RP with
Rhaegal, needs more interaction. (I should play him more in the Forest gahh) Feel free to join, this is open for everyone. All I ask is that you won't quit halfway and that you'll be moderately active.
I accept all kind of violent and hateful behaviour towards this character, just avoid godmodding 'kay.
Warning for self-harm, blood and gore, violence and body fluids. All kinds of sensitive and delicious stuff. Potential naughty language.
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What have you done this time?
I don't know what has happened, or that's what I keep telling myself. But the truth is that what I'm trying to accomplish is nothing but a foul lie - an attempt to fix the situation that my reckless behaviour has caused. I just remember losing it for a small moment - yet that moment was more than enough for me to do it. I actually did it. I killed someone - I killed someone, even though I wasn't hungry. I didn't kill to defend myself. I
just did it. And the sickest thing about it is that I don't feel regret. Quite the opposite - I feel strangely at peace. As if justice has been served, a weight lifted from my heart. A thorn removed from my paw.
Even now, when the defiled body of a young, spotted deer drags behind me, I don't feel anything. I don't even feel the slightest hint of hunger. My only instinct is to dispose of the body. I just don't want anyone to know. I need to get clean from this blood that creates dried red spots on my fur. I want to forget it ever happened - or more likely, I just want to forget about the fact that I don't feel anything. Perhaps its shock that stops my own conscious from reacting.
You're a monster. Why'd you do something like that?
I guess I don't know - the little pest annoyed me. I clearly showed the fawnling that I want to be left in peace, but did it listen? No, it wanted to be my
friend . What a naive, childish thing for it to do. It deserved all that was coming its way, right? I didn't mean to kill, just give it a little scratch to tell it to get the hell away from me. I guess I just swung my paw too hard - maybe I even bit its neck in the process? I really hope I did. If I didn't, the poor one suffered a painful death. Just imagine it, being almost literally teared to pieces. Not being able to fight back. Not even having the slightest chance. I seriously pity the thing, but I just can't feel terrible. Not just yet. It was an annoying pest, just another prey destined to die. Right?
... You'll see soon enough. You murderer.
I'm not a murderer! It was an accident - it had to be one. The deer was the one who caused it, I just became a little angry and tried to teach it a lesson about teasing others. My paw just slipped, that's all. There's nothing more to it.
Glad that the voice doesn't bother me anymore, I try to hasten my pace. I'm well aware that the body I'm carrying in my mouth is leaving a huge trail of dark blood behind me, but I don't have time to worry about it. I must make it to the Pond. I can 'erase' this situation there by disposing of the corpse, or what's left of it. There'll be no-one to suspect that I did it - no-one to identify the name of this fawn. The evening that keeps closing in makes my work easier, as most beasts prefer to hide themselves in their little holes. Predators start to move in these hours, and I'm not the only one. Others will have their hands full, I'm sure.
The scent of flowing water catches my nose, and it only works as a motivation for me to hurry up. Someone is bound to find the blood pool by the Oak soon, perhaps the severed leg that I didn't manage to carry. They just can't find out it's me, explaining everything will be a pain. Can I really even explain what I did? Perhaps not.
The body is already beginning to get cold as I put it on the ground next to the water's edge. All I need is a good throw and the body will be washed away. It will sink, after all the trouble I went through to attach the small pieces of rock around its feet. If it wouldn't sink - well, that was another story.
I remove the bandage from around my eyes for a slight moment to inspect the body for the last time. The neck is unnaturally bent, so I can even see how the flesh is broken from the middle. It reveals a thick bone sticking out, broken thanks to the harsh way that I've treated the body while carrying it. The three legs that it has left are twisted in a similar manner, one of them almost falling off from the rest of the body. The severed leg snapped right off a while back, and someone's bound to find it. I secretly wish that it's another predator, just glad to find something to eat. That would take some of the blame off him, at least.
The body itself is harshly torn from several spots, claw marks leaving chunks of fur and flesh hanging from the wounds, going as deep as to reach the level under the muscle tissue. Yet it isn't all the gore that I see in the body, it's the eyes that I'm scared of. They just look up lifelessly, screaming that the fawn didn't want to die. Panicked, wide and full of desire to continue living.
Well, it was all the same now, it was dead. It's future, past or present wouldn't matter much anymore. Yet why is it that my legs shake so violently as I crouch to finish it all? It's as if I am the one being afraid. But of what? I just don't know the answer for that, either. I don't want to think any of this for longer than I already have. In a quick, merciless swing, I throw the body far into the Pond, full of hope of not having to see it again. This was just cleaning up after what I did - it was the right thing to do, right? My face is expressionless as I watch it sinking further into the depths of the cold water, those blaming eyes glancing at me for the last time before the corpse finally fades away from view. I'm free - the smell of blood and urine no longer distract my nose from smelling the freshness of the Forest air. It is done. Now there's nothing else to worry about. Nobody has seen me.
Right? 
Memememe pick me I think it
I think it would be rather amusing if Nachos here found ol' Rhaegal..
Bwahahaha, pls do it :'DD
As a thumping noise passed
He wasn't sure where in the Forest he was - he thought he might be near the Old Oak, since he could hear its persistent song softly floating across to his ears. Then he saw the gold and russet of the New Forest, and figured that he was near the Pond. That was convenient, for his mouth was dry and unpleasant from his sleep. The silver stag ignored the bitter taste and headed for the water source. He walked in a seemingly random direction, but he knew it was the right way. Deer could smell water, though it appeared to have no odour.
As the stag approached the mirror surface of the Pond, he paused to glance around him. Ripples danced on the water as the vibrant koi curiously snapped at the leaves that landed above them. The colours of the large fish were the brightest thing around, except for the winter sun. It reflected off the new, untouched snow, giving off a glow like the Twin Gods statue that was erected nearby. It was as if Nacci was seeing in black and white. This is pretty, the stag thought before lowering his head to take a sip.
The young stag leapt away from the water with a yell as a horrendously loud splash sent droplets and ripples flying towards him like tiny, icy missiles. His colorless hair didn't help, as it narrowed his vision when he was drinking. The stag's cold, icy eyes glared around him and - was that a wolf? Nacci's heart hammered, and he knew what had landed in the Pond. He could see it sinking, slowly, being sucked under and floating to the bottom, if there was one. The wolf-creature was lucky if there wasn't.
"You aren't very good at hiding bodies, are you?"
An unpleasant tingle moves
A strange, deerlike figure can be seen approaching me, its hair flowing with the wind. It has a humanoid face too, like most beings that walk on this Forest's grounds. The one you so kindly murdered had a face like that as well. The voice warns me with a low growl, as the figure of the male calls out to me. The words make me freeze, my body absolutely refusing to function as I understand what he's going on about. The corpse - he saw it, sinking down like a heavy brick.
