Quote: Her head felt as though fire was coursing through her brain, throbbing hard against the walls of her skull, as she stood still and grimaced. She gritted her teeth and tried to ride it out, stomach rolling as she fought to stay perfectly still. The slightest movement could throw her, and her breathing picked up as the final waves dulled away. Tenderly she stepped forward, not trusting herself to open her eyes just yet. The heat of the day was enough to ripple in the distance, heat lines dragging out over the already blinding desert scenery. Light was not her friend today, the blinding pain it brought came and went as it pleased, unpredictable and uncomfortable.

Virra knew exactly why this happened - she hadn't been Rengyo for years for nothing - but the remedy for a headache was not helpful in the least. The tea tree plant in her mouth made saliva build up as she continued to chew, ignoring the stabbing pains that ran along the sides of her head from the movement of her jaw. Tears threatened to prickle the corners of her eyes, but she held them in in shaky breaths through her nose. Everything in her begged her mind to quit working, to silence for even five minutes if it would help stop the throbbing in her face and skull. But her mind was a speeding train on rails that did not end.

Gritting her teeth and squinting her eyes, she opened them momentarily to scout the area around her. Everything felt vaguely fuzzy, blinded by the sensitivity he had to the light, but in the near distance she saw a tall tree. The outside of the forest maze, the tall and overbearing branches of what hadn't burnt was more than enough to stop the sun's bearing on her. Virra whined lowly as she lumbered towards the trees; small movements that took her twice as long to reach where she was going than she would have normally. But it was a sacrifice she was willing to make to lighten the raging against her skull. Swallowing a hard lump of chewed herb, she felt around for the tree with her paws.

Sliding against the trunk, she looked around her with closed eyes, focusing on the scents that wafted to her face. Not that it would help, she was in far too much discomfort to really focus on anything for too long. Actually, that was why she hadn't noticed him around at all. Laying on the semi-cooled desert dirt beneath the tree, she placed a paw over her head and pressed dull dog nails between her eyes. The medicine was starting to help, but not much and not nearly fast enough. What a great day.

Quote:Maybe he'd followed her through the maze. Of course he did; that was Crow's nature, to be the pursuer, the hunter, the shadow, wasn't it? It had been, anyway. For this long. Yet now he stood in the shade of a gargantuan half-fallen tree supported only by at least two charred others that had fallen to the extinguished fire, listening to her writhe and try not to sob, without being entirely sure how he'd gotten there. This wasn't totally unusual, it had happened before, and yet -- and yet --

He did nothing for a long moment, uncharacteristically blank. Just watching. Nothing else. Reorienting.

I am losing myself, he might have thought had he been more introspective. But his mental landscape had no words to proffer as he watched Virra unseen, all flame-washed fields empty and cleansed, like the Dragon had burned away more than his skin, had taken from him more than his body and his genes and his freedom for countless days and nights. His purpose. His fear. Was it entirely certain, that she hadn't cut his throat back there, bled him dry on the jungle weeds, and everything since had only been a dream?

Flinty eyes rolled as he approached her from behind, their attentions uncontrolled, not even by this little lamb he enjoyed so much. They darted, back and forth, devouring the still-healing forest, every inch they saw. Lips peeled back in a mirthless grin, static and senseless and somehow wrathful. We have nothing to repay this with -- me, her, US, these mortal gods, these captive infidels --

"Oh dear," were the words crooned to the back of her head, oily and slippery and filled with something unlikable, some complete mockery of tenderness that maybe didn't know it was a mockery. "We're a little worse for the wear, aren't we?"

The sounds of pain and dizziness shouldn't have pulled that old hungry wolfsmile to his lips like it did. And it definitely should not have prompted him to encircle her, almost catlike, and actually curl around her prone body, too close, too intimate, though he did not touch her.

"Poor you. Whoever heals the healers, love?"

Quote:Of course - it would be him. Eyes squinted from sensitivity, she caught a glimpse of yellow paws encircling her. He was close, so close. Everything in her would scream to run, get up and go, put as much of the burning earth between them as she possibly could ... but her inner voice was currently screaming at her to remember to breathe between radiating waves of pain. Virra could do nothing, just lay there as the predator haunting her dreams drew to her suffering like a moth to a flame.

