;; rated M for possible squick and gore, also, private-- this is a bevy/fisher only thread, thank you!
Teach me to feel another's woe,
to hide the fault I see,
that mercy I to others show,
that mercy show to me.
Things were.. Complicated, to say the least. It seemed like everything was a whirlwind-- and even the best of her couldn't keep anything straight. Why was Tunnel I full of awful scorch marks, and why did the air taste like fire and metal? It made her shiver-- but so far, everyone was gone. There was nothing here except for her. Calypso had wanted to see the Carvings again-- but something horrible had happened. There was blood.
Enna couldn't help it. She had to find the source and when she did... Oh, it was awful. She had never seen such a terrifying sight-- a lump of... of... Was it even fur? She landed beside the creature, the coarse, blackened mess of a long, but equally small creature. What was it... Who was it?
"H-hello?" She peeped, and knowing it would need all the magickal assistance it could get, she began to detect the bacteria. If the creature was infected with something, maybe she could help... They were so close to Eridanus, she could fetch him water too, if she had to. Trembling, she hoped that he would at least answer her.
The world of bacteria slowly opened up to Bevy's senses, and she simply could not believe how bad it was.
At some point, Fisher found himself upside down, further down the tunnel. Here the air was cooler, but he also had no idea how long he had laid there. The pain was all through out him, as well a desperate thirst. He had to find a way to safety. Again, he moved, dragging himself, desperate to survive.
How had he lived? It was a miracle. He could hardly believe his eyes as the world of green-- dark, but moist and warm-- waved over his senses. He nibbled on the foliage, his mouth aching in protest. Everything hurt. He couldn't even think straight.
The moss was soft on his fur, and he curled up, falling into sleep.
--
When he woke again, Fisher realized that he had not even reached the moss. His senses were so fried, the pool of blood that had come from his body was sticky and moist must have tricked him. He fixed his eyes on the dark foliage just out of reach, and realized then that there was a creature beside him.
He jerked his head to look at her-- a small, red and black bird, like a child of Aza'zel-- and immediately a wave of nausea fell over him. His muzzle hit the ground once more as he vomited, a nasty, hacking sound coming from his chest as he coughed and spewed. It was awful. Why hadn't he died?
Was she here to finish the job?
The lump of black and bloody fur turned into a hotspot of white, painful, fuzzy dots. Well, they weren't really white, because she couldn't see them-- but her magickal sense allowed her to sense the dots as they squirmed around the caves. The rest of the cave, even her, seemed spick and span, clean as could be, compared to the host of bacteria and infection that was feeding off of the dying Fisher.
What... What was she supposed to do? Bevy stood before the creature as it vomited, a foul smell plaguing the air. This thing would die to disease if not to its wounds... Could she even save him? She didn't know. She was so afraid, too.
"H-hold on. My name's Bevy, I'm a healer. I'll fix you, I promise. It's okay." She tweeted softly, her vision a blur of white and hot-- he was so sick. He was going to die! Trembling, she did her best to summon the nasty bacteria away, pull them from his body. She could put in good bacteria after... And fetch him water... But she had to disinfect him first.
Slowly but surely, she began to tug at the bacteria in the fisher's burnt, electrified body, pull at all of the bad stuff that lay gobbling at his health. It made her tremble to do that, to touch the small invisibles that were made for Death instead of Life, but she had learned from a hyena once that they were the same.
And she could use Death to heal, too. She knew she could.
The fisher cat heard the birds words but they did not make sense in his head. Hold.. Bevy, the gembound's name was Bevy-- Hold. Fix you. Promise. Promises didn't mean anything. It wasn't okay. The bird was a liar-- all birds lied. The words warped around him, and a tingling crawled through his skin and almost burned, aching through his fur. What... what was she doing? His throat burned, and his mouth tasted foul and disgusting, but despite wanting to speak or even fight back, the poor noodle could only gasp for breath.
Why was this happening, and just who was the bird with the strange voice that sounded so kind yet so disturbing? He struggled to move but he couldn't. Was she holding him down? Panic flooded into him, new and fresh, and he struggled to move, to cast a spell, to do anything! Fisher had never felt so helpless; even when Majesty had pinned him down-- curse that fiendish barkenemy-- he knew he could fight back. Where had all of his magical energy gone? His strength... Everything... It was all gone...
His vision turned splotchy shades of black and he could only whimper. She was killing him, wasn't she?
The bacteria... There was so much of it. Her skin crawled as she pulled it away, using every ounce of magic she could to keep her hold on her vision and the bacteria. She watched the cloud form, raising it high over their heads, her wings trembling. "I got you," she whispered, her voice soft, gentle tweets.
Bevy couldn't stand to hear the other gembound whimper. He had to be in so much pain. It was worse than what had happened to Makyna that one time, worse than the burns that Leon often gave himself. She had never imagined anything could live through something like this. She pushed the bad bacteria away, down the hall, and hoped that they would die without a host and disperse, never to cause Death again.
Trembling still, the young pitohui bird looked down on the fisher. Clumps of disease flesh had been torn off despite how gentle she had been, and he was bleeding now. "It's okay," she told him, "Look, can you move? If you can just get to Eridanus everything will be okay, I promise, it will. Just try and..." But just looking at him, she could see. The brown mustelid was in no condition to do anything. He couldn't even speak for goodness' sake.