The world under my feet seem to disappear in a quick flash, as I try to force a confident look on my face. The expression ends up being a twisted, unnatural smirk as I'm not used to making any kind of faces at all, but that could work as my means of escaping the situation. Given the human face that the deer bears, it may be possible that he can't understand the faces of a predator like myself. We're not exactly known for showing our emotions. Feeling much more confident and less scared, I begin to form the words on my tongue. It's tough at first, as the language of the deerkind is not something I can do in mere seconds, but finally some deformed, low-pitched sentences flow out between my teeth. "I'm merely disposing of it - I found the poor thing dead near the Oak tree. It probably became a victim of a predator lurking around here. I thought it was a shame to leave it laying there like that." I give the stranger a shrug, making sure it seems as genuine to him as possible. I can't bear to be found out in here, not now when I'm so close to being freed from it all.
Fibonacci raised one eyebrow
"Right." As he said this, Nacci's dark eyebrows narrowed in suspicion. Judging by the wolf's reaction to him, and the body of the fawn, something was going on that he didn't know about. Maybe this creature didn't want to be seen with the body, because it was innocent? Or there could be something to accuse it for. Whatever it was, Nacci decided to trust the stranger, and a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "No harm done then."
After a strange moment of silence between the two, Nacci began studying the creature's form inconspicuously. Black canine frame, but the cloud-tail fascinated him. There was a bandage near - did it belong to the wolf? And why did it wear it, blind or sighted? The horns were interesting too, as usually they only sprouted from the crown. These, however, were also splayed down his neck, thin spears of a bony substance. The young stag had never seen such a strange thing - the wolves of his world were black and white and brown and grey, with no horns and furry tails. None wore a bandage either.
The stag bowed, as per custom, his foreleg folding under him as the other pointed outwards. As he recovered, he spoke. "Fibonacci. At your service."
My body is tense, stiff like
For a short while, I do nothing but stare at the stranger, his features not even fully registering in my mind. All that I can think of is the words that I'm bound to hear any minute now. "You're a murderer." Just the thought of it induces a state of increasing panic in my mind, a burning desire to just attack the stag on the spot and dispose of him - just like I did to the fawn I so mercilessly killed. I don't want to be a killer, but if it came to it, I would have no choice, would I? It seemed as if the deer male was the only witness on the scene, and his only defence seemed to be that strange sword it carried on its back. If I attacked it by surprise, perhaps I could turn the worrying situation to my favor. But the sword keeps me locked in place, as I do not know what kind of power the other one holds. I'm much more frail than I look. My poison is the only way for me to get away - using the eyes is strictly forbidden.
A part of me wishes that the stranger would actually attack me, so I could at least brush it all off as self-defense when he falls to his death.
However, it seems I'm even more fortunate than that - my false words are swallowed quite easily, and I'm greeted with a strange smile. I feel like grinning to myself. Maybe I can still get away from this unaccused. Perhaps I can even frame someone else for the murder if it came to it. After all, there's no body for anyone to investigate, all they could find would be a severed leg laying under a tree. One that I would surely eat later. It was the perfect crime, even if it was cruel to think of it that way.
The stag seems to be staring at me for a long time, making me feel even more uncomfortable than before. Just what is it that he sees in me? Is he studying me - or has he noticed that my fur is not wet with water after all? It's a similar stare I always get from strangers. It judges, it investigates, it wonders. I look away from him, my shoulders still tense from the way he looks at me. Am I really so strange? "I'm Rhaegal. Pleasure." My voice is shaky and quiet, expressing how anxious I am of the whole situation. I have never been good with people, and being caught in a moment like this - I just don't know how I can stay neutral enough not to arouse any more suspicion.
My gaze returns back to the water, the body now fully disappeared from sight. Even the foul smell of it is gone. Yet the whole ordeal worries me. Why am I not feeling anything from killing it? Have I really become so twisted that I can't even feel remorse for a young fawn? It never did anything wrong, it just wanted another friend. And I even dare to think it deserved everything I did to it. "What a cruel way to die, isn't it?" I try to sound as neutral as I can, the only sign of my deception being the slight twitch of my ear. Nobody must know.
The silver stag had turned
As if to approve of his thoughts, the statues on the hill glowed, and the stag could see the ethereal light in the corner of his eye. No time, he thought, and returned to the conversation. "A fine name," Nacci muttered, not caring if Rhaegal heard. "Sounds a little Gaelic." His attention quickly moved to the corpse, and the cause of death, not because he was particularly sympathetic, but because he was interested as to why Rhaegal would bother to hide the body. It looked like it had been torn apart. The skin ceased to exist, and the bones had looked quite broken. To the silver stag, it seemed like the work of a large cat-like creature. But why, then, were Rhaegal's paws covered in fresh blood, when he had carried the body with his jaws?
"Yes, quite horrific," said the stag, with a slight laugh. "To be torn apart, left to bleed to death." For the second time, Nacci made eye contact - not that there were any eyes - but this time it was less aggressive. "Why waste a nice corpse? You could have kept that in some snow, to keep it fresh. That could've been your dinner, or someone else's. Why bother to hide it anyway?"
My look follows the stag's
I shake my head in denial of the nasty voice that tries to make me feel guilt of what happened, and I try to focus on a suitable way of escaping this situation. I can feel the stag becoming increasingly suspicious, and on top of that he's spouting nonsense at me. What's a Gaelic? My mind can't understand the words or the meanings of other cultures, and I take it as something offensive. Can't I just be me - a wolf - without any strange attributions connected to me? My tail flicks in frustration, as I try to leave his words unnoticed. I have to stay calm, I have to keep him from accusing me of this crime.
He speaks too much, too many questions that put me in the spotlight. It's only natural, he needs to check the motives for my actions, but in truth I just wish he'd disappear. I hate being questioned, especially since I don't want anything to do with this stupidity anymore. If I dwell on the feeling of killing the fawn too long, who knows how my mind will react? I take a deep breath in secret, before trying to force my voice to stay calm and confident. "Would you rather have the body further defiled by another beast? I think it's much more merciful this way. Besides, I'm not even hungry." It was true - I don't feel the slightest hint of hunger. Instead, an increasing feeling of nausea starts to build up inside of me. I couldn't eat anything right now. I stare quietly at the depths, imagining to see a zombified fawn's head popping up from the water's surface, screaming accusations at me. I feel a shiver of fear. "It's better this way, right?"
The stag looked at him with
The wolf obviously didn't like the stag's interrogating nature, and Nacci tried to send waves of calm out, as he knew that some deer were able to do that. Instantly, a little voice shouted this is stupid, but he wished it would help. "I'm sure that the only things that would happen to it would be rot or digestion. Either way, it'd be giving back something to someone. Also, it depends how you define 'better'."
what must I do to join the
@ sharptwoth: If you don't
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The stag was still there, his presence seeming to mock mine. The uncomfortable feeling inside me is still growing, and I can't help but to think about how much more of this questioning could he take before I'll just blurt out the truth - to confess that I'm the killer. That I'm a murderer .