"Oh dear, we're a little worse for the wear, aren't we, love?"

If she shuddered from fear at the crooning voice at the back of her skull she'd vehemently deny it. She'd deny the chill up her spine at the hot breath against her fur - reminding her that he could so easily rip open the back of her neck. Her heart slammed in her chest at the proximity he had to her, Virra moving her snout under her paw so the wrist would press between her eyes. Whatever was causing the migraine was not getting any better with his presence - it seemed to be getting worse, as instincts were torn between conserving energy and spending it all on panic.

"Poor you. Whoever heals the healers, love?"

Virra suppressed the natural instinct to shy away at this, memories flashing behind her eyes like unwelcome house guests. Of healing him, of it being a horrific mistake ... but ... Did he owe her, still? Owe her for tearing even a little into the only creature so naive as to try and help him, from the goodness of her heart? Who would still help him, with the same goodness despite the weariness that shrouded it. Did he owe her anything?

"Please," she whispered, not quite sure what she was asking. Her throat swelled with a mix of anxiety, dryness, and underuse. When was the last time she'd taken a break to actually talk to someone? Why did that person have to be the only one in this pack who probably (very unsubtle) wanted to either kill or try and corrupt her. At least everyone else kept their agendas to themselves - Crow wore his like a prideful mask. "Crow," Virra hated the weakness of her voice, taking in a deep breath before trying again.

"Can you help me ... please?"

Quote:Her pores exhaled terror and he drank it in hungrily, craving it like an addict craves another dose of smack, the kind that hits you hard and fast and leaves you friendless and penniless and naked on some seedy, filthy bathroom floor. He needed it, in the same way that someone like Virra needed to feel safe and beloved, and oh, how grossly competent he'd become at seeking it out. Find the easy meat at their most vulnerable. Show them that you can see where they were weak, how you could rip them apart. Those jaws, pale and moistened on the inside, were open and hot and intimately close to her soft neck, never mind the soothing words that oozed from the throat beyond them.

"Please," she keened, and when he raised his head again to meet her despondent gaze, she might only feel the dread in her belly, the agony in her skull, intensify sickeningly. This sympathy and affection of his, they were all so much surface shine, scratched away should one pick at it with a nail, and there was something incredibly, terrifyingly predatory about the way Crow looked at Virra now. It wasn't that he grinned at her, or laughed at her obvious distress, or seemed coldly apathetic...

Maybe she would have to stare deep into his pinprick-pupil eyes to really see it. To see what the starving, slavering, mindless beast under his crude, rapidly crumbling attempt at an altruistic mask wanted at heart to do with her.

"You're so beautiful when you're afraid." Spoken with a sigh that infused itself into the words. Longing. Hoarse. He exposed his teeth, gritting them hard, as though battling something away. "Of course, love. I'll help you." Beneath the moonlight, he winked his milky blind eye at her. "That's only fair, isn't it?"

Crow encircled her, studying her prone body an indulgent moment, before pushing her sharply upward with his snout, upon the sensitive area just behind her front legs where the ribs on that side shielded the heart. Hopefully it would make her stand reflexively, if only just to avoid the needling, annoying pressure. When and if she did, he'd begin to herd her deeper into the forest maze, the scent of wet ferns and moss growing exponentially as they progressed. Should she whine or stumble, he'd shush her with that same vile tenderness and coax her on.

"Now then... tell me what hurts." Tell me allllllll about it. "Tell me how I should take care of you tonight, Virra."

Behind her, he smiled, and if she could not see it, she'd certainly hear it in his voice.

Quote:She knew this was dangerous, knew she was completely, pathetically helpless against what was happening around her. he didn't know the half of it. And if she had, would it have really mattered? Could Virra truly do anything that would make him stop -- did she actually believe he would if she asked nicely? The ache in her head swelled as he spoke, his words no different than they had been moments before. But there was something in them, something that made their meaning seem miles away.

It terrified her.

