeper spots, but he did want to see what he was working with.

His tail twitched, his paws churning over the ferns and spindly vines. Right. He reached down to grab the broad leaves with his teeth, and started to press them over the wounds. He had no clue how the small bird had done it, but hopefully it was something like this? His ears laid back, concentration filling the usually moment-by-moment driven noodle. The vines he took and, with a scramble over the dog's back, brought around to the backside of his neck. Tying them was a bit more difficult-- he didn't have thumbs, and he didn't really know how to make a good knot, but he tried to make the vines stay in place.

"How's that, buddy?" The fisher asked, settling down on the dog's shoulder, giving another friendly lick at the dog's ear. "Does... Does it hurt?"

@Black <3

Black lay obediently still as Fisher tended his wounds. The mustelid acted with motions born of experience, as if he'd done this before, or perhaps seen it done. Content in knowing that his nurse knew what he was doing, Black simply lowered his head to his paws, waiting. When Fisher spoke of never leaving him, he responded in silence, but clearly enough: his tail began to thump on the wet earth.

When Fisher's question came, the dog pondered, tail faltering. He was so stoic, so inclined to simply ignore his pain, that he had to think about it.

Does it hurt?

At last he lifted his head again, turning his pondering gaze to Fisher.

"Yes. He tore through my neck. I am lucky he did not do worse. What was he? Who was he? I did not recognize him."

The dog then laid his head back on his massive paws, letting Fisher continue his work. His tail thumped a few more times, until his pale gaze fell again over Fallah's new chrysalis--and then he went still, watching it.

She wasn't dead... was she? He sighed softly through his nose, morose once more, pondering whether they had failed. Whether they'd been too late, and the caves had come to reclaim her. Perhaps this was how Gembound died? How he would end?

He remembered the black and shattered stone of his own cocoon. He'd not given it much thought, at the time--it had fallen around him, and he had left it behind without a second glance. But was it where he would end up, in the end? Or, rather, how?

Looking at the cocoon, he hoped not. Not for his own sake, but for Fallah's. He hoped that he and Fisher had not been too late, too late to save her from the marauding white beast. Too late to help her. He feared, too, for Fisher--how Fisher might take such a defeat. Such a loss. Especially at such a high cost--nearly their own lives.

But perhaps she was alive, in there. Maybe that's why the stone was reforming? So that she could heal, and hatch all over again? It was a hope, though slim, and he found himself clinging to it. Then, abruptly, he realized that Fisher was done--had been done, in fact. He'd tied off the plants, and stepped back; the lick at Black's muzzle had been a hint. Whoops.

The dog lifted his square head again, sniffing back at the herbs, and then he looked to Fisher, quizzical.

"...And what do the plants do?" he asked, tacking the question on to his previous.

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Fisher nuzzled into his friend, glad that the dog at least was alive. It had been a dumb question-- of course it hurt. But for some reason, hearing that simple, calm answer gave him peace. "I don't know. He's a King though... He has those wings." Because everything that had wings was arrogant, cocky and prideful, protective of their things-- kings, and the word wasn't used in a polite way. Absolutely not.

"He was zonked out pretty bad though, I think his magic backfired. We should have some peace for a while... I doubt he'll be able to track us this far into the marsh, not with the fog." He hoped, anyway. He was doing his best to convince not only his friend, but also himself. It was honestly pretty damn scary.

Silence fell over them for a moment, and Fisher was glad for it. He listened to the bugs, a screeching tree-dwelling kind going off in the distance. Cetus was filled with noise, even when the buzzing was quieted down. The bubbling of water, the insects...

Fisher's ears perked as Black asked about the plants. "Erm, well..." Frankly, he had no idea. He had basically zero clue what he was doing. He hoped he had done it right. "When I was nearly dead after fighting Aza'zel that one time," he explained, abiet awkwardly, "When I got this scar--" He nosed the bare, pink flesh on his side, "--a little bird had wrapped up my wounds. I think it keeps the wounds from festering or something. Helps them heal faster, maybe?"

