1/16/2025, 11:16 PM
In the end, they considered, it was at least quick.
One moment, spinning to yell for Nightjar to go, to never slow down, to never look back. Seeing her terrified, tear stained face crumple further, and having to drive her into a run with a great, slicing snap of his teeth. Pivoting back to catch the first blow with their face, the next with their chest. The faces were those they knew, each one stained in their memory with sun-washed sepias. Brothers, once. Friends, lifetimes ago. Enemies tearing through their flesh, now.
Geraint’s blood was crimson staining the highlands’ snow, blooming around them like poppies. Their brothers, crunching through the snow back the way they’d come. Their sister, the one they had tried so hard to protect so fiercely, looked to them with some kind of pity, but she followed behind. They were alone. Every time they breathed, they tasted the blood that leaked sluggishly past their tongue, air that never made it from their lungs to their mouth. Every ragged gurgle brought blood bubbling from their throat, until they could no longer even gurgle. Dying light in their eyes caught a blade of snowy grass, a droplet of their blood waiting to fall from its tip.
Their eyes closed right as it dripped.
Then, there was nothing.
Geraint woke with a flower up their nose and a shiver working through their body. Snow draped over their back like a cloak, muddling the colors they didn’t recognize. The area was unfamiliar, their body even more so. They could taste the air through the gap in their lips, allowing for the end of their protruding upper canines to appear. But none of that mattered.
Nothing mattered when the wind shifted playful around them, bringing them a scent they’d almost forgotten. But they could never forget it, not really. They would never forget him, had made that abundantly clear from the moment they’d learned of his demise.
Nothing mattered because they smelled-.
Nightingale
One moment, spinning to yell for Nightjar to go, to never slow down, to never look back. Seeing her terrified, tear stained face crumple further, and having to drive her into a run with a great, slicing snap of his teeth. Pivoting back to catch the first blow with their face, the next with their chest. The faces were those they knew, each one stained in their memory with sun-washed sepias. Brothers, once. Friends, lifetimes ago. Enemies tearing through their flesh, now.
Geraint’s blood was crimson staining the highlands’ snow, blooming around them like poppies. Their brothers, crunching through the snow back the way they’d come. Their sister, the one they had tried so hard to protect so fiercely, looked to them with some kind of pity, but she followed behind. They were alone. Every time they breathed, they tasted the blood that leaked sluggishly past their tongue, air that never made it from their lungs to their mouth. Every ragged gurgle brought blood bubbling from their throat, until they could no longer even gurgle. Dying light in their eyes caught a blade of snowy grass, a droplet of their blood waiting to fall from its tip.
Their eyes closed right as it dripped.
Then, there was nothing.
Geraint woke with a flower up their nose and a shiver working through their body. Snow draped over their back like a cloak, muddling the colors they didn’t recognize. The area was unfamiliar, their body even more so. They could taste the air through the gap in their lips, allowing for the end of their protruding upper canines to appear. But none of that mattered.
Nothing mattered when the wind shifted playful around them, bringing them a scent they’d almost forgotten. But they could never forget it, not really. They would never forget him, had made that abundantly clear from the moment they’d learned of his demise.
Nothing mattered because they smelled-.
Nightingale?
Nightingale