"You don't ..." his eye, of course. The wink had thrown her off. Was that was this is all about? Some distant (but not as distant as she dare hoped) memory of their first meeting? Did he think he had to repay her in some way? And by that logic, shouldn't she repay him for the way his teeth had grazed her in return for her help? Not that she would lay a single dull nail on him. He was untouchable, both physically and metaphorically. "You don't have to," Virra tried again, ignoring the way her brain burned with the effort of speaking, "don't want to burden you ..."

Was she backing out? It was too late.

His snout jammed into the sensitive space by her ribs, and she wondered if he could feel her heart stop dead beneath his nose. Ice ran through her veins as she scrambled to her feet, wincing loudly as the movement jarred her head. Soothing shushes left his lips, but it did nothing to calm her. Virra let herself be walked back, deeper into the forest maze. Her breath came in short gasps, panic threatening to spill over, but she wouldn't let it. With as much calm as she could muster she answered, pointedly ignoring the sheer discomfort at what his words implied.

"M-my head," she turned around so her back was to him, stars sparking along the edges of her vision as dizziness threatened to unbalance her. She had to keep going, didn't want to know what would happen if she stopped now. Ears pinned back against her skull as another wave of fire broke across her forehead, shooting back to the nape of her neck. Maybe it would just be easier if he did kill her.

"Crow," against her better judgement she stopped. Virra didn't look back, couldn't bring herself to. "Why are you doing this?" A vague question. What? Leading her deeper in, acting the way he was? Her body shook and she felt like she was going to cry -- not all of it by fault of the headache. She was losing the composure she had on her fear, and it was only getting worse. "Why are you -- why do you want ... to help me?" A change of tactic midway through.

What do you hope to gain from this?

Quote:

we could live
for a thousand years
but if I hurt you
I'd make wine from your tears

~

"Oh, love," he crooned to her with an airy laugh, "you're no burden."

She was such a kind woman, soft in a way most wolves of the valley simply were not, and from the start it had intrigued him even as it flooded him with the deepest contempt, made him want to keep her whole even as it made him want to tear her apart, leave her filthy and sobbing and besmirched inside like him. She was something precious, like a rare bird, and too pure even to comprehend what motives Crow might possibly have for helping her in this time of need. Could she sway him if he decided to hurt her? Did he desire to pay her back for her altruism? He was a beast, and he'd bask in her pleas, and he felt no reverence for debts, and yet --

she came to him. Again and again, their worlds collided. He ran in her blood.

"Keep going," was all he said in response to her admission. A little bit of cephalgia never killed anyone... or maybe it did. The sohei was certainly no doctor. Maybe didn't even know what a brain tumor was, much less how to diagnose or treat one.

Cocoa trailed by ink, they headed deep into the labyrinth, a disorienting maze not least of all in this suffocating dark. She broke the silence perhaps with muffled whimpers or other noises of animal agony; he remained quiet, even his footsteps mostly soundless, just a pair of bright, penetrating, unreadable eyes watching her every move. Watching how she moved, her gait meandering and unbalanced.

A den, on the lightless horizon. Crow nudged her in ever so helpfully and prowled right in after her if she cooperated, effectively placing himself between her and the exit.

"Come here, Virra," he purred, winding catlike around her body and pressing her into the ground, urging her not forcefully to lie down. And was this the first time he'd called her by name? "Stay with me tonight... Nobody will find you here. I don't sleep, you know. I'll watch over you."

(Or you could take her to a doctor, you selfish piece of shit.)

"Why...?" He considered her question blithely; as he answered it he'd encircle her, far too close, and lie with her if she'd done so, the side of his head close to hers. Blue eyes could stare deep into basilisk's yellow. "I suppose it's because I want to keep you around."

He turned the entirety of his gaze to her and grinned almost reflexively. Sickeningly hot breath would mist across her face like the wind before a violent storm.

"What we have is... intimate. It's more powerful than love. Don't you think so?"

Quote:nutter butter come cuddle my shitty character

Quote:She wishes she were a burden to him. That they were not so destined to be together in some capacity he wouldn't bother keeping her pristine. Treating her more like a priceless doll given to a child, hesitant to play with it, yet wanting to see how much pressure would take to break it.  Was this what he was doing? Seeing how hard he could hold her before her porcelain cracked and turned to dust. Before he could keep her among his other broken dolls.