Which meant it was up to her to go and find him some water, and maybe some bandages.
... the bird... left...
Fisher was left alone once more, feeling hot and sticky. Or was it cold and numb? He could barely tell, he just felt nauseous as he struggled to stay awake. He had to get somewhere safe... Before Aza'zel came back.
Or worse, the King of Shadows. Fisher had a feeling that awful beast would come and take his life if the King of Bones wouldn't. His pelt shuttered as he went through his life, through all those that he knew.
There was Tamelyn, sweet, lovely Tamelyn. And proud, quiet, careful Fallah. That cute little kitten, the white one, that had clawed him all over and disappeared never to be seen again. There was Midas-- the snake, more noodle then he could ever dream. There was Black, of course, Black. So loyal and true. Isaac, the first bark friend he had ever had. Leon, his climbing buddy who had got him in so much trouble, and Louie who had saved his life, maybe. Arkrael, his hunting buddy, too. Of course, there was Fang as well, you couldn't forget a queen like that. Even Quix. There were so many gembound, each who had touched his life. He thought of Makyna, the cat who had given him his-- HIS LUCKY ROCK.
Where was his lucky rock?! He whined, his stomach churning in his gut through he knew there was nothing left he could expel from it. His whole body ached, drowning out his thoughts.
He didn't know how much longer he could wait on the bird to come back and save him-- but of course, he also didn't think she was too return. He was sure he was doomed to die, just like Deus. He wished it wasn't so painful, so drawn out. He wanted it to end, the everlasting misery. Time stretched out before him and all he could think about was his friends, his precious friends, all whom he was leaving behind.
Bevy returned to a miserable, awful sight. The mustelid had moved-- rather, rolled-- perhaps in some sort of thrashing while she was gone. Blood smeared across the floor, up the walls. The poor thing was barely moving now, if at all. She couldn't tell if he was breathing or not, and she was almost too afraid to approached. Gently she landed, setting down the coconut she had harvested. Water sloshed in it but she pinned it between some rocks so it wouldn't wander off before setting down her other supplies-- vines and long, smooth leaves with wide, tapering shapes.
She took a deep breath, trying not to sound like she had just flown a marathon, but her lungs ached as she tried to hold herself together. Looking over the lifeless mop of brown turned black with blood fur, the frightened bird carefully approached, one set of clicking talons at a time. He didn't so much as stir as she got close, which made her worry... Was he dead? Timidly, she reached out a talon to touch his fur, and to her relief she could feel the heat pouring off of him. He had a dangerous fever, but he wasn't dead.
Fisher had drifted off to sleep, or possibly, to death. Everything felt like fire, though the air was ice cold. He tried to be sick again, but nothing came up. The mustelid struggled to move, and only felt the squish of damp, horrible blood. He never wanted to see another crimson red shade again as his eyes flicked over the length of his body, seeing the mess he made. Sleep was a sweet, tender release, and he wasn't sure what was happening as he felt something brush his fur. Too tired to move, his eyes flickered open, a weak grunt coming from between his lips.
He saw the tiny bird of death. Red and black, child of the King of Bones. He closed his eyes again, wondering why she had come back. Why she hadn't ended his miserable, tortured life by now. Surely that was what she wanted. It was what the cave wanted. No one wanted him around. He tried to growl at her, but it came out as a garbled whimper, his muscles tightening as he twisted in on himself-- his stomach tried to heave again. The fisher cat coughed, the movement sending shooting pain through his body.
"N-no, no, don't move," the pitohui bird fretted, her voice soft, hoarse as though she had spent her entire journey screaming. Why was she loosing her voice now, of all times? She had to be able to talk to her patient, to tell him not worry... But as she tried to speak more, gentle words in his ear, she found she could hardly make a sound. The brown sack of flesh coughed, practically convulsing before her. Her white sense told her that the bacteria levels had dropped off significantly and hadn't returned, probably thanks to not only her magic but the massive fever he had managed to get his body worked up into. She shivered, stepping back to fetch her supplies.
She grabbed a bit of moss-- she had only grabbed a little, and dripped a little water into it. First she had to wash away the blood... Not something she was looking forward to doing all on her own, but who else would do it? The bird turned to her patient and approached him again, taking a slow, deep breath through her beak. "This... gonna hh...h...hurt. Ssshhh..." She managed to peep out, starting with the worst of the wounds-- a giant, burning tear along his flank.
The bird spoke, chirping in his ear, like an old, raking, clawing wind scrapping tree branches against once another. He couldn't understand. He didn't even want to. He wanted to disappear, to be far away from the gentle tweets that were trying to lure him to death.
The pain came suddenly. His side erupted, like lava was being dripped into his wounds, and although he wanted to scream he found he could only whimper, his legs twitching as his muscles fought to get away but found they could not come together to work as one. His ears laid back as his whimper died, a heavy gasp for air coming through his gritted teeth. He panted, and panted, and finally the pain subsided just long enough for another wave to come crashing in. He tasted blood in his mouth, familiar, but somehow less horrible than the bile from his stomach.
He didn't even notice the pain from the tongue he had bitten. How could he, when the pain became so strong in his side that he wanted to beg for the death to be swift? How could anything be so painful? How was he even managing to stay awake? His claws flexed and he scratched deep scores into the earth, kicking weakly to try and escape.