[Aeon]

(Trigger warning for depictions of death and decay. If you’re only interested in replying to the immediate RP skip to the last horizontal rule- most of this is just setting up backstory to be referenced in the future, yay!)

The sun was setting before the yearling realized it would be dark by the time she made it home and so her last choice was the race through the tangled thicket and hope she made it back before her mother did. She would, without a doubt, because she was quick and mother was big and slow. Aeon wasn’t even worried how her mother would react to her tardiness; it was more the fact that the youngling missed the big cat and was poor at expressing it. She pictured her destination in her mind like a perfect painting; rock jutting out of a hillside, half-shadowed by massive trunks, but during the hot afternoon the sun hit it perfectly and mother sprawled out across its warm surface letting the sunlight slowly rust her fur. There was no den to return to, but there was that, and mother always came back so that rock became her home.

When she saw the rock for real she barked triumphant—breathlessly—and scrabbled up its dark smooth surface. Mother was nowhere to be seen. Yet. Which was good because Aeon’s pulse was still throbbing in her veins, heart defeating her ears, and she struggled to catch her breath. If she seemed calm and rested when Metka arrived the cat might think she had been patiently waiting here the whole time and then the yearling girl could hit her with a crack about how she had been waiting impatiently, c’mon mom! The pup slid down to her belly and took a deep breath, giving her heart a chance to return to its normal rate, and hoping her mother would appear soon; the cold was getting into her thin fur and she wouldn’t mind getting a proper meal into her belly. The girl was perpetually starved and cold but Metka always had something to ease that.

The sun fell from the sky and the only starlight Aeon saw was from the silent sky hanging cold above her head.

---

Aeon woke when she heard a heavy drag-shuffle against the frozen spring earth. Ears pricked, body following, rising to her paws to pin the source. Her brain was still muddled from sleep (when had she fallen asleep?) and didn’t think that noise could be her mother; the big cat always walked so quietly. The smell of fresh meat would have woken her first if Metka brought back a kill but—wait, she could smell it now. Blood, meat, salty and metallic, something soft to sink her teeth into and it never smelled so fresh before. The yearling was about to hop down from her perch to collect her meal when Metka finally came into view, her form half-blended in the shadows, and something uncharacteristically bumbling about her gait.

There was blood in her fur. Her blood. The dark cat carried herself carefully as she could on heavy, fractured limbs. Her ear was missing, a tear from the top of her scalp that ran down the back of her jawline to a jaw that hung crookedly on her face. Aeon froze, then flinched violently back as the shock of her mother’s injuries came at her suddenly.

Metka collapsed a few yards from the rock. Aeon rushed to her side, sniffing and licking the oozing wounds. The blood was slowing. She wouldn’t die from blood loss at least but it was of little comfort. Even then the yearling knew what was about to happen. This story was predictable and always horrifying no matter how many times it had played out before.

“Mum?” The word didn’t come out sufficiently concerned, did nothing to express Aeon’s shock, sounded no different than any time she spoke to Metka. She should feel something. More than this. “What happened?”

“The danger’s gone,” Metka’s words were warbled with the anguish of moving her jaw and throat muscles. “You’re safe now. Aeon, when I d-“

“No,” Aeon cut her mother off. “It’s okay. You saved me. Again. I’ll take care of you, mommy. You’ll be alright. You just need rest. See? Just rest. I bet it hurts to talk. You don’t have to. I’ll take care of you.”

As if repeating the phrase over and over would make it true, would keep Metka here fighting to live and save her from the miserable end to her story, and the sordid beginning to Aeon’s. Metka’s head drooped with exhaustion, bright eyes staring into the voids that were Aeon’s, brimming with the sort of deep sadness of a person who could never say all the things that they needed to say. Metka didn’t need the words, but Aeon did, and they both knew those things would die in her throat unfinished as they do.

“Aeon. Fight on, little one.”

The words would have been especially poignant if they were last words, but they weren’t. They were other words the following days. Those were just the words Aeon would remember, sharp as a blade in her mind because she would learn quickly that the world was abundant with things that needed to be fought.

