04-09-2019, 01:25 PM
Of course he heard the call.
Nocturne had once again been on his way back to Silver Cove in the hopes of reuniting with Ember when he felt the familiar tugging deep inside, like Beqanna had latched onto his viscera, his organs, his muscles, his bones, and just <i>pulled</i> him back toward the Mountain so abruptly he stumbled and almost fell to the ground. He caught himself with a startled huff, snorted and shook himself to regain some sense of balance, and then yes, alright, turned to head back to the Mountain once more. To be honest, he had not expected to hear her again. They’d found the fourth ingredient, delivered the needed shells to the fairies. It was...almost a relief to hear her calling again.
To have some direction, some sense of meaning, to not feel cut adrift in an empty sea. The call was familiar, and an almost feverish wave of satisfaction washed over him at the feel of being <i>needed</i> by someone, especially someone so important as the world itself and the fairies who watched over her. So he scurried back, picking up the pace and letting his little legs hurry him back to the base of the mountain.
As soon as he saw the empty clearing, he knew, the first step appearing in his head as a quiet knowing, a certainty that settled in the back of his mind. Gather up the assembled ingredients, climb the Mountain once again. No fairies came to give a rousing speech or spell it out for any who gathered to help once more, but by now no speech was necessary, was it? The task lay before them plain as the daylight catching on the sparkling surface of the icicles, and he reached to gather one that called to him. It answered far more willingly than he’d expected, though he supposed that made sense - ice had listened to him somehow since he’d returned from Icicle Isle. Not just the ice, though, the other ingredients came willingly as he reached for them, following along eagerly, perhaps one more magical gift from Beqanna to aid in this vital quest.
He didn’t spare more thought for it, just rushed around gathering the ingredients he could find together while a thick fog formed and wrapped itself around the Mountain. He was no stranger to all sorts of weather by now, but this seemed different, dark and thick and heavy, and something about it made his spine tingle and his muscles tense. He cast a wary eye at the fog as it formed, but kept to his task until he’d gathered as many ingredients as he could. One thing at a time. Gather, then climb.
When he had everything he could collect, everything that willingly followed him, he took a steadying breath, turned to face the creepy fog, and headed up the Mountain again. With as many times as he’d climbed this way, it would make sense to think it would be easier now. Muscles becoming acclimated to the work, lungs adjusting to the change in altitude, body and mind prepared for the now-familiar journey. But yeah, not so much. He suspected it was part of the magic of the Mountain itself, each climb as much of a test to make it to the peak as the climber needed, an act of proving themselves to Beqanna or themselves, declaring they were ready to face what trials might come. Or at least, every other time it had proven so. This time?
This time was different. It wasn’t just weariness that made his limbs heavy, made his lungs heave for breath. As he stepped into the fog, it clung to him, sank into his skin. It filled his lungs and clung there too, making him cough and hack and gag. The more he climbed, the weaker he felt, and more. His skin flushed with heat that intensified with every step, abruptly shifting to chills that left him shivering and gasping. Cold hadn’t bothered him since his return from Icicle Isle, but this was...different. He frowned, slowly shaking his head, trying to shake the feeling off with the motion as he made himself keep walking. Coughing fits wracked his body, dragging him to a halt as he fought for breath, but every time it subsided, he pressed on.
His nose began to drip and he snorted, trying to clear away the fluid and spraying a red mist that made his eyes widen with fear and his heart stop for just a beat. He wiped his nose against his foreleg and blood smeared along the still moonlight-pale fur. A soft whimper escaped him, fear racing through his veins along with another wave of the fever, and he gasped and shuddered. Was this what it felt like to be sick? It was awful! And every step up the Mountain made it worse!
Still, he stumbled on. Job to do. Right? Yeah, no, he had to keep climbing. ‘Cause. Uh...something. Just had to, okay? All he could remember was the pressing need to make it to the top, and he held on tight to that thought as the plague claimed everything else. He kept holding onto that one little thought even as fear ate away at the rest of him, one step, another, as darkness wrapped around him, creeping in at the edges of his vision, bleeding into the center slowly. A soft hissing sound, the rustling of dead leaves built to sibilant whispers he could almost make out as his vision faded. He kept stumbling along, blind, exhausted, shaking with fever and dripping blood, hacking up a lung, didn’t matter. Had to make it to the top.