Deep in my mind, that's exactly what I wish to do. To come clean and confess, to finally break down and relieve my heart of this burden that seems to be too much for me to carry. I've killed countless of times in the past, but I've never done it for sport, never done it for any reason but to satisfy my hunger. Heck, I haven't even once killed for self-defense. I've always escaped from potential fights, and it wasn't like I had anyone to protect anyway. Not anymore. This kill was so much different, and the fact that I can't find it in my heart to feel regret makes me scared. Am I turning into something twisted, a foul being who can't tell the difference between killing for food and cold-blooded murder? I want to go as far as to even force myself to feel something. Saying all of it out loud, letting it all out in a single mess of words would have surely opened up my heart to handle the matter, but I had no choice.
I didn't want anyone to say it out loud - to accuse me of what I did. To tell me how cruel the truth really was. I just wish everyone to disappear. The voice and the strange stag, even the corpse that I just dumped into the water. I become really defensive now, my voice becoming a low growl. "Is there something that you want of me? I believe that what I did was right - what do you think I should have done? Just leaving it for someone to defile seems..cruel. This is a fawn we're talking about. A young soul that's yet to see the world as it is." His voice was now quite shaky, as he had a hard time keeping himself from blurting out the confession of killing an innocent soul. It all started to hit me slowly, and my attempts to keep it away was proving to be a hard task. The stranger wasn't making it any easier.
The silver stag felt the
The wolf's continued answer seemed rather forced, and it came too fast. The line between the stag's eyebrows did not fade, and his mouth was set in a hard line. He looked a little like an angel statue - the same stately expression the stone faces wore was plastered onto his. "I'm not saying what you did was wrong. But who would 'defile', as you say, a body without reason? That seems a waste of time and breath, really." With that, the stag knelt to get what he came for. As the icy water cooled his mouth, he could see the shadow of the corpse melting into the darker shadow of the Pond's depths. It was disturbing.
Name: Twigs (full name Twig
Gender:female
Age:fawn
Interests: running around the pond and practicing magic
Crush: none
Looks:usually dark brown with darker brown spots or blue with blue stripes
Hates:giving away free magic (pelts antlers masks) to others
Loves: receiving magic and dancing
personality: Greedy,silly,confident and caring (towards SOME people)
I am ready to rp!
Name: Twigs (full name Twig
Gender:female
Age:fawn
Interests: running around the pond and practicing magic
Crush: none
Looks:usually dark brown with darker brown spots or blue with blue stripes
Hates:giving away free magic (pelts antlers masks) to others
Loves: receiving magic and dancing
personality: Greedy,silly,confident and caring (towards SOME people)
I am ready to rp!
Name: Twigs (full name Twig
Gender:female
Age:fawn
Interests: running around the pond and practicing magic
Crush: none
Looks:usually dark brown with darker brown spots or blue with blue stripes
Hates:giving away free magic (pelts antlers masks) to others
Loves: receiving magic and dancing
personality: Greedy,silly,confident and caring (towards SOME people)
I am ready to rp!
Name: Twigs (full name Twig
Gender:female
Age:fawn
Interests: running around the pond and practicing magic
Crush: none
Looks:usually dark brown with darker brown spots or blue with blue stripes
Hates:giving away free magic (pelts antlers masks) to others
Loves: receiving magic and dancing
personality: Greedy,silly,confident and caring (towards SOME people)
I am ready to rp!
@ sharptwoth: Like I said, I
Maybe we can RP somewhere else? Do you have Email or something?
im not new to this i just
@sharptwoth I'm familiar
I'm familiar with CS's role-playing style, and it isn't like it is here. We dont have forms, we have biographies for each character, and 1x1s are more common here. Characters are a lot more in-depth here, too.
Then do you have Skype? Also
Also agreed with above, you might want to watch how it is first before joining these. But I can RP with you somewhere else
i dont have skype sorry im
would you like me
My shoulders stay tense as a
His question makes me ashamed of my actions. What is it that I'm expecting him to do? Am I the one who clings to this situation, hoping to stall him aimlessly from discovering the truth? Perhaps I'm expecting him to be my priest, someone I can confess all my sins to. What a foolish beast I am, I don't remember being this pathetic before. My voice turns into a tired, weak whisper. "It's just that... I've never seen anyone stick around me this long. Most would choose the option to escape." I look away, ashamed to admit my thoughts. A part of my pride as a predator is fading away every time I speak with a creature I would consider prey, but this time I don't find it to be so bad.
My legs start to show noticeable shaking as the questioning continues, all of them words that I hadn't even thought of. I'm a simple creature, and not a very good liar, either. I wouldn't even want to deceive anyone, if it wasn't necessary. Like now.
"There are a lot of sickos around, and some of them could even benefit from such an act. If only to satisfy their own need to destroy." I follow the silvery stag's movements closely, scared of him pulling out his sword and finally revealing all of his doubts out loud. In a way, I'm even more afraid of it than death.
Fibonacci smiled, despite the
"Probably because you intimidate them," the silver stag said. His ear flicked, and his hair fell like curtains around his head. And then, "You are a predator, and deer generally steer clear of predators. But I've had dealings with things far more dangerous than you. I'm used to it." The stag's face became solemn, and he reminded himself that Lovan was gone, practically dead. He had a new life now, and he was living it well. No need to taint the future with your past. The wolf's statement interested him, so he decided to question it. "Would I be classed as a sicko? I mean, I've killed hundreds of times. Don't take it the wrong way, it wasn't unjust."
I have a strange urge to just
I'm just terribly afraid of being a murderer - knowing that it's another reason for me to loathe my whole existence. I can't possibly say a thing about it out loud, for it's really pathetic in itself how I can think this way. I'm a wolf who was given strong teeth and claws from the moment I left my mother's womb, one who was raised to treat creatures like deer and birds as if they were just prey. I'm meant to kill, yet this unforgivable murder of a little fawn is threatening my whole sanity. I'm the one who's weak for thinking this way. The headache worsens.
My ears twitch slightly as I hear the offending words of the stag beside me. In my mind, all attempts to compare me with other beasts who are stronger than me are direct offends to my pride as a predator. I'm being told that I'm a poor hunter, and it hurts me a lot more than the stag even understands. It's a complicated concept for a prey to understand. "I'm a good hunter."
My head lowers as I look away, my tail tugging in between my legs. I'm showing signs of complete resignation, something that's been a part of me ever since my days in the pack that I grew in. I used to be one of the lowest ranking members of the hierarchy, and I've come to learn everyone else is above me - that includes this stag. "I'm not the one worthy to tell you such matters, what would the opinion of a predator mean for you?"
