[open] [Trigger Warning] A Hurdle In Life

[Ruthless]

TW: Ruth isn't feeling overly positive right now so a brief thought of death does pop up. Just a warning

She lay beneath the oversized oak tree that dominated the center of the forest. Her head rested against the damp turf as the awakening sun tried to push through twigs and sprouting leaves. Cool air rose from the ground.

Her breath lifted and fell, shallow and forced.

There had been few times in her life when she had been limited to positive thinking. Maybe once, when her mother left. Most days had been easy enough, only the occasional mouthful a little too big. But lying beneath the dew-soaked canopy of the infamous oak, she felt almost hopeless.

Death won't be so bad. It might actually be easier.

In the deepest part of the forest, during the darkest hour of the night, Ruth had come upon a mountain lion. Malnourished, her options had been limited: fight or fall. Winter had been hard on the gold mare, and her will to survive had rusted like cheap metal—painfully delicate, a stark contrast to her bold lineage.

Graciously, she had fought just hard enough to become unappetizing. But that didn't leave her uninjured.

It didn't leave her safe.

Blood had crusted around the wounds that marred her left hindquarter and flank. Pain had seeped deep into muscle and bone, gnawing at her with every breath. A bird swooped overhead, and she wondered how quickly vultures found their dead. Were they already counting her minutes?

Heart pounding, she stretched her front legs forward and fought the blur threatening to drag her back under, snorting through the crippling pain. Ruth was delicate, but a fire still burned deep within her, and her only choice was to feed the flame.

Who will find me here? Will anybody help me?

[Devi]

Winter had been loathe to release his clutches on Beqanna. Even though the trees were filling their boughs and the grass was sprouting in earnest across the fields, there was still a bite to the air.

A bite he could no longer feel, even if he wanted to. A bite that couldn't sink its teeth past his own frozen flesh, let alone into his frozen heart. He was the cold.

The river wasn't his usual haunt. In the past, he had preferred the openness of the meadow. The Meadow held bad memories for him though, memories he could no longer properly acknowledge even if he wanted to. He should have felt relief at that small mercy.

He felt nothing at all.

The day was no different than any other day. Quiet, settled, the occasional horse wandering about. It was neither too warm nor too cold, not too sunny or too cloudy. It was simply another day in Beqanna. He moved aimlessly across the land, his legs having no particular destination. Slowly he made his way up the river and into the thicket of trees that stood sentient along the bank. Gnarled and twisted, they told the tales of floods and drought alike. He should have felt sad, to see such powerful beings twisted and mangled.

He felt nothing at all.

He felt nothing, even when he heard a pained grunt come from the forest. Not curiosity, not fear. Simply nothing. He headed to the noise all the same, his eyes falling on a golden mare lying prone against the trunk of one of the biggest oaks. Once upon a time, he would have feared for the mare and offered her comfort. But that was before. "You're hurt." he said simply, cocking his head ever so slightly. "I'm Devi.", as if his name was any help.

It would have to do, because it was all he had to offer.


@Ruthless

[Ruthless]

You're hurt, he said. I'm Devi.

I'm dying, she wanted to reply. But the admission alone felt like it would draw her last breath, and she couldn't bear the thought of stiff-legging in front of a stranger.

"I'm hurt," she confirmed.

Ruth had never been good at small talk. Her skills had always been limited to surviving and overcoming. The idea of having enough time to make conversation felt foreign—almost uncomfortable. Her mother had hardly demonstrated any sort of relationship worth copying, leaving Ruth like a yearling separated from the herd, watching everyone else know which way to run.

A breeze cooled the heat that throbbed across her flank, and for a moment she wondered if this was the euphoria she'd heard accompanied the grim reaper. Then again, she was far too aware of the splitting pain threatening to tear her in two to call it euphoric. How long before her body finally quit fighting? Or would it stubbornly choose another impossible recovery?

It felt harder and harder to focus on Devi, yet the thought of him leaving left a twisted knot in her throat. She had spent so long alone that it felt foolish to waste one more second in silence.

But, there was nothing in him. No fear. No pity. No urgency. Just a stillness so complete it made her wonder what life had taken from him. It unsettled her. Not the quietness of a stranger, but the hollowness of someone who'd forgotten how to feel. She knew that kind of nothingness. It settled in slowly, earned through a thousand small cuts, until it became easier not to feel at all. She had survived because of it. So why had someone carrying the same burden stopped beside her?

"I'm not so sure it's safe to be around me," Ruth admitted with a drop in her voice. "Even the flies seem conflicted."

[Devi]

He had felt things, once. He had tasted joy on his tongue. Joy was sweet and bright. But like every fool that came before him he forgot to savor it, and when the sweetness gave way to the bitter taste of loss he was left heart sick and broken.

A broken man, thats what he was. Life (and mostly love) had broken him, and hardened his heart into the frozen thing that now sat stoney in his chest.

"I'm hurt." she confirms, seemingly as bad at conversation as himself. Or perhaps it was the aching that made her short of tongue. A part of his mind remembered sympathy, and the memory culminated into a soft sigh that drifted from his mouth. The mare was in dire straights, that much he knew without the aid of beating heart. The night was only going to get colder and while it would not harm him, he was not wounded and shivering on the ground.

Her next words brought a crook to the corner of his lips, though the smile didn't reach the depths of his eyes. Instead of heeding her warning he stepped forward, lowering his head to meet her gaze. Despite the wounds he could not smell infection, a sign which he took for a positive. "Maybe the lack of flies is more to do with the cold rather than an imagined curse." he said simply but not unkindly. With another sigh he reached forward to nudge her shoulder, but removing it quickly before the cold of his muzzle could seep into her golden flesh. "Come on. Up you get, Hurt." It was a poor attempt at a joke, but it was the best he could do.

@Ruthless