Virra sways and stumbles, graceless yet graceful in the way she falters. She does not lean on him for help, trying to retain some sort of power against the beast leaving her powerless. Her skull aches and burns, and when they arrive at the den she hardly sees it for what it is. The darkness inside is inviting, the light too blinding for her to see anything past vague shapes and shadows. Crow nudges her in and she goes willingly, shaking and grateful somehow for the way his massive form blocks the entrance.

"Crow ..." the fear radiating from her is palpable but she lets him lie her down. Curling on the cold ground with him all over her, pressing against him as if he were a blanket. The drop of her name is not lost -- have they moved into a first name basis? What were they? What had they been all this time? "I want to stay around," nearly a plea as she feels rather than sees him lie in front of her. Would it be enough to stop him from tearing her apart in her sleep?

His face is close to hers, marked by the hot breath in her face and the light playing off of the wild eye in front of her. This close she can see him and she can't decide if it's better to have him close and in sight or away to pretend it was anyone else. Her ears fall flat at his last few words. "Intimate?" He wasn't wrong. What they have is nowhere near love, and yet, somehow it's not hate. There was a beast in his heart but Virra couldn't find it in her to truly hate the man --

perhaps she was always going to foolishly hope that the good in people would shine through.

"Do you love me, Crow?" Then why do you want to hurt me? "We're ... connected." She wasn't sure how to describe what they were other than steeped in fate and misfortune. They were always meant to cross paths, they would always continue to cross paths. Breathless as a wave of nails drag across her skull she digs her cheek into the ground, fighting back any noise.

If she could pretend she was strong he'd keep her. Right?

Quote:We feel such enchantment for the rare birds we choose to cage; it's only cheapened by attempts to reason why.

She was no doll to him. Nameless heathens were dolls; the slave caverns were stocked full of them. Nor was she a mirror; he could squeeze all her awe and terror from another stone. I want to stay around, she keened softly, and oh, this was nothing new, there was no plea for life and limb he'd never heard before, in the end it was all the same hideous wailing, please Crow please please stop I'll do anything just don't please no PLEASE.

None of it was anything new at all. Yet here remained the fascination, the bizarre longing. A lion may adopt a small gazelle in an unprecedented and mysterious move, but the bloodthirst beneath still boiled. He was a predator tugged between worlds, an unstable Scheherazade who liked the songs and stories Virra had to give. Too much for. That.

She should be very afraid.

"Do you love me, Crow?" And he seemed to consider this, oddly enough, though to some of course it would seem more likely that this question would only make him laugh. Love... his mother had loved him, once upon a time. Ink and Blackout and Zashi, all in their own mad ways. Love was so much hunger. Love was using and being used. You kept someone around; you thought twice about following the impulses you had towards them. Sometimes that mattered. He could feel love, maybe. But --

Virra was grinding her face into the dirt. She was closing her eyes. Her words were an indistinct whine. This impulse, like a pulsation of light, he didn't deny: pale jaws opened and lunged and closed and all at once her throat was inside. Her throat and all its arteries and its little windpipe and its pretty voice and its soft breath were snared and trapped and compressed by the points of a terrible vicegrip. He didn't choke her, but he moved backward, maybe he took away her footing, and then --

Wet heat unfurled on a downy neck. The yellow eye, its pinprick pupil, it rolled down to study her face. He could taste her pulse hammering against the flat of his tongue. Oh Virra, you know some of me wants this. Virra, do you know the only difference between you and your long-gone sister is a little more pressure?

Then he let her go, only seconds later. Some of him wasn't enough.

"Oh... I think I have to love you." He laughed and smiled feverishly and forgot what he'd just done. Moved again, this time to the mouth of the cave, to look out upon the world like a roosting dragon. "That must be true. I want you here. So much more than. I want you. GONE."

He hadn't known that for sure before. Now he did. Even if was still for the best that he did not keep too close to her sick, vulnerable body.

Said he again, as though such a thing was possible, "Go to sleep, love. We'll both be here in the morning."