The stag noticed a change in
The wolf's attitude had become a little irritated, and Nacci was confused. What had he said to offend him? He then realised he had insulted his entire predator instinct as a wolf. Oops. The air between them had become cold and stale with silence. He was walking on thin ice here. Nacci ran through the words he was about to speak in his head, to make sure it wouldn't upset anyone any further. "An opinion from a predator would only benefit me a little," he began. "Opinions from anyone are useful. You can use them to read people. Also, you aren't that bad a hunter, I'm assuming. If you manage to stay alive, you're doing good."
( 'Oops' Oh my god Nacci,
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I'm trying my best to keep track of the stag's words, although the language of the predators and the language of the prey usually has quite a few differences, making it hard for me to concentrate on the content and the structure of the sentences at the same time.
Possess you? Perhaps the stag was talking about hellhounds or demons, creatures that came from the foul worlds below to strike ominous deals and to take away the souls of the ignorant that were foolish enough to go with those deals. I knew that well, even better than I let it show outside. There is a reason as to why I look like this and not an ordinary black wolf. I growl quietly to myself. "That's why we have the privilege to call ourselves 'hunters', they're unnatural monsters. All of them." Saliva drops down on the snowy shore as my jaw twists unnaturally to form the words of the deer language. However, despite the lingual difficulties, I believe it becomes quite obvious of how much I despise those things. In their case, I believe killing is justified. They don't belong here on this earth. My view of it is probably a twisted, more cruel one than the stag's, but I am glad that he brought them up. It takes away some of my guilt and my attention away from the fawn slaughter.
It was a little overwhelming first, trying to think of how I could express my opinion. I have never been asked to do something like that, as it has never been my place to propose any suggestions, praises or doubts upon others. I'm a low rank member of my pack, and the feeling of not being worthy of others still gnaws at me in this situation. Still, I try to muster up the courage to speak. You're not in home now, are you? Nobody's here to watch you. "It all depends on who and why you kill. Hunting for food is a necessary means to survive, but that's a different area. Sickos are bastards who kill for their own benefit, who defile others because it pleases them or gives their advantages in some way. Tell me then, deer, who is it that gets a taste of your blade and why?"
Ahaha, yeah, he's just like
----
The stag saw another clue that the wolf was not of the Forest - his maw could only just about move enough to allow him to speak. It didn't matter though, as long as Rhaegal was comfortable with it. He also seemed to have a strong opinion on the creatures Fibonacci called 'demons', and not many people cared about them. He was glad that Rhaegal didn't object to the massacre of thousands of then upon the silver stag's blade, as Veleda had been difficult enough to calm. With those horns, those teeth, Nacci didn't want to risk anything. After all, he was just a small stag with a big sword - and weight - on his shoulders.
"Aha," said the stag, his face performing his familiar smirk. The bleach white hair that curtained his face was balanced on his shoulders now, his face fully exposed. "Then I'm not a sicko." Rhaegal's definition of the word was similar to his own, but he wasn't sure of his reply regarding it. Did he enjoy killing demons? They deserved it, for killing thousands of harmless creatures for no reason other than pleasure. The thing that worried the stag most though was if he had become a sadistic monster. The wolf's words brought him back from his thoughts. "My sword? Demons, and sickos. Although, demon-slaying is so last dimension now - for me, anyway." The stag paused, to think his words through, and then continued. "I only kill demons who are sickos. Some demons are surprisingly nice, and they enjoy a good chat about things. They usually ask about us, and they don't mind if your explanation takes five minutes or five hours."
I don't quite understand
I have a small desire to attack him, to test his strength as much as mine, but it is merely the impulse of my distrusting nature, something I must learn to control. I already lost it once and managed to kill a fawn - I can't afford to lose my temper again. Little did I know that the horns pierce certain parts in my brain, making those little anger attacks happen completely without my permission. If one managed to start now, the stag could be in danger.
To calm myself of my predator impulses, I dig my claws deep into the snow, feeling the intense cold running up from my paws all the way into my head. It makes the ringing in my ears worse, but at least it takes the increasing anger away. I must remember my place, I must remember what I'm worth. And I'm not worth judging others - the stag must have a reason for his actions.
"I wouldn't even care if you killed them for the fun of it. D e m o n s are the biggest scum you can find. When I see one, all I want to do is just tear their skin off and feed it to the scavenger birds. Their flesh - their blood is so FOUL." My voice is an extremely low growl, the words coming out funny as my jaw stretches to form those words. Yet it is that one word - demon - that comes out with no trouble. As a predator, I'm quite poor at concealing my emotions, and this time I'm not even trying. My words express a pure hatred, pure disgust for those creatures. Unlike the stag, I couldn't even forgive a friendly one. They're all the same in my eyes, and must be disposed of. Their existence is a disgrace to everything that is alive, and they are even lower than me in the great hierarchy of life. "They want to form their disgusting deals no matter what, even if it means being nice to you at first. They might even pretend to be your best friend, all in order to get what they want. They must ALL die. It's an absolute rule." My cloudy tail is constantly changing its shape as my breathing intensifies, almost to the level of hyperventilating. Every time that I hear the word, I can almost taste all the rot, all the puss that's lodged in their blood and flesh, the time that I tried to eat one. Just remembering the feeling of it makes me sick, to the point that I turn away from the stag in fear that I'll vomit. "They're monsters, and they lurk everywhere. Even in these woods." As I try to find my sickness, I wonder what the stag would think if he knew how unnatural I am myself. I don't have a demon's blood in me, but there is the reason that my existence is like this.
Fibonacci considered the
"That's odd," said the silver stag. "The submissive demons I met only wanted to learn. The aggressive ones, however, wanted blood. Just because a demon is called a demon, it doesn't mean it's evil. I only kill rogue aggros. The bad ones." You aren't Lovan anymore. The talk of demons was bringing up unwanted memories, like sickness brings up vomit. Sadness and anger lay at the back of his mind like bile at the back of his throat. They stung with hatred, those recent memories. It was like it happened yesterday. He could still smell the smoke and fire, hear the screams, and see his sister, dear Lazia... Not Lovan.
As I try to do my best to
"The title of a demon isn't something that's placed on one's head for fun. It holds a meaning - a meaning only mortals like you and me can understand. If they're kind, they're either liars, or they're not demons at all." I crouch down to lick some of the water, my mind imagining a bloody taste in it - there's still a body down there, after all. The water around it is bound to be ruined by the blood. Twitching with uneasiness, I turn to look at the stag, careful not to look at him directly in the eye. "A good demon - that's only a lie to make this world seem better." I just don't know any better, the only demons I ever met were in my old home. They were real monsters.
Fibonacci's words seem to awaken something inside me, though. The feeling that I had yearned for since the moment my claws tore through the fawn's flesh. It's regret. There had been nothing wrong with what the deer had been doing, nothing wrong with wanting to earn a new friend. It had only been my rotted mind that had wanted to believe there was nothing wrong with myself. The increasing desire to confess to everything grows so intense that I feel like my chest is going to burst from all the pressure. Say it. You'll feel much better.