---

There were many things neither mother or daughter got to say. Metka was not going to be alright because the only one fighting for her to live was Aeon. Aeon wasn’t old enough to learn about hunting and bring anything bigger than sizeable insects or mice to her mother. Water was a difficult challenge as well. It didn’t matter because she never ate anything Aeon brought her or took any water. She just laid there, stretched out in the cool spring grass, looking all the queen she had ever been in the peak of her health despite the dried blood and twisted limbs. For a while.

Then she stopped lifting her head when she woke, laying sprawled on her side, eyes becoming dull and uninterested in what lay beyond them. Her lips were cold when Aeon forced them open, trying to make her eat and drink with no success. The cat’s breathing became shallow and within a few days she died, the very act of it so quiet and imperceptible it was difficult for Aeon to process. She didn’t even know the exact second that it happened, only that her mother’s body had become cold and stiff next to her own when she woke in the night.

In the end Aeon did not shed a single tear for her mother and knowing that was a unique, acute form of torture. Metka could have hid from Aeon, disappeared and never let the child know the fate of her adoptive parent, but she came back to spend her final days with her daughter and now Aeon couldn’t seem to properly mourn her. She should be howling, screaming, crying. Throwing herself at the earth from the agony of loss, the knowing that she would wake up in the morning all alone, the vast existence (no matter how short) that lay ahead of her knowing Metka would never be a part of it once more. All she felt was hunger, cold, and emotional numbness that settled over every part of her heart and suffocated whatever complex feelings she wished she could be having right then.

She couldn’t bring herself to leave Metka’s corpse, even when the body was stiff and the smell of her innards were leaking out of her, a scent that wouldn’t put off a carnivore but disturbed Aeon for the fact that it cloaked the once familiar bodily scent the cat’s fur held. Aeon paced the area, growing weaker, hungrier, and knowing that the growing smell would draw in scavengers. Others who wanted to eat the body, so they could live on.

Metka hadn’t only returned here to be with Aeon though, did she? She wanted Aeon to live. She wanted her to fight. A yearling with little hunting experience was off to a bad start on her own, even if she did leave the corpse to be consumed by ravens and coyotes. Once the hunger overrode all else it didn’t take much prompting for Aeon to rip into her mother’s carcass and make good use of what was quickly becoming only meat. Metka was not there anymore but she had one last gift to give.

A growing child has got to eat.

---

Collapsed bones supported a tarp of dried leathery flesh and the scent of the great hellcat faded away with the decay and the weather. The loyal girl lay near it, filthy and flea-bitten, scrapes from coyotes she had pummeled into the earth when they came for the marrow. She barely recognized what was left here. Attachment to the corpse drained in the weeks it had taken for sustenance and resemblance to rot away and Aeon was now left as hungry as ever but still alive and burning with a sort of anger to which there had been no response to soothe her. She shifted uncomfortably and finally pulled herself up onto her slender mud-crusted legs.

Why did you die? You weren’t supposed to leave me. You were supposed to protect me. What was the point? WHAT WAS THE POINT OF SAVING ME IF YOU WERE ONLY GOING TO DIE?

The screaming in her head felt passionless in her heart and that left her feeling stunted. Anger could be a powerful tool in grieving, but she still felt…numb. She was being driven by more primal things. She needed food, water, a safe place to sleep. It was time to move on, haunted by thoughts that she somehow did everything wrong and she would live to regret not being able to cry the way she was supposed to. Something in her was broken, she was sure of it.

Go to the river, her mind commanded and her tired paws obeyed. She was so filthy her coat was mostly brown, the silver-blue and white of her fur caked with dust. She smelled like undeath and the fleas were probably going to be a much longer lasting problem. The girl was also dehydrated. She picked her way through tangled roots and trees and waded through meadow grass taller than she was until she came to it. Wide and shallow she could almost cross it without getting her belly wet. For now, she only needed a drink.

Watch out for others. They need water too.

