ORIGIN

They had lived.

Sort of.

Fisher's heart was racing out of his chest. He thought he might be sick, and almost heaved a few times as he got stuck in the mud, his head dizzy with adrenaline. The King of Blood was out cold for now-- Fisher didn't have the heart (or really the courage) to finish him off.

Hundreds of panicked plans were forgotten, left as trail marks in the mud, as Fisher hurriedly tried to catch up. It was easy-- too easy-- to follow Black's heavy pawprints in the mud. If Baratheon hadn't basically knocked himself out with his magic... Fisher hated to think of it. He just wanted to lay down and cry, it was all so horrible. Even with hope brimming in his chest, and the excitement of getting away alive, he found it hard to be optimistic.

Finally, after long last, Fisher caught up to the Black dog and Fallah. He made a short, sharp bark, tail wagging. "The danger is gone. It won't follow us. I know somewhere we can take Fallah, where she'll be safe," he told his friend, coming up to his side to try and help with Fallah. The lynx wasn't light, and her huge paws dragged in the mud, but he managed to get one paw over his shoulder, lifting some of the weight off of the dog.

"This way," he told his friend, steering them towards the forest. There were patches of drier land, nests of roots, where Fallah could rest. They would have to look at her wounds... He shivered, feeling sick. She didn't smell of death yet, but she certainly wasn't conscious at this point. The blood loss was so much, so drastic.

Once they were safe, he was definitely going to curl up Black's paws and take a nap. He couldn't handle much more of today.

Black was barely conscious.

The blood leaking from his wound weakened him second by second, leaving him cold, his vision coming and going in a gray fog that blended with Cetus's pale mist, leaving him uncertain what was real. The adrenaline still raged through him, but its aftereffects were becoming apparent, his exhausted muscles trembling. Shivering, he focused wholly on hauling Fallah by the scruff of her neck--the cat out cold--toward the cover of the trees.

Dimly he became aware of the sound of Fisher's voice, though the relief he felt was vague and distant. He felt the weight in his jaws lessen, and nearly fell, then slowly corrected himself and carried on, stumbling through the tangles of grass. Fisher seemed to be telling him to go toward the trees, but that made no sense, couldn't be right, because he already was. Or was his path wrong? The dog paused only briefly, chest heaving, eyes flicking over his path. Had he stumbled the wrong way in his confusion?

With a soft whine audible in his ragged exhale he dragged himself on, forcing his way through the reeds and to the trees.

The first sign of tree roots had him crawling beneath, dragging Fallah with him, hauling them deep under the cover of the roots and into darkness. Here he laid Fallah in the grass, curling around her to share his warmth. He sniffed over her, but could find no sign of life.

The Black Dog looked to Fisher, rather pathetically, morose expression only accentuated by the blood that left slick darker places on his fur even beneath the shadow of the tree.

"I am glad you live," he panted heavily. "She may not. I must rest. I bleed, and I do not know how to stop it," he added, quietly matter-of-fact. He lowered his head and began to lick at Fallah's wounds, shivering and barely able to hold up his head.

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He hated of feeling like this. It was exhausting to fight against this world, this world that so strongly wished him dead that it hurt everything he touched in an attempt to crush him. As Black stumbled to a nest of roots to settle Fallah down on, the noodle found himself reaching up to lick at the pup's muzzle, slick with saliva. They were trying so hard. No one else could have saved the lynx...

His large copper-ringed pupils stared at the mastiff as he spoke, his heart fell. He was too tired, too exhausted, to go on as it was. This was exactly why he hadn't been getting his hopes up: Fallah was nearly dead, and Black could join her. He shivered, sniffing at the pair of them.

Once the feline had been settled down, he tried not to focus on her. "She's gonna be okay Black, and you are too. You trust me right?" He had no idea how he was going to fix any of this, but he was going to try. He had vague memories of a bird patching him up when he was about as bad off (if not worse) than Black, so... His tail twitched.

"Lay down and rest, I'll see if I can find something to stop the bleeding. I won't go out of sight, just bark if you need me," he told his friend calm as he could, giving the mastiff another gentle lick before slipping off the root. They needed something to stop the blood... Which meant he had to sniff around. If he could find something to eat, to keep Black's strength up, that would be good too.

Past the haze of grey and pain, Black was vaguely aware that Fisher was leaving. Trust. Yes, he trusted him... but.

"Do not... be seen," Black warned, voice a growling gasp. "The beast will... be seeking us."

Hopefully Fisher would have the sense to stick to cover and stay out of sight--and not to return if Baratheon got here before his return.

The black mastiff peered down at Fallah. Her wounds were great, and still she was not conscious. He hauled her limp body closer to him with one large paw, and went back to slowly licking the worst of her wounds, cleaning away the blood and getting a good look at just how bad it was.