And so I do. With a pained expression, my whole body shakes with fear as I utter those words out loud. As I confess to my sin. "I did it, you know. I killed that fawn." Even the birds in the trees and the sound of splashing waves seemed to grow silent at the moment I whisper that line of words. The healing effect of it is truly swift - my breathing returns to a normal, relaxed pace in a minute, my ears perk up and my muscles give up all their previous tensity. I take a deep breath, not feeling the uncomfortable lump in my throat any longer. I feel free, free of my sin and feel of my responsibility.
Still, I'm not safe, especially now. The stag has heard my words, and he kills to take revenge on killers. He takes revenge on sickos - and I am one of them.
I have skype my account is
Fibonacci knew how strongly
To the stag's surprise, Rhaegal just admitted murder. He seemed to relax as soon as the words left his mouth, and Nacci was glad of it. Not because the wolf killed someone, but because the atmosphere was no longer tense, and the silver stag could concentrate better when he wasn't under pressure. He imagined Rhaegal couldn't either, as he appeared distinctly happier when the conversation was casual. The stag slowly turned his head, gradually coming to meet the sight of the wolf's face. If he had been expecting anger, he wasn't going to get it. All that the stag said was in a tone that was calm and smooth, not rushing his words. "Oh," he said simply. "Why?"
I do admit, waiting for the
I do understand it is something I most likely deserve. Perhaps the fawn has parents somewhere, a crying mother that desperately seeks for its dead child. Not knowing that her little one will never return to her. To be honest, the feeling that I feel for that mother is much stronger than the regret I'm starting to feel over that kill. There's nothing more sorrowful in this world than the death of a child, still innocent and curious towards the world. It's the worst possible pain a parent could experience.
I've deserved any form of violence, both in action and words. Currently, I'm no better than a demon, a ruthless murderer. There's no way I can justify my actions.
Yet why is it that I can't detect any form of anger, any form of hatred in his pale eyes? His gaze is so surprisingly calm, it briefly confuses me. I don't really understand - why is the stag reacting this way, instead of grabbing his sword and slashing me open where I stand? As a predator, I'm not sure if I understand such a strange hesitation that all these herbivores have with killing. I'm a danger to this Forest, and I will continue my killing, even though it is mostly for food. And although I don't even want to consider it as a possibility, another case like this might happen in the future. I look back at the Pond, my heart easening as the body doesn't seem to haunt my mind anymore. "I don't really know. It annoyed me, and I lost the control over my body for just a second. That second was enough - I.. I didn't mean to do it." Though my voice still shivers from all the guilt that my heart feels, the words seem to come out easier than before. I don't know if it is because most of my tensity is gone or if I'm getting used to the language of the deer, but the change is welcome.
As I look back at the stag, I look really desperate, most likely even pathetic. "I guess I fit the description of a 'sicko' now - which means you have the duty - no, the right to finish my life before I have the chance to do something like this again." I lower my head to show my resignment, and make it clear I won't fight back if he decides to hurt me in some way, or even end my foul existence.
Fibonacci remained silent as
The tiny tilt of Rhaegal's head downwards confused the stag. Why was he giving up so easily? Nacci could have killed him right then and there. If anyone else were with the wolf, he might have been dead long ago. But the silver stag slipped the familiar leather strap from his shoulder, letting the silver-white blade sink into the earth beside him. If Rhaegal was defenceless, he would not fight either. Nacci then smiled a little. His shoulder felt bare without the thick strap rubbing against it, but he needed to show Rhaegal that he didn't mean any harm. "You may be a sicko," he said, "But you aren't a demon. Therefore, I have no right to kill you."
I awaited the stag to do
I give Fibonacci a nervous glance, as he starts to make a move. But.. it seems that I'm about to be taken by complete surprise once more. The stag actually lowers his weapons. The gesture tells me so many things. The stag trusts me not to hurt me, he trusts me and wants to sink to my level, that I would be equal to him. I stare at the weapon for a while, before I sink deeper to the ground, my tail seeking the shelter of my crotch once more. I whine slightly, before rolling over to my back to show my position compared to him. I am nothing, I am scum compared to this stag, and he even deserves to spare my life. "I may as well be considered one. I'm far from..natural, a disgrace towards nature. The Nature Mother didn't design Her wolves to look like this. " My paw points at my own face, my eyes still not protected by the bandage. I've always felt guilt for my existence, but at the same time I'm too afraid of dying and want to live. This is the first place where I've truly felt like I'm alive, so a part of me feels immerse relief that my life is spared. Yet the other side feels guilty for needing the privilege to be alive. My head tilts as I look at the silver stag, my eyes narrowing. "Are you sure you want to take that risk? I could kill a loved one of yours, one day."
The stag still couldn't
Rhaegal's words following the first few made the stag think. At first, he thought that he didn't have any loved ones to be killed, that he came to the Forest alone and unknown. The memories faded into view then, flickering fires and stone cold faces, a body lying on the ground. Memories he tried so hard to bury. He was ungrateful - some people didn't have memories to remember, good or bad. I should donate some, he thought bitterly. He knew he could never truly forget anything that happened to him, no matter how hard he tried. It was as if the Gods were playing some sadistic game, making it so he forgot the few happy times he had and gluing the horrific ones to the insides of his eyelids. Nacci was shaking, and he tensed to stop it - it wasn't that cold out, and he knew it was from anger. "The one person who you really wouldn't want to touch is already dead, and the rest... Well, throw them in the Pond too, for all I care. Actually, leave them out to rot and be defiled."
I'm slowly starting to tune
I continue to expect lines of words and letters that I'm used to, that he would start to dominate my existence the same way all my pack members did back home. I know the stag is prey, he's not a wolf, but he too, is a predator in his own way. It's just that 'bad demons' are his prey. That alone makes me lower than him. Even the fawn that has now completely sinked into the depths of the Pond was more worth than myself. The beings of this Forest have incredible intelligence, a simple understanding of life that I just can't seem to understand. Although it hurts my pride immersely, I know I am far from intelligent. I'm as good as a worm compared to everyone else.
Not bothering to get up from my surrendering position, I try my best to answer that smirk in a way that the stag will understand. "It's not that I want to hate myself. I'm just too low in the Great Hierarchy of Life to have the right to like myself." Just saying the truth out loud is making my heart beat much slower, reacting to my sorrowful emotions. I want to be equal to everyone else, I want to have the right to defend my own personal rights. But - I don't even have the right to think about having any right. It's selfish.
The sudden change in Fibonacci's being makes my ears perk up with curiosity. He suddenly sounds saddened, and his words are full of bitter words that go straight to my heart. They make my senses vibrate in a strange way - something's definitely wrong here. I tilt my head in confusion. Did I perhaps say something wrong? "Are you alright, stag? Did you lose someone important recently?" My words are most likely very intrusive and don't respect the stag's privacy, but I'm almost as curious as a creature with feline roots.
