Dark Creatures Live In The Dark Forest

Beatrix inhaled. She would have to risk it.
"I'm taking you to the village. It might be a little....Scary.....On the way there, but I need to get you to a healer fast. I'll carry you far, far away from the village the day before you change."
Beatrix stood up.
"I won't let you hurt anyone. But I also won't let you die."

Beatrix was about to change before she realized it might come as a slight shock. Beatrix blushed slightly.
"Would you prefer a Dragon or a Gryphon to carry you into town?"


OOC: Sorry this one is so short.....

Gael swallowed hard when she said that she was going to carry him to the village. Beatrix would never be able to carry him far in human form, and he didn't have to ask her if she was going to transform to do so. He didn't want to go there, but they were running out of options. He was running out of options. If he didn't get his act together soon, he would be dead in the very near future. He would have to literally put his life into her hands, talons, whatever, and hope that he could get far enough away from the town by the time of the full moon to cause no mortal losses. Even wounded, a werewolf was dangerous under the light of the full moon and he didn't want to hurt anybody, least of all Beatrix. If there was anything in the world that he did not want, it was to see her hurt and know in his heart that it was his fault... and he needed her to understand that. Eventually, maybe he would find the right words to tell her about the confusing mess that was his mind every time he thought of her.

"I don't care how to carry me," Gael answered her honestly, letting out a long breath. He was suddenly very cold. "Just so long as it's you."


ooc: No worries! Sorry for not giving you anything to work with in this one.

Beatrix blushed deeply, and hoped Gael would not notice.
"My Dragon Form, then, since you've seen that form already."
Beatrix wasted no time.
She walked until she was about fifteen feet away from Gael and shifted. Oh, how Beatrix loved the rush of shifting. It was as much a part of her as her eyes were.
In less than a moment, she was transformed into a beautiful grey bat-dragon with transparent, shimmering blue wings. She could see her filthy wounds clearly now, and they looked deep. But they would heal. That was the important part; they will heal.
She walked over to Gael, moving her front almost-feet in an awkward waddle.

Beatrix had chosen the Dragon form over her Gryphon form for two reasons: Because Gael had already seen it, and because Dragons could speak tongues.
"Ghhet oon my baach"
Beatrix was suddenly aware that she spoke in the strange and hissing accent of Dragon. She curse herself for forgetting. Now her voice would just be creepy. A low noise, but high pitched at the same time, and hissing. Yes, she sounded creepy. Fantastic.


OOC: here is a link to what Beatrix looks like in dragon form... I drew it myself
[You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]

Gael was scared even before Beatrix took off. He had no idea if he was going to be able to hold on, he didn't know how a dragon flew or how dangerous riding one might be for a normal person. And he was feverish, disoriented, and had recently lost more blood than he liked to think about. While he had admired the birds and beasts of the air as a child, he had never even dreamed that he might really fly someday. Oh he had fantasized about the possibility on the idle occasion here and there, but none of those fantasies included his first time in the air half dead. Takeoff was the worst past, for when she suddenly leaped into the air, he had been as sure as anything that he was going to fall off. By some miracle, he managed to hang on. Still tense and heart beating over-rapidly, he clung to her and fixed his eyes straight ahead and refused to look down.

"Dthoo naht vee avraidth."

A raspy dragonish voice spoke to him, and the werewolf instantly guessed Beatrix. Her dragon's voice sounded distorted in his mind, very little of it resembling any language that he knew... However, he could still distinguish it. He assumed that she was telling him not to be afraid, and while he wanted to follow through with that order, he was also prettified. It wasn't that he was afraid of dying, but neither the thought of death nor life was a comforting one to him. Death meant nothing to him but endless wandering without a home. Life was a burden, but he would rather live than die. Beatrix was alive.

"Okay," he muttered, not expecting her to hear his low words with the whistling of the wind filling his ears and the strong wing-beats of the dragon's wings making his head pound. He could barely hear her words. How was she supposed to hear his?

Gael concentrated on breathing. In and out. Out and in. He slowly closed his eyes, then snapped them back open when dizziness swamped him and he gripped her scales tighter. After a while, he figured that he liked flying, but he would be happier when they finally landed.

Beatrix could tell that Gael was about to pass out. And so, she did not bother to turn into a human to tell him the plan. Instead, she turned directly into a horse.
She was a rather beautiful horse. She was a large grey horse with white spots on her back. Her feet were black, and as they reached the upper leg there were a few black stripes wrapping their way around her leg. Her head was mostly white, with a grey nose, and her mane and tail were grey.

Beatrix tossed her head and kneeled down. They need to get to the village very fast if she was to save Gael. She whinnied, a soft but loud sound, to get him to go faster.