<i>“Sssweet boy,”</i> the darkness hissed as it claimed the last of his vision. <i>“Resssst a while, won’t you? Sssso weary, sssso weak, and there is ssssso much worsssse to come.”</i> Fingers stroked down his spine, and he squeaked and leapt forward, tripping over a rock or a root or some bump in the path, crashing to the ground with a grunt. <i>“Good boy,”</i> the darkness crooned, stroking his neck. He tried to scramble to his feet, but it held him pinned, pressing down on his shoulder and stroking his neck. <i>“Ssssuch a good boy. Aren’t you lonely, ssssweet boy?”</i> it asked, running fingers through the scruff of his baby mane. <i>“Nobody to take care of you, nobody to love you, mussst be ssso lonely, sssweet boy.”</i>
His heart ached in his chest, throat tightening as tears welled up in blind eyes, but he pulled his face away. Had to get up the Mountain. <i>“Shhhh,”</i> it hissed, petting his forehead, making his whole body go mellow. <i>“Sssstay, jusssst a little while. We can make you feel better, don’t you want to feel better?”</i> God, he did, wanted the fever to go away, wanted to breathe again without coughing or choking or spraying blood. He wanted to sleep, and wake up better, and never feel like this again. <i>“Sssuch a good boy, and sssso ssstrong. For ssso long! All your lonely life with no one to hold you, no one to take care of you, no one to love you. Aren’t you tired of being sssso sssstrong?”</i>
He gasped in a shaky breath, still fighting traitorous tears even as they trickled from the corners of his eyes. But he was, god, he was so tired, just wanted someone to hold him and tell him everything was gonna be alright. That he’d done a good job, been such a good boy, that they were proud of him for being so brave. <i>“Ssso brave!”</i> the darkness crooned, stroking his face as he broke, as he cried. <i>“Sssuch a brave boy. Let ussss take care of you, sssweet boy. You’ve done sssso much, let it be our turn. Ssstay, let usss love you and make you better.”</i>
He wanted to. God, more than anything he just wanted to let the dark wrap around him and hold him close, let it love on him and pet him and make him feel better, let it chase away the sick and the heartache and the exhaustion that was sinking into his bones with every quest, with every breath. Let it keep him safe and sound the way no one in his whole life had, not since he’d woken to life covered in his father’s blood and viscera. Alone, so alone. He’d always been alone, and now he could finally feel what it was like to have someone love him.
But there was work to do. He cried harder, knowing he had to leave, knowing he had to drag himself to his feet and stumble on. He couldn’t remember why, but he had to get to the top of the Mountain; there was no rest for his weary bones. <i>“Ssstay,”</i> it crooned, and he let himself have one more moment where someone loved him, where someone held him and petted him and promised it was going to be okay.
And then he thrashed and flailed and scrambled to his feet. The darkness hissed, digging vicious claws into his skin and trying to hold him, trying to keep him, gouging his shoulders as he dug in and pulled away. <i>“Ssstay!”</i> the darkness screeched, catching his hips with those sharp claws again. Had to climb, had to keep going, had to do <i>something!</i> Get to the top of the Mountain, even if he couldn’t remember why he knew it was desperately important.
More important than feeling home, feeling safe, feeling wrapped up in darkness and love.
More important than Nocturne could ever be.
He shook and sobbed and broke with every step, and the darkness screamed and hissed and swore no one would ever love him the way it would have loved him, promised he would spend his whole life alone with no one to hold him or pet him or tell him everything would be alright. It slashed at his hide, and blood trickled down his shaking body like the tears that fell unchecked from his still-blind silver eyes, but he knew. He’d always known, hadn’t he? It didn’t matter. He would always be alone, but he had a job to do. He couldn’t remember why, but Beqanna needed him to climb. And that was all there was.
He fought his way to the top step by step, the screams getting louder and more vicious, tearing away bits of his heart, gouging holes in his soul until he was sure there would be nothing left of him. He ran out of tears, ran out of everything and still kept putting one foot in front of the other, clutching tight to the thought that he had to make it to the top. And as he finally crested the peak of the Mountain once more, a guttural scream tore from his throat as he tore free of the darkness. He collapsed to the ground as he always seemed to at the end of this impossible climb, eyes slamming shut against the sudden influx of light as his vision came back to him. And the ingredients for the cure clattered to the ground beside him as he panted and heaved in desperate breaths.