Fibonacci sighed, nestling
When Rhaegal asked about his 'important someone', he flinched. As a warrior and a hunter, he hardly ever did so, but he had been hit hard. "My sister," he replied, his voice low and muffled. His translucent, ashen hair blanketed over his pale face, hiding his darkening eyes. You're not Lovan. You never will be. The stag seemed to curl in on himself, like a hedgehog unleashing its spines. He was staying quite calm, and was impressed with himself, but his heart still beat fast in its cage. He never wanted to come here, though he was glad he did. He knew that if he hadn't followed the deer with his sister's face, he would have probably wound up like her. Her mind was too weak for the tree, too frail to protect her from whatever demonic presence had taken her. At least she was safe, now. Wherever she was. You aren't him anymore.
Woah never saw the reply O_O
--------------------------
I listened to the stag, not fully understanding his way of thinking. He made it sound easy, he made it sound as if raising your own rank was right or allowed for one to do. Ah well, the gray one hadn't been there on the mountains, he hadn't been there to hear what the pack shaman had to say about the Great Hierarchy of Life. Demons, deformed creatures and horrible abominations adorned the very bottom of that list, and the pack leader, the Great White, was always at the top. This was what I have been studying for my whole life before I came here, and I do not believe those customs are wrong. How could they be? The shaman is the wisest, after the Great White.
To answer him, I do get up from my position, but my tail stays tugged between my legs, and my ears are drawn to the back of my neck. "It's not a choice I can make. This position was chosen for me before my very birth, and I have no choice but to accept it. You can't choose your place in this world." My eyes look at the ground, a sorrowful glance it is that adorns my eyes. I do not wish to be like this, I'm a good hunter and can fulfill my duties just fine - but I just don't have the right to choose, unless I'm given that right by the leader.
As the stag speaks of his sister, he becomes strangely unresponsive, and his sorrow washes over me like a huge wave of water. I can almost smell it on his mind and his body. Not only that, I can feel my own sadness trying to resurface too. Although I've learned to let it go and can speak about it without becoming immobilized, memories never get less important or painful, especially if it is someone dear to you.
I creep closer to him, and slowly make a move to sit next to him - he looks like he needs company, after all. I have a desire to give his ear a friendly lick, but I don't know how he'd react. Deer had some strange habits, after all. Instead, I just hope my body heat can offer him some comfort, even if it is very little. "I lost a littermate too. A little female." I speak softly, as the memory of it doesn't really cause pain anymore. She had been a dear littermate, but it was necessary to put her out of her misery. "The Leader had to finish her off... she was suffering." I lean closer to the stag, and ask softly: "What happened to your sister?" To be honest, I don't expect an answer - I just hope that the stag knows I am willing to listen. I'm a loyal best, and can keep secrets for the rest of my life if needed.
The stag, being an arrogant
The question the wolf asked was definitely unwanted. It dragged out sharp, vivid images of the events leading up to his sibling's demise, and the stag's pale eyes stung. His head lowered slightly, ears pulling backwards. He couldn't open his mouth. He was afraid to speak, in case he offended the wolf. He tended to become aggressive when he was upset, and he had a feeling that this wolf wouldn't take kindly to an insult. It was the hound's fault, though - he'd brought up the subject, and now he was probing into memories that had been left to gather dust. "She... I don't know," he replied, his voice dark. "They burned her. They knew she wasn't dead, and they all should take her place."
I'm not sure how to react to
A wave of anger washes over me, as the stag speaks of his littermate. It's a strange emotion, and makes me feel highly uncomfortable, unsecure somehow. To honor his companion, I take a few steps back, staying on the ground. My eyes look at his sword, then back at his face, full of sorrow, yet unspeakable anger that could potentially be dangerous. I may have the time to grab his sword before he turns hostile, but I do not want to be hasty. I can see that this pains him, but sometimes pain was necessary. Old wounds wouldn't heal by choosing to be quiet about them. "Why would they do that?" I ask, head tilting in confusion. I'm not sure who "they" are, but perhaps it's best to leave that unspoken.
The stag did not flinch at
As the wolf sensed his unease and backed away, Nacci turned his head to watch him. Cold breeze brushed his pale face, drying his silver eyes. Soon, they would be a pale lavender, and then, beautiful green-yellow. Why he had been given the gift of his colourful transformations, he did not know. His colourless form reflected the dead aura of winter, and his spirit. Winter nights were long and lonely, spent thinking about times passed and future events. Perhaps this was the beginning of depression for the stag. However, even in his sorrowful mood, he still could smile. "Solus sunt animae nostrum," he muttered. It hurt to shape the words, to remember the countless times he had heard them and the times he had puzzled over their meaning. He knew now, and he wished he didn't. The wolf probably didn't understand them, which was how it should be. Nacci sighed and turned back to face the pool of black water before answering the wolf. "Because they were scared," he said flatly.
"I thought I loved my family - my pack, as you wolves would put it. We were happy. We might have been constantly bombarded by demons, the fires to burn our dead being lit too often, but we were happy. But that day, they broke my trust completely. They murdered my sister, and told me she had killed herself and that they were going to bury her ashes. They killed their own daughter, their best friend, their neighbour. But she showed me how to escape."
I stay low as he speaks, but
"How can you be alone? There is all this life surrounding you. This world was made for you, animals that one of my kind would consider prey. You can befriend anyone in this place." I tilt my head as my gaze follows the stag's body movements. I'm not sure what moves I should make, I just don't want the situation to become dangerous. The stag shouldn't have a hard time communicating with others - he killed demons, he fought for what was right in his world. He was a deer - this place was infested with other deer. It was only natural for them to join forces against the hunters, right? Prey animals had to keep together in order to survive. The silver stag would never be alone.
The odd line of words that the stag muttered were strange, and they confuse me greatly. They are words spoken in an ancient tongue, one that I couldn't even dream of repeating - I can hardly master the language of the deer without sounding strange. I don't have a slight clue about their meaning, but they seem to mean a lot for the stag. It probably wouldn't do any good to ask - it seems as if its hard for him to speak. Scared? I understand well what others can do, how they can hurt others when they're afraid - that's what happened to me and my littermates. Others were afraid of us, how different we were, so they committed sin. But... this was different. Killing someone because you were scared was unacceptable.
I growl in anger as the stag finishes. "There's much about it that I don't understand - but betraying one's pack is unforgivable. Nothing justifies the murder of one of your own. The same blood as you." It may have sounded hypocritical, coming from the mouth of a wolf that had just committed a murder without an actual motive to explain it, but he was genuine with his words. As a canine, loyalty meant a whole lot to him, and anyone who betrayed that loyalty was not worth it - one that betrayed was even lower than the wolf himself.