Never mind that his own neck was savaged through, cold air stinging past like blades of ice burying themselves in the muscle. It hurt, but he ignored it. Unlike Fisher he didn't worry about it, didn't think about the pain, didn't dwell on their luck. They were here, and now, and there were issues to be dealt with, and survival to pursue. Black was rather feral in this regard, and all else fell away as he concentrated on the tears in the cat's flesh, the tufts of fur that he had to lick away and spit into the grass.

The exhaustion and blood loss took him suddenly.

Light-headed, his blood pressure far too low from the loss, he found his head swimming and his breath faint. He reeled back, and then all went swiftly gray, then black, and the dog's eyes rolled up into his head as consciousness was torn from him.

The Black Dog fell forward over Fallah, his broad skull over her shoulders, his breathing shallow and faint. He would remain unconscious for a few moments, at least, as his body tried to stop him from losing even more blood; perhaps the brief and severe dip in blood pressure would be enough to stem the bleeding long enough for it to clot.

Probably not. Hopefully, Fisher would be back with enough material that it wouldn't matter.

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A few vines, some fern plants-- Fisher was not a healer by any measure, but he had to get something to help Black stop bleeding. If they just hadn't stopped to hunt, hadn't paused to talk to Louie... Without Giggle's guidance, would they have even found Fallah in time? His mind was churning, his heart aching, a longing to run back to Cancer and curl up in his warmth, to forget that all the bad had happened... But this is why he had to leave the leopard. His family needed him, even if all he did was mess up, at least he could keep trying to make life better for those who deserved it.

His jaws clamped around the plant matter, roots dragging in the mud as he sniffed around, looking for something to eat. He'd return to Black in a second-- he didn't want to leave the injured, vigilant Mastiff and his half-dead Fallah alone. The dog had warned him to watch out for the King of Blood, but Fisher knew he wouldn't be waking up for a while. There was a sense of peace to that, something that kept him going even though everything was shattered and broken around him. A sense of peace, a comfort of silence and fog that smelled so strongly of home. He was in a familiar place, a place where--

The fisher's paws stopped at the root of a tree, amazed at the sight before him. He dropped his makeshift bandages and leaped forward, eyes shinning. A single shard of deep, dark brown, almost glass, lay tucked away there. Sniffing, he pawed at the piece, shifting the mud out of the way. He had found the remains of his chrysalis, the place where he was born. A shift ran down his spine, as he found all the pieces, digging them up with a quiet determination. Soon, he held all the pieces-- his egg had been so small, he could fit almost all of the shell between his two forepaws.

He had come home. His family had made it, to the place where his small spark of life had started. The feeling swirled in his chest until it almost hurt, and he took the largest piece of shell and returned to his resources. He had been hunting for cave rats, but perhaps he had found something better. Grabbing everything, he returned to Black with a melancholy twinge in his heart.

The dog had practically fallen asleep-- for a breath-stealing moment he thought his friends had died in his absence, but he saw the delicate rise and fall of the ebony body and relaxed. He bounded over, chittering through his full mouth. His paws landed on Black's flank, eyes bright, and that was when he noticed Fallah, under his friend-- something strange had happened to her.

He set down his things, including the shard of his chrysalis.

"Black? What's happening?" His timid voice filled the fog, a memory of a buzzing racing through his mind. A milky, cloudy blue had begun to coat the lynx, starting from her jaw, coating down her throat. It was growing slowly, a protective shell... What was happening to their friend? And why?

Fisher's voice seemed distant, dreamy, as if lost beyond some sort of thick fog. Black's half-conscious mind imagined a mist, drifting and pale, his friend somewhere beyond it--trying to reach him. Trying to find him.

He suddenly snapped awake, groggy but aware, lifting his large head to blink stupidly at Fisher. There was mist--and for a fraction of a second, Black wasn't sure where they were. The mist was real, though, and a second later he remembered the fight, remembered Fallah and the dragon, and Cetus beyond.

"What's happening?" Fisher's voice broke through his haze, and he shook his head, abruptly, to clear it. Everything roared through his head at once, sound and vision returning, and sensation--and he realized that he was cold, shivering, and that his neck was aching and biting at him even now.

But he ignored it. Fisher was talking, and as he looked slowly down--finally--to see what he meant, he forgot his pain altogether.

To his shame, he jerked away, leaving Fallah's limp, cool, barely-breathing body to thump to the dirt. The moment he broke contact, whatever seemed to be happening to her began to speed up: the milky blue, like light shifting through water, began to hide her form entirely.

Black immediately gave a sharp whine of alarm and concern, and began to paw at the lynx. But it was too late; the skin spreading over her body was hard, rock-hard, as if her gem itself was crystallizing around her body. He looked up, fear and grief in his eyes, staring to Fisher.

"I do not know. ...Will she survive?"

And for the first time, there was emotion in his voice.

He was relieved that Fisher had lived, glad of it; but he simply considered it a success, and therefore nothing to think twice about. He had lived, they had lived, life went on.

But to lose one of them? To lose Fallah, especially after how far they'd come to find her? How long they'd waited to see her again? Pain wrenched in his gut, and as he looked back down on the cat, he knew it echoed in his tone--and in his miserable expression.