He had made it. That was all that mattered.
Nocturne had once again been on his way back to Silver Cove in the hopes of reuniting with Ember when he felt the familiar tugging deep inside, like Beqanna had latched onto his viscera, his organs, his muscles, his bones, and just <i>pulled</i> him back toward the Mountain so abruptly he stumbled and almost fell to the ground. He caught himself with a startled huff, snorted and shook himself to regain some sense of balance, and then yes, alright, turned to head back to the Mountain once more. To be honest, he had not expected to hear her again. They’d found the fourth ingredient, delivered the needed shells to the fairies. It was...almost a relief to hear her calling again.
To have some direction, some sense of meaning, to not feel cut adrift in an empty sea. The call was familiar, and an almost feverish wave of satisfaction washed over him at the feel of being <i>needed</i> by someone, especially someone so important as the world itself and the fairies who watched over her. So he scurried back, picking up the pace and letting his little legs hurry him back to the base of the mountain.
As soon as he saw the empty clearing, he knew, the first step appearing in his head as a quiet knowing, a certainty that settled in the back of his mind. Gather up the assembled ingredients, climb the Mountain once again. No fairies came to give a rousing speech or spell it out for any who gathered to help once more, but by now no speech was necessary, was it? The task lay before them plain as the daylight catching on the sparkling surface of the icicles, and he reached to gather one that called to him. It answered far more willingly than he’d expected, though he supposed that made sense - ice had listened to him somehow since he’d returned from Icicle Isle. Not just the ice, though, the other ingredients came willingly as he reached for them, following along eagerly, perhaps one more magical gift from Beqanna to aid in this vital quest.
He didn’t spare more thought for it, just rushed around gathering the ingredients he could find together while a thick fog formed and wrapped itself around the Mountain. He was no stranger to all sorts of weather by now, but this seemed different, dark and thick and heavy, and something about it made his spine tingle and his muscles tense. He cast a wary eye at the fog as it formed, but kept to his task until he’d gathered as many ingredients as he could. One thing at a time. Gather, then climb.
When he had everything he could collect, everything that willingly followed him, he took a steadying breath, turned to face the creepy fog, and headed up the Mountain again. With as many times as he’d climbed this way, it would make sense to think it would be easier now. Muscles becoming acclimated to the work, lungs adjusting to the change in altitude, body and mind prepared for the now-familiar journey. But yeah, not so much. He suspected it was part of the magic of the Mountain itself, each climb as much of a test to make it to the peak as the climber needed, an act of proving themselves to Beqanna or themselves, declaring they were ready to face what trials might come. Or at least, every other time it had proven so. This time?
This time was different. It wasn’t just weariness that made his limbs heavy, made his lungs heave for breath. As he stepped into the fog, it clung to him, sank into his skin. It filled his lungs and clung there too, making him cough and hack and gag. The more he climbed, the weaker he felt, and more. His skin flushed with heat that intensified with every step, abruptly shifting to chills that left him shivering and gasping. Cold hadn’t bothered him since his return from Icicle Isle, but this was...different. He frowned, slowly shaking his head, trying to shake the feeling off with the motion as he made himself keep walking. Coughing fits wracked his body, dragging him to a halt as he fought for breath, but every time it subsided, he pressed on.
His nose began to drip and he snorted, trying to clear away the fluid and spraying a red mist that made his eyes widen with fear and his heart stop for just a beat. He wiped his nose against his foreleg and blood smeared along the still moonlight-pale fur. A soft whimper escaped him, fear racing through his veins along with another wave of the fever, and he gasped and shuddered. Was this what it felt like to be sick? It was awful! And every step up the Mountain made it worse!
Still, he stumbled on. Job to do. Right? Yeah, no, he had to keep climbing. ‘Cause. Uh...something. Just had to, okay? All he could remember was the pressing need to make it to the top, and he held on tight to that thought as the plague claimed everything else. He kept holding onto that one little thought even as fear ate away at the rest of him, one step, another, as darkness wrapped around him, creeping in at the edges of his vision, bleeding into the center slowly. A soft hissing sound, the rustling of dead leaves built to sibilant whispers he could almost make out as his vision faded. He kept stumbling along, blind, exhausted, shaking with fever and dripping blood, hacking up a lung, didn’t matter. Had to make it to the top.