However, the stag's last words confuse me greatly. So, was his sister alive, or what? It seemed a bit far-fetched that one who was dead could come to life to guide anyone. It was a scary thought, at best. "Helped you?" I can't manage to conceal the suspicion in my head, and I'm sure it shows in my voice.
But the dead didn't come back to life, they were gone for an eternity.
Wow, since when did I write
~~~~~~~~~~
Fibonacci stared ahead, into the murky pit that was the Pond. It usually looked so beautiful - now, it was a pool of sludge and ink, with sketchy trees surrounding it and washed-out koi frantically splashing in it. The stag blended in with the monochrome atmosphere, as he strangely had done since he arrived. The sun only sharpened the shadows and highlights of the environment. It had no heat, only light. But that was seemingly all this world needed. The stag could feel the wolf tensed up next to him, about a foot or two apart. He wondered why he had backed away - perhaps that was the way of all predators. Perhaps they avoided grief and sadness, because they felt guilty about what may have caused it. Maybe they thought they were to blame, or maybe it was just Rhaegal's nature. To be honest, it made the young stag uncomfortable.
When the wolf explained that the Forest was full of possible friends, he sighed. It was a sigh that spoke of failed hope, of a small wish that was impossible to grant. "If you were to die," Fibonacci began, "Who would go with you? Would someone die with you, just to be with you?" The stag supposed his words would hurt the black brute, but he couldn't reverse them. A sense of guilt washed over him, guilt for everything he had said and did in his past life, and his new one. I just started a new life, and I've already messed up. The stag fought bitterly with his thoughts for a moment, and then continued.
"Even my sister would hesitate to die with me." His voice wavered, and he rolled his lips in to dig his squared white teeth into them. A metallic taste filled his mouth and stung his eyes, but tears didn't come. He was not going to cry in front of another, especially a predator. The wolf seemed to want to focus on the topic of his sister, which the stag had been dreading. He despised his family, excluding his deceased sibling, as much as all the demons he had fought and killed. He thought that perhaps he should treat them all the same, his family and those demons, but a wise relative had said that if 'an eye for an eye' carried on, the whole world would become blind. The stag nodded hesitantly. The wolf would say such a thing, he supposed, as they were incredibly family-oriented.
Even the stag himself was confused about how he had arrived in the Forest. It was all too surreal, it felt like a faded dream. He still remembered it clearly, his sister's face layered on top of a deer's body. He could laugh about that now, as he was the same. He remembered how she had lead him to the tree by a name he didn't know, but felt attracted to. But how could she have been there? It was unmistakably the stag's sibling, but surely she didn't survive her death? The wolf seemed sceptical of it too, but he hadn't seen her. It wasn't a ghost, her body was opaque and her eyes still blue-brown. But what had happened that day? The stag knew the only way he would find out was by finding her, but in the meantime he set about answering the wolf. "Yes. She showed me the better way. I rejected my family after what they did, and for five years I had to live with the fact that they were murderers. But she showed me the place where she had been given a second chance."
Rhaegal makes everyone
Rhaegal makes everyone depressed so it's no wonder there's so much to write huehue_____________________________
I tilt my head once more, and I wish there was something I could say that would make the stag's heart reassured. We come from different worlds, and I understand well that we've been raised different - our words can only cause confusion for the other. His words, his whole presence hurts everything that I have been taught since I was a milk-drinking cub, but this is the time to put those lessons aside. I don't always understand prey or how they think in such complicated, depressing cycles, but I understand the emotion behind it. Sorrow is an emotion that follows every living creature on this Earth. Even I can understand it.
"If I died," I begin, licking my lower lip anxiously, "I'd much rather have someone live instead of dying with me or for my sake. I don't think what others would do for me, I think what I can do for others. Instead of asking 'would someone die for me?' I ask 'would I die for someone?' And I'd find myself answering 'yes'." I try to form an awkward smile on my lips the way the deer to, not sure if I manage to pull it off. I think of my living siblings, Aborre and Svanja, wondering where the two of them were today. I know that I'd do it for them - I'd die so they could live. Whether they feel the same way is their choice. I turn my gaze to the Pond, following the stag's gaze. "Even though I'd be alone after death, I'd know that I fought so that someone could live, even if for a moment longer. Those who help others during their lifetime will not meet an empty space after they die." I'm not sure whether I've said too much, considering my position compared to the silver stag, but I'm suddenly full of newfound energy. Perhaps it is the memory of my pack that gives me the courage to speak, maybe it is the presence of the leader that fills my existence with such words, but I can't leave the stag alone. He needs help - and I'm the only one around. He helps me by keeping my wrongdoings a secret, which is more than I could even ask for as one who would eat his friends, so it is my turn to be here and support him instead - if I can.
"Your littermate allowed you to escape, because she wanted you to live, for both of you. I can't tell you whether she'd want to die with you, but I think she'd want you to live to your fullest. You'll join her, one day. You honor her memory by living." I step closer to him again, investigating his face. There's a mystery behind him - no, his whole presence is a mystery to a creature like myself, but that makes me all the more curious. It seems as if the stag doesn't understand everything himself, which was understandable. My ears twitch slightly at his explanation of the escape. The dead didn't come back, so I have a really hard time believing his story. After all, fear, sadness and anger can make you see things that weren't real - but it's not for me to judge. I wasn't there on that day.
Done
Finally
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Fibonacci watched the wolf as it watched him - two separate species that would normally be in competition with each other with the prize of survival were trying to truly understand each other. He hadn't quite realised that this wolf would have killed him already, had he been a normal deer in a normal world, bring pursued by a normal hungry wolf. The Forest was a strange place that made others do strange things. It's rather obvious the silver stag thought to himself. The wolf had a strange, angry sadness about him, a beautiful fire behind his eyes - the embers of a turbulent past. He understood why the wolf felt so strongly about his own past now. That wasn't influenced by the Forest, or anything else.
The stag could sense the wolf's spirits lift, feel his energy brighten. He was definitely over the murder. One plush grey ear lifted slightly to catch Rhaegal's miniature speech, and the stag smiled faintly, as much of a ghostly grin as his faked optimism. He felt washed out, with only the wolf's words as his anchor. "True," he began, tapping the amber on his sword hilt with a wandering hoof, "but it's often better to be the one who dies than the one left behind. Grief can kill you inside." Was the Forest grieving? It seemed so. Willows bowed under the weight of snow, icicles like frozen tears, it was sorrowful yet mysteriously pretty. Winter was the dead season, and Fibonacci's colourless appearance reflected that. How he longed to be fresh and new, to see how beautiful the Forest looked as he and the flora changed to browns and sap greens.
Rhaegal's last words made him snap around to face him. His steel eyes glared fiercely like cold fire. "She's not dead," he said abruptly. "I know she isn't dead. She was there, all gold and white. She called me by my Forest name, and she had a halo above her head. The Gods must have saved her, or she somehow escaped."