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Black lept up to his paws, whining, and pawed at the strange shell that had quickly went to cover up their friend. Fisher simply stared, baffled, his heart dropping as the last of his friend began to disappear beyond the blue. He had never seen anything like it-- he had seen one gembound die, when he was quite young, but it hadn't been like this.

Fisher raised his eyes from Fallah's rapidly consumed body, meeting the grief-struck expression of the pup. The helplessness was unending, the sensation of drowning in that cold, devouring river.

"I-I don't know, Black... It's like she's changing... back into a newborn, or something," he stammered without a single trace of hope in his voice. Fallah hadn't died, her stone was still there, in her body, and all around, wrapping around her-- it should have fallen out in her death if she died-- but... But she wasn't living either. She was being taken from them, and the small noodle had no idea why. Panicked thoughts raced through his mind, setting his body into a violent trembling.

If she really was being put back in her shell-- his paws worked over the piece of his very own, anxiety making his heart race-- then would she hatch some day? He didn't dare say it, but what if her magic twisted her, taking away the old Fallah and replacing it with something else? Would she come back the same?

If she ever came back at all.

He shook his head and tried to push on, tried to pick himself up from the horrifying transformation of his friend, and stared Black down some more. His injuries had to be taken care of. They could grieve, they could worry, later. The mustelid swallowed hard, but the distraught clung to his throat.

"Just let it do what it's gonna do, okay buddy?" He woofed softly, reaching down to pick up the fern leaves he had managed to collect. He dragged them over to Black, reaching up with his paws, and started to check out just how bad Black looked.

"Rrhhy nwwh, whhgadda mhhk 'err 'yrr o'ayy," he garbled through his cletched teeth, nosing up in to his scruff.

Black stared numbly down at Fallah, the wrenching in his heart feeling somehow distant.

I failed. She is fading. I have failed. She is gone.

Grief knotted in him, the cold black stone at his heart feeling icier than it had ever been, hope draining from him. He did not fail. He might die guarding his friends, but they were supposed to live. He wasn't sure what was happening to Fallah--but it wasn't warm, it wasn't soft. It wasn't alive.

His vision seemed to blur and run as he stumbled sharply back, rump impacting the roots beneath the tree. The instant he realized he couldn't simply run backwards and away, he froze, quivering and staring at the blue stone that lay where the lynx had been.

Fisher was speaking to him, approaching him, something in his mouth--but Black hardly noticed him. Instead, with emotion overwhelming him for the first time in his life, Black raised his head beneath the tree and let it out the only way he knew how.

Throughout the forest of Cetus, and deafeningly close to poor Fisher's ears, a bellowing dog's howl echoed. The fog seemed to fill with it, the voice ringing with loss and grief, fading--after a long moment of misery--into a quiet whine.

Black stood silent and shivering, after that, staring down blankly at the Fallah-stone, nearly oblivious to Fisher at his side.

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Fisher paused, dropping the plants in his jaws, watching in quiet distress as his guard dog absolutely lost it, letting out a mournful howl that-- while yes, was very loud to his ears-- filled not only the mist, but the noodle, with grief. He stood there, leaned back on to his haunches, paws tucked against his chest, staring up at Black with stunned silence.

He didn't know how to make this better. He didn't know how to explain what was happening, hell, he didn't even know truly for himself. He wasn't going to pretend things were okay. For all he knew, the world really was breaking down around them. They were losing Fallah, and they might never see her again. He had tried, briefly, to push the thoughts away, but Black had taken him and shoved him face first back into the grief.

So when his friend's howl dropped in a quiet whimper, the mustelid found himself frozen. Fallah couldn't die. They needed her. They were going to be a family again, a real one, one that looked out for each other. They were going to be happy and together and safe. The thoughts swallowed him, a gagging, choking feeling rising up in his throat.

Fisher couldn't howl, nor did he try, but in some sense of comradery for his friend, he pressed into the mastiff's flank, burying his face into the thick folds of hide, claws tugging at fur.

And he screamed.


(1:30 for scream time. hope you're fucking prepared)

He was alone in his grief, isolated and miserable, a sense of floating somewhere lost in the fog gripping him.

Until, that was, the screaming began.

It pierced his mind, made him flinch away, made him snap his head toward Fisher wide-eyed to see just what the hell was making that godawful sound.

What he saw was Fisher, clinging to him, screaming. The sound ripped through his ears, tore his heart, and most of all made him realize that if the dragon was about, the two of them had just broadcasted their location. This was all in a fraction of a second, though, followed immediately by the thought--

MAKE HIM STOP!

Black was somewhat distant and feral on the best of days, but when the mustelid began his screaming, his mind just went blank. He tried to muffle the fisher the only way he knew how: by opening his jaws and simply engulfing Fisher's head.

He didn't bite him, or even grip him--he just stuck his entire face around Fisher's body, as far as he could get, so that the screams would ring hollow down Black's mouth and throat instead of broadcasting throughout the swamp.

And he just stayed there, until Fisher might react.

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