Others. Strangers. Bigger, better beasts who could hurt a young hellhound striking out on her own. Bullies. She would run if they came, but for now she kept her ears pricked as she lapped up cool relief.

[Ryker]

It is no secret that the world is a cruel and unjust place. Even in the quiet of a sunny day, death and decay litter the lands allowing bright new sprouts to shoot from the dirt and begin anew. The cycle of life and death was truly inspiring; genuinely it was poetic. 

As the sun of a new day dawned and the earth began to shed its new colors once more to all of those who still thrived above the ground, the faint smells of decay withered in to the larger picture; but it did not go unnoticed. Through the trees and brush came the large footsteps of the dire as he swerved through the trunks, his nose carrying him along the way to the scent that he knew all too well. Even as the sun rose through the morning, his dark fur left him somewhat hidden amongst the bushes and branches that littered the forest. A large deer skull bounced and shifted as he tried to keep it positioned and on him while he ran, the trophy being too large for him to securely fasten to his head. He had made the amateur  mistake of hollowing the interior out too much, and now lived with the consequences of a somewhat wasted trophy.

The smell of decay grew as he pressed ever onwards, his mouth open and salivating with the thought of a new trophy. Ryker slowed as the smells became overwhelming, his nose pressed hard to the ground. A low growl escaped his lips; there were two scents coming in to view for him now as he approached the carcass. A dissatisfied grunt escaped him as he looked down at the already mostly decayed body. He had missed the best parts of the show! A large paw scraped over the leathery skin as he watched maggots spill from their hiding place. Perhaps he could catch the ending once he was done with the second scent that filled his nose. It wasn't ideal for the false prophet, but he could not offer his passage through Death's eyes having been so late to this. He muttered to himself; this would simply not do. Ryker lifted his head, inhaling deeply in the hopes of catching the second scent. Perhaps they too were near death, and he would have his show after all. Perhaps he could still right the wrong and deliver a proper passage as the right hand of Death.

The dire took off at a slow pace, sniffing and following the small tracks that led away from the body. This creature was small; perhaps the child of the fallen corpse? Or perhaps it was simply a scavenger looking for a meal. In either scenario, Ryker had some questions and was hoping to find someone with answers. It didn't take long for him to walk up on the child at the base of the river; he watched her curiously for a moment before letting out a loud 'gruff' to announce himself. His assumptions had been right it seemed- this was possibly the child of the dead one that lay behind them.

"Young one," he called out to her in his deep voice, the skull of the deer still angled upon his head, "tell me what has happened here."

[Aeon]

One long ear twitched as the hound heard her interloper approach before he announced himself. She quickly snapped up another mouthful of water before she darted off and to the side like a skittish horse. He was a larger, darker furred wolf of the common variety, though he wore the bones of a deer on his scalp and its twisted antlers reflected at him from the mirror pools of Aeon’s large black eyes. The stranger might notice quickly that despite Aeon’s initial reaction she seemed less startled and fearful than she was wary. Keeping him always within her peripheral vision, but not quite running from him, instead staying to slake her thirst with the rivers clear surface. She was like the naughty coyote, daring to steal from a kill while the wolf stood right there, waiting to see how he would react.

"Young one, tell me what has happened here."

Aeon stopped drinking and suddenly rolled. It was a quick motion because the thought of leaving her belly exposed to this stranger wasn’t one that brought her comfort, but the fleas and the filth were a more immediate hindrance. Once she was on her feet she shook out her coat and some of the white and blue-gray of her sleek fur started to show. She felt somewhat better, despite now feeling very cold.

“I dunno,” Aeon replied with a voice almost as low as his, crafted from gravel and smoke. Her voice had always sounded rough for as long as she could remember. It didn’t hurt her despite its texture. “I don’t understand the…well, you didn’t really ask a question, did you? You kind of just demanded an explanation.”

Maybe he wasn’t trying to be rude and she should tone down her flippant attitude but to be fair she was obviously worn thin and hungry. She was aware that she was vulnerable, but she sure as shit didn’t feel anything close to fear.