I still cannot find it in me
My ears twitch in discomfort as my head desperately searches for a good form of letters that the other one could decipher - even though I know how to talk, forming something logical still doesn't come naturally, and I need to remind myself to stay understanding. Just because I've been taught different, doesn't mean there's zero truth to his words. Sorrow, such a strong word, but not strong enough to even come close to depicting that emotion, can change the heart of a man. And I can believe the fact that it'll be more than enough to mess with the heads of those whose thoughts are far more complicated than my own. Still, I must make sure I remember my place - my place is not to judge him, it's to give him advice. "Your littermate wanted you to live and carry her memory inside of you. It's a painful burden, but one she thinks you can carry. If you let yourself be engulfed in the past which you can't change, it's another minute wasted. And your sister gave you all of those minutes to move forward. You wouldn't be able to use that time to help others and slay another one of those..monsters if you were dead." I try to sound as careful and sympathetic I can, but becoming used to the language of these deer is still a mystery for me. I don't want to give the stag the wrong idea. Even though I do criticize the silver one for his hurtful way of thinking, I'm not ordering him to change anything - again, it is not my place, and I have to stay inside of my boundaries. I can only offer information from my own perspective, and whether he chooses to listen or not is his own choice.
I'm slightly intimidated by his sudden turn towards me, and I take a brief moment to back off. I'm not entirely sure whether the gray one is in deep denial over her sister's death, or perhaps he doesn't understand that the dead do not come back. If his story about his sister leading him into this place was really true and not an illusion, then she must have been nothing more than a ghost. The dead do not just come back as they pleased, and I certainly do not believe any god or leader being so strong as to breath life into a beast once more. "You said your pack murdered her." My eyes lock onto his face, and my voice turns stern. I have to make sure he knows what he is talking about. "The dead can't come back. Are you sure your sister was alive when she guided you?" Even the stag must know how unbeliavable this story of his sounds.
The stag truly believed this
Fibonacci watched as he noted the other one was thinking. He absent-mindedly wondered where the wolf had been taught to speak. The only language that wolves spoke in his home world was barking and growling, like the hunt-hounds. How did a dog-mouth make the right shapes? It was as puzzling as his many memories. He remembered when his cousin learned to speak - it was odd, seeing him struggle to make words out of sounds, but the stag had been doing it for years and was used to everyone around him being able to talk. So he learned by copying, the stag thought as he swung his gaze from the wolf, as he had looked uncomfortable. "No, she didn't," he replied in a mildly agitated tone, "Because she didn't die. There's no use mourning something that isn't dead, because there's always the possibility that you'll find it again. That's one of the reasons I followed my sister here. I wanted to find her again and tell her about everything I did on the way." It was a little frustrating, the way the wolf dodged questions and answered like everything the stag said wasn't true. He didn't blame him for taking everything with a pinch of salt, but if he had only seen what his sister had looked like, he would have believed him.
Nacci saw the sudden recoil of the wolf next to him, and glared as he spoke with such condescension that his eyes ceased to be kindly and grey, but balls of icy flames. He was sure the wolf didn't mean to offend, but he had, and he needed to hear him out. "Do you even know what the Gods can do?" the stag snapped, perhaps a little too harshly. "They can create or destroy. That's what most gods do, and these Gods only create. They created his wood, as a gateway for creatures like us, creatures that need somewhere to stay and rest. Instead of creating their own life and keeping this world to themselves, the Gods offered it to anyone. My sister was a good person, and she didn't deserve death. They, or another entity of some kind, must have resurrected her. And..." The stag paused, his eyes softening into granite lights, letting his hair hang around his pale face. "She looked more alive than she ever had."
Can't believe this is the
I'm addicted to this
_________________
The stag's increasing agitation is slowly making its way to my heart, as well, but I feel as if I understand where his irritation is coming from - he just can't let go of what had happened in the past, and wants to cling to the hope of his littermate being alive even if the chance of that being true is small. He truly cares for her. I have no right to take that away from him, and I do realise that I'm still a stranger to this world, ignorant of its deities and its ways to function. But surely the stag is no expert either - can these gods really be trusted? My brain cannot understand the concept of belief so well, and a creature called "a god" always sounds strange in my head. Even the word is funny, and arouses different thoughts in everyone. I understand everything that I can see before my own eyes, but the thought of a distant, allmighty beast that can control the very fabric of existence with little effort starts to wander off to the realm where my understanding cannot reach. Even now, as this Fibonacci tells me of these gods so protectively, it takes all my concentration just to register every word. I lick my upper lip nervously, ears drawn to the back of my neck. No, I don't know what they can do. I’m not even sure what they are.
I slowly shake my head, turning to face the now calm pond with a saddened gaze. "The fawn didn't deserve to die, yet your gods aren't bringing it back to life." My head tilts as I expect to see its body from up here, but the corpse is forever gone from my line of sight. It will continue to decay in the Pond's murky depths, given there aren't any flesh-devouring creatures lurking in there.
My voice is not meant to blame these deities - I'm genuinely saddened. The young creature shouldn't have been there at that time, nor should it have met me. I truly wish there was an entity powerful enough to bring the fawnling back to the light. "I don't see that as creation – they seem to be fine allowing this destruction to happen. I'm sorry, but I can't find the will in me to believe in these deities." My voice is hoarse, weak as I whisper to the ground: "They could have at least stopped me." I honestly wish they had. But the problem here is that these gods are not a part of my reality - I give them no faith, so they cannot fully exist in my world. If they truly were powerful enough to create this place, where were they now? The answer was that they didn’t exist, not in the world I live in. But they exist in the stag’s head, a world that he has shaped. He has faith in them, and thus they exist. That’s the only explanation my mind can give – gods only have their strength and their existence if there’s someone to believe in them. I don’t know any better.
Raising my head once more, I inspect the stag's face closely. It seems as if the stag genuinely believes his own story – and there Is the chance that it is true, even if that chance is a small one. The demons have proven me that not everything that I cannot see or hear is automatically false. I slowly nod – I have no intention to believe in his story, but at the same time I can’t seem to believe that this stag would lie. I must trust him, for he trusted me enough to lower his sword. “If that is what you want to believe, I will trust you." I sigh deeply, knowing that the stag is dead set on his story. There are many holes in it that I can't seem to fill, but I can't force myself to understand a concept I can hardly manage to imagine. I can only try, and whether the silver one accepts it or not is his choice.
"But where is she now? If she truly is here, perhaps I can find a scent that we can follow. Where did you see her last?" My tail wags hopefully, as I stand up fully so that he could point me a direction. It's not that I'm that eager to help something I would consider prey, but I feel as if I owe him that much. He could have killed me back there, yet he chose to listen what I had to say. If there's any way I can help him gain closure, or help him with his search, I will. Not only that, it will work as a perfect distraction to finally turn around and leave these dark, watery depths behind.