<i>“Sssweet boy,”</i> the darkness hissed as it claimed the last of his vision. <i>“Resssst a while, won’t you? Sssso weary, sssso weak, and there is ssssso much worsssse to come.”</i> Fingers stroked down his spine, and he squeaked and leapt forward, tripping over a rock or a root or some bump in the path, crashing to the ground with a grunt. <i>“Good boy,”</i> the darkness crooned, stroking his neck. He tried to scramble to his feet, but it held him pinned, pressing down on his shoulder and stroking his neck. <i>“Ssssuch a good boy. Aren’t you lonely, ssssweet boy?”</i> it asked, running fingers through the scruff of his baby mane. <i>“Nobody to take care of you, nobody to love you, mussst be ssso lonely, sssweet boy.”</i>
His heart ached in his chest, throat tightening as tears welled up in blind eyes, but he pulled his face away. Had to get up the Mountain. <i>“Shhhh,”</i> it hissed, petting his forehead, making his whole body go mellow. <i>“Sssstay, jusssst a little while. We can make you feel better, don’t you want to feel better?”</i> God, he did, wanted the fever to go away, wanted to breathe again without coughing or choking or spraying blood. He wanted to sleep, and wake up better, and never feel like this again. <i>“Sssuch a good boy, and sssso ssstrong. For ssso long! All your lonely life with no one to hold you, no one to take care of you, no one to love you. Aren’t you tired of being sssso sssstrong?”</i>
He gasped in a shaky breath, still fighting traitorous tears even as they trickled from the corners of his eyes. But he was, god, he was so tired, just wanted someone to hold him and tell him everything was gonna be alright. That he’d done a good job, been such a good boy, that they were proud of him for being so brave. <i>“Ssso brave!”</i> the darkness crooned, stroking his face as he broke, as he cried. <i>“Sssuch a brave boy. Let ussss take care of you, sssweet boy. You’ve done sssso much, let it be our turn. Ssstay, let usss love you and make you better.”</i>
He wanted to. God, more than anything he just wanted to let the dark wrap around him and hold him close, let it love on him and pet him and make him feel better, let it chase away the sick and the heartache and the exhaustion that was sinking into his bones with every quest, with every breath. Let it keep him safe and sound the way no one in his whole life had, not since he’d woken to life covered in his father’s blood and viscera. Alone, so alone. He’d always been alone, and now he could finally feel what it was like to have someone love him.
But there was work to do. He cried harder, knowing he had to leave, knowing he had to drag himself to his feet and stumble on. He couldn’t remember why, but he had to get to the top of the Mountain; there was no rest for his weary bones. <i>“Ssstay,”</i> it crooned, and he let himself have one more moment where someone loved him, where someone held him and petted him and promised it was going to be okay.
And then he thrashed and flailed and scrambled to his feet. The darkness hissed, digging vicious claws into his skin and trying to hold him, trying to keep him, gouging his shoulders as he dug in and pulled away. <i>“Ssstay!”</i> the darkness screeched, catching his hips with those sharp claws again. Had to climb, had to keep going, had to do <i>something!</i> Get to the top of the Mountain, even if he couldn’t remember why he knew it was desperately important.
More important than feeling home, feeling safe, feeling wrapped up in darkness and love.
More important than Nocturne could ever be.
He shook and sobbed and broke with every step, and the darkness screamed and hissed and swore no one would ever love him the way it would have loved him, promised he would spend his whole life alone with no one to hold him or pet him or tell him everything would be alright. It slashed at his hide, and blood trickled down his shaking body like the tears that fell unchecked from his still-blind silver eyes, but he knew. He’d always known, hadn’t he? It didn’t matter. He would always be alone, but he had a job to do. He couldn’t remember why, but Beqanna needed him to climb. And that was all there was.
He fought his way to the top step by step, the screams getting louder and more vicious, tearing away bits of his heart, gouging holes in his soul until he was sure there would be nothing left of him. He ran out of tears, ran out of everything and still kept putting one foot in front of the other, clutching tight to the thought that he had to make it to the top. And as he finally crested the peak of the Mountain once more, a guttural scream tore from his throat as he tore free of the darkness. He collapsed to the ground as he always seemed to at the end of this impossible climb, eyes slamming shut against the sudden influx of light as his vision came back to him. And the ingredients for the cure clattered to the ground beside him as he panted and heaved in desperate breaths.
He had made it. That was all that mattered.