“Who’re you, anyway?” Aeon asked. “Maybe you should start with that.”

[Ryker]

"I dunno; I don't understand the...well, you didn't really ask a question, did you? You just kind of demanded an explanation."

Ryker looked down upon the young child as she moved out of the way and finally spoke, his eyes watching her carefully as her tone expressed her stance clearly. He only snorted in her direction, his gaze never leaving her. There was something off about the situation, but the male had not come the conclusions he had been hoping to achieve as he watched her. It was possible, naturally, that this child belonged to the corpse a few feet away, but it was a judgement he did not feel he could rightfully pass- it was something he would need to hear to confirm.

"I believe you know-" he began, only to be cut off once more by the child.

"Who are you anyway? Maybe we should start with that?"

Ryker opened his mouth slowly, giving pause in case the child decided to interrupt him yet again. But as the silence grew between them, he settled himself and began once more.

"My name is Ryker, the prophet of Death," he began, raising his head proudly, "I am the one who ferries the living to their after life. I am the consort of the one who travels alone in the darkness. Who are you?" His voice was soft and collected; quite opposite of his stature and the way he held himself. He lowered his head to look down once more upon the hellion child, the skull on his head shifting forward to the bridge of his nose as he leaned in closer to the young one. "Tell me," he began, moving away and turning his gaze to the direction where the corpse lay, "what happened here young one?"

Though she did her best to toughen herself up and speak freely to him, he could not parse the smell of death that lingered on her body. Caked in dirt and debris as it was even with her shaking the dirt off- the smell remained. Perhaps it had become too second nature to her to not realize that she still reeked of death itself, but the male knew all too well the stench and her defensive tactics. 

"And tell me, young one," he started after a moments pause," why do you reek of Death?"

------
ooc: sorry my brain had a fart and also sorry for the super late response T_T

[Aeon]

Aeon’s long ears folded back at the dark wolf’s initial derisive snort. They seemed to be sharing one thing in common, neither had patience for the other. Her fur stood on end though it was impossible to tell if she bristled at him or if it was merely the behavior of short, wet fur. Black eyes fixed on him, burned into him, considering him harshly as he spoke. He tried to keep on his airs, tried to feel important from her perspective. She detested it. He lowered his head and Aeon stepped slightly away from him and showed her teeth if only for a moment, less of an indication of her emotions than a warning for him to not step forward, a feral display of her very discomfort with the concept of him physically moving closer to him. They were both here for a reason, even Aeon could see that, but the peace between them was flimsy and vulnerable, easily torn.

“Ok, Ryker. I’m just going to call you Ryker,” She didn’t understand any of the explanation he had given for who he apparently was and frankly she may not have been interested in understanding. She was an adolescent after all and…she was Aeon. Brash and indifferent to such things by being herself. “I’m Aeon.”

He looked back towards the corpse and Aeon’s hard, dark eyes never relented in their judgement of him. He repeated his earlier question, curiosity burning him from the inside out, his need for solid answers clearly aching in his chest. The hellion’s eyes softened slightly as a wicked little smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, a foreshadowing of the own danger she brought upon herself.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

That was an answer, even if it wasn’t the answer Ryker was expecting to hear, or particularly wanted.

"Why do you reek of Death?"

Now it was her turn to snort, a teasing response to his earlier gesture, though hers was not as deep or impressive through her narrow nostrils and small nose in general. He might see now that she was intent on being difficult. He had already asked too much of her, even if he hadn’t meant it.

“Maybe I’m the actual prophet of Death, whatever that means, since I smell like it. It’s not like you smell exactly like daisies,” she shot back as if the comment on her body odor was offensive and entirely unprecedented. It was true, of course, the nature of her stench but she was already in a mood. “Consider that, Ryke? Rykie? What’re you even doing here? I’m not supposed to talk to strange dudes, especially ones who ask a lot of questions. If you try to bite me, I’m gonna’ run, and I bet I’m faster than you too, especially when you got that big skull on your head. What’s that for anyway? It doesn’t look comfortable.”

Aeon could ask a lot of questions too.