He looked down at his paws, a bit embarrassed. Perhaps it was a dumb idea. Black had survived this far, he probably didn't need the leaf wrap thing... But it had made him feel better to try.

@Black <3

The large dog remained silent, lying quietly beside Fisher, for awhile. He thought all of this over, in his slow and ponderous way, evaluating it and placing it in his memory.

The dragon was unconscious, and might remain so. It would not do to assume, however.

The plants may not do much. Fisher was imitating, and hoping. Black would pay attention to his wound, so that he could inform Fisher if his methods were correct, or required modification.

Black turned his attention toward the wounds, as if listening to them: he could feel the pain, feel the plant matter pressed down on them, could feel the clotting. But the wounds were deep, and would require more than mere surface treatment if they were to heal. He knew that if he moved too much over the next few days--even one sudden movement--the flesh would again split.

"I do not know," he rumbled at last, "if it is working. It is a deep wound, but the blood flow is stopped, for now, by the plants. And that is good. The immediate threat was blood loss." With that explained, he paused to think some more.

"...I will need to either remain near-motionless for some days, or find another way to mend the flesh, or it will break again. Even in the turning of my head, I can feel it."

He wanted to turn his head now, in fact. To lick Fisher, nuzzle him with brief affection, to give his thanks. Instead he had to content himself with raising one large paw, and trying to drape it over his friend and hold him close, for a moment. Or until the Fisher wriggled out, anyway.

"I suppose for now, rest is good. But we will need food. We will stay, then, and watch over her? What if the large creature does not know the answer?"

There; he'd asked it. Were they going to remain here, living beside Fallah's stone...? Or would they give up, and leave it, leave it to fate and the elements? Black wished he could turn his head to peer at Fisher, but he feared the damage that might do.

He hoped that Fisher was right; that Aquarian might have the answers they sought.

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Fisher nodded quietly as his friend spoke, taking in the graveness of the situation. Black didn't usually speak so much, that he knew of, and the intelligence of the mastiff nearly took him off guard. Though his words concerned the tired noodle, he was glad his friend understood that he would need to rest.

"If he doesn't know, then we'll just have to.. To wait and see. We can stay here until you get completely better, it's... It's safe, in the mist, even if it's cold," he rationalized, nuzzling up to Black's paw, wishing his small frame could provide more warm than it did.

The mustelid felt absolutely safe in the crook of the mastiff's leg, a soft sigh escaping his lungs. "After that, I guess, we'll just have to decide. It's not worth worrying about. Let's just hope the big noodle knows the answer, yeah?" He put on a small smile, stretching out among the warmth of his large guard dog.

It had been a long day, an extensive journey, and he was absolutely wasted from it. He couldn't afford many more resources worrying about whether or not the ancient Aquarian had all the answers. Right now, he didn't want to worry about anything.

"... I'm just glad you're alright, bud," he settled on the thought quietly. "Don't know what I'd do without you."

@Black <3

Black listened, pendulous ears pricked, expression somewhat morose (half simply due to his wrinkled face). When Fisher had fallen silent, he too remained quiet for a long moment, pondering his response. Finally he spoke, thoughtful.

"I was born in a dark tunnel, on ice. A wolf woke me, and spoke that it was time. My purpose was to aid you and the others. To break the ice. To protect you in the marsh. To protect you now. I am that purpose. You say, you do not know what you would do without me. You would live. I would lose purpose, were you to perish," Black added. He was speaking matter-of-factly, not at all emotionally--in fact, perhaps his cold and calculating approach would take a bit of the situation and make it somewhat less admirable, less warm. But it was truth.

"Your safety is my purpose. And the brown-cat's, and the white-cat's, though she has fended for herself." He paused, searching for words, eyeing Fisher. "Your safety is my purpose, but it would be good to see you... smile." He seemed to have to think about this, as he said it, brow furrowed even more; then he laid his large head over the fisher's body, covering him, keeping him warm and protected.

"I will hope that Aquarian will know." He added this more quietly, then pulled himself closer to Fisher, surrounding him with velvet-black fur, letting out a soft sigh through his nose.

"It hurts. I will sleep, for a time, if I may."

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