pup was sick then, a thin stream of stomach acid that still held remnants of green and slicks of clay from where he had tried to feed himself.
hunger had become a constant thudding along the back of his head, inside his mouth where water also drenched. slowly the boy swallowed, a harsh cold chilling his scoured throat, resting as if it were stones inside him.
only faintly was pup aware that the other's gait was different than how sister had walked, how sister had climbed. the sound of sekka’s heart was steady and worried. rain had soaked the last of pup's body heat away and he shivered almost convulsively as he was comforted.
the boy grasped for what was familiar; wolf, dust, rain, teeth, voice.
too young for primal recollection – the life of one so young was a series of instinctual action and this was no change. but the cyclical nature of pup’s continued struggle was teaching the boy a wretched harshness before his psyche had formed.
little paws clutched in twitching fear at sekka's arm. but when his rescuer made to climb again, pup was ready; soaked, limp, shuddering, utterly silent. a cry was in his throat
crying wailing above sister’s running legs
he counted without words; he connected himself to the heartbeat of not-oba who carried him, to the running blood, to the flared nostrils, the adjustment of pupil, pup seeking a womb where there was none offered and he must make do with a sort of despair that was quickly becoming its own sense.

Skill — Healer ( 4 / 5 )

From the boy's mouth did the meager contents of his stomach fall. He does not blame the child, for how many times now had he felt his own gut pitch whenever his forepaw left the stone? The second of uncertainty when he could do nothing but reach forward.

The man rubs the child's back with his nose, attempting to chase away the aches that came with purging one's gut. Ruby eyes glance over the contents, a small grimace forming as he accounted for bile, plant matter, and wet earth.

The starving did many things to lessen the pain in their bodies. Small stones, sand, sticks, bone shards, and any variety of plant was consumed in such cases. As exhausting it was to vomit, it was for the best; non edible materials had a chance to impact the gastric system.

Setka resolved to feed the boy as soon as they as the reached a place that was warm and dry. He wouldn't be able to supervise the child as he scrounged for something to eat, but he would have to hope that a proper meal would help pass whatever remained in the boy's system.

After catching his breath, Setka collected the boy once more. The pup's shivering warranted them to continue, and yet the shivering was the only thing that assured the boy still clung to life. His body had not given in to the cold storm that escorted them.

Stay with me. The cry of his heart was directed to the boy. The plea of a healer as their options to stave away death became fewer and fewer. Setka could not linger on what else he might have been able to do, for he was here now, halfway up the cliff.

The only way out was up.

The path above the ledge was harder to route, and Setka found further progression difficult. The pouring rain did not assist the man in finding secure footholds and Setka could not easily backtrack along the wall. On more than one heart-stopping occasion did he have to make a "leap of faith" where he had to push himself beyond the limits of a comfortable reach. The muscles in his legs burned terribly despite the cold, and Setka endeavored not to grit his teeth.

Through his concern, fear, and exhaustion, Setka could feel the undeniable spark of anger within himself.

At one point in time this climb may of been a younger self's past time as his mother sent him away so that she could work. He had been born in a land of dry sands and stone heights. Nekhen even had a canyon within its borders. It had been his birthright to be able to persevere in the face of the cruel environment, and yet it was the very people he had wished to serve who have maimed him. This was a hurt that Setka knew he would never truly heal from. A wound that needed constant maintenance to keep from festering. To remind himself that his anger was futile at this point would be a Sisyphean task he endured the rest of his life.

During his ascent, Setka can feel the varying shifts of the cliff's slopes. Some paths were sheer and impossible, whilst others gave the man's tiring body a bit of reprieve. It is there that Setka can see a crack in the stone. A dark void that snaked up the stone. If it was the opening he had fallen from, it would take them to the plateau.

Setka maneuvered himself to stand by the crack in the wall. Where he stood it was narrow, but peering within he could see it widen. Water raced down the the angled stone, a small stream of rainwater having been made within the crevice.

Wedging his feet into the stone, Setka pushed against the water. The crevice chaffed his legs and the water spattered him with grit. Each step Setka fears how he may find his paws sliding deeper into the stone than he intended. How a broken leg would make this effort all for naught.

He can only thank the gods that the stone widened, allowing him more room to stand. The slope became kinder, and he could see the dark clouds rolling not so far above. The end was in sight.

too young to have felt the rich heat of summer or the green warmth of springtime, pup’s present was soaked and wet, his tenuous connection to consciousness bound only by the beat of sekka’s heart.
slowly he began to fade in and out of charcoal mists, new brain playing out a choreograph of sounds and smells, those first indentations that in time might become memory. pup had no ability to conceptualize time nor measure it; the sum of his seconds were marked by the sound of claws on stone, of muscles tensing where he was not able to see, of breaths held deep in sekka’s belly, of the way air puffed out around him on raw exhalation when not-oba slid or had to clutch for extra purchase.
home had been a peninsula, a little collection of lodges and a people who hunted the sea creatures. pup would not have known most of these descriptive words; he would remember the sound of waves, the taste of salt tangled in another’s fur, the hint of copper which would always hang with oba’s own smell. he would remember the glow of a full moon upon the ocean and how it had made him feel to see sun over sea for the first time.
beneath the onslaught of senses, these things were losing their color.
ama’s fur had smelled like – like her, milk and meat and things outside. his tormented mind reconnected sekka to that first scent of herbs, then to the man himself.
the going was an ouroboros unto itself, but pup struggled to keep his blurring eyes open on the crags and slopes and hollows passing below his feet.
when the path seemed to beckon smoothness, the boy blinked. there were stars under him, stars above. a darkness broken by light.
sekka’s heartbeat was more even. his breaths were not scared. these things reassured pup enough to surrender, and he fainted, stress and hunger and chill exacting its second toll from the child.
the stars flew up and he rose with them. the time of forgetting eased the ache in his chest, and he raised his arms to fill with beautiful light.

Skill — Healer ( 5 / 5 )

When Setka takes the final step from stone to grass, his legs threaten to buckle. The relief to have triumphed over the climb left the man lightheaded, but he could not stop yet. On trembling limbs, Setka staggered across the plateau. Red eyes searched through the misted haze of the rain for a place to rest.

The boy had gone limp in his jaws with only the tiny rise and fall of his chest indicating that he held on to life. They needed a dry place to shelter; the boy needed warmth.

The shelter that Setka settled upon was a small cave in the side of a higher plateau than the one he stood upon. The floor of the cave was slanted, preventing water from pooling all the way to the back wall. The cave mouth sat in a puddle, but only a few strides carried Setka back onto dry stone. There he lowered himself to the floor and nestled the boy in the crook of his arm.

Setka put himself to work drying the pup, lapping away at the boy's sodden fur. As he groomed, Setka made sure to massage the pup's body to encourage blood flow. He even lowered his muzzle to the boy's skin and breathed as though he was trying to tend to that fading fire within the boy. To kindle whatever spark of life remained.

The coywolf curled around the pup as tightly as he could. Tired eyes focused on the rise and fall of the child's chest. Setka's own body had used the last of its reserves to carry them here. Resting his chin over the pup's back, Setka allowed his eyes to close.

The rain droned on outside, but Setka would still be in the cave whenever the pup woke.

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