OOC: Here is what she looks like in horse form: [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]

Gael did what he could to stay astride when she broke into a canter, though it took up all of his concentration; he didn't even notice when Beatrix took a wrong turn once they arrived in town and had to double back. He gripped her mane tightly and her flanks with his knees, hardly ever having ridden before. Buildings flashed by, and he met the distrustful stares of the townspeople. Teeth clenched, he held on for dear life.

When Beatrix skidded to a halt in front of what he assumed was the healer's quarters he almost flew off. As it was, he was extremely rattled. Gently, the horse knocked on the door with a hoof and waited. After a minute had passed with no one to answer, she appeared to grow frustrated. If his head hadn't been hurting so much, he might have smiled; however, he felt too ill for amusement. Instead, he leaned against Beatrix's warm neck, eyes opened to slits so he could watch the door. When she knocked again, she was louder, probably loud enough to bruise her foot. Only silence greeted her knock, and Gael could feel her deflate. She hung her head, and Gael's heart stirred with pity for her. She was good as a friend, but he hoped that she wouldn't become too attached. It would be disastrous for her... Werewolves didn't make the best friends. He stroked her silky ears, silently thanking her for trying.

All of a sudden, the door swung open and let warm air out. The elderly healer man peered out. He wasn't able to focus distinctly on his face, but he seemed timeless.

"Hello, good sir," Gael greeted with an attempt at a smile. It looked more like a grimace, but he was trying to appear friendly.

He made a mistake then; he dismounted. When his good foot touched the ground first, he stumbled slightly and tried to use his bad to catch himself with. Bad idea. Immediately, pain lanced up his leg as it refused point blank to take his weight. Down he fell, surrendering at last to darkness.


ooc: First and foremost, I am SO sorry that it has taken so long for me to post! My delay is inexcusable. Please forgive my procrastination.

Oh, and Gael's not dead. He's just unconscious.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!!!!!!!!

Beatrix paced up and the down the tiny, cramped hallway. It was unlike her to be so concerned for another, and especially for her to need to exert herself physically because of it. The worst part was that she had severely bruised her foot and so instead of her usual swift pace, she hobbled. Gael was inside one of the many rooms in the tiny house, lying on a sickbed.
When they had put him on the bed, his feet hung off because he was so tall. It was those little things that got to Beatrix.

She was ready to start tearing her human hair out, something she had only seen done in plays. However, it did seem to relieve the stress. The play always got happier after the person tried to pull their hair out.
Beatrix shook her head of the silly human thoughts that occupied it.
There has to be something I can do...
Beatrix decided to ask the healer if he wanted her to do something. Anything.
She practically tripped over her own feet trying to get to the Healer's study, where he had been sitting for the past hour.
She dashed in and leaned on the door frame.
"Surely there is something I can do to help you."
She tried to keep the pleading out of her voice.
"Yes, there is." The healer man replied without turning from his old wooden desk. "You can sit down."
Beatrix's hopes dropped. "But sitting down is useless!"
"Sitting down is not useless; it will save what little energy you have left instead of wasting it walking up and down my hall." He sounded strangely stern all of the sudden.
Beatrix sat. She could tell that getting on the wrong side of this healer would be a bad idea.

"I have an idea." the healer man spoke after Beatrix had sat still in silence for at least ten minutes.
"I could teach you a few healing methods, so he won't get in this bad a shape next time."
"Is he that bad?" Beatrix subconsciously leaned forward.
"He is infected in more tan one place. He is exhausted and needs all the peace and quiet he can get. But I think he will come through."
"How long? How long will it take for him to be better?" Beatrix remembered that he would become a werewolf in only a few days' time.
"Completely? At least two weeks to regain his health back to where it once was. But he should be up and about in a little less than a week."
"A week?" Her voice squeaked uncharacteristically.
"Yes. But for now I would like you to study herbs with me, so that next time you can prevent an infection before you get to me."
Beatrix hesitated, then nodded slowly.Then she decided to take a chance.
"Alright.....But first...What is your name?"
He smiled a little." I will only give you mine if you give me your name. Your true one."
Part of the way he phrased the question bothered Beatrix. Did he know that she was a chimera? He couldn't possibly. Only other mythical creatures could tell so easily, and she would have felt power coming off of him if he was. But she would have to tell him her true name.
"Beatrix."
He smiled a little.
"Ammon."

Beatrix spent the rest of the day learning herbs and poultices and splints with the healer. But now she watched him very closely.
She needed to know more about the healer.
About the human with only one name.
Abut the human whose only name was Greek for "secret".


OOC: About a week ago, I had a good excuse for taking SO VERY LONG to post. Now, I have no good reason and my delay is so very inexcusable. I am REALLY REALLY sorry that it took so long to post, I am completely at fault.
And yeah, this post is definitely not my best. Sorry about that. I have to get the hang of writing again........Sigh......

Gael was laying in one of the sickrooms on a bed that he was too tall for. The room was dark, but from under the shut door came tiny slivers of light. Strange and distorted shadows lingered on the walls, made far more strange by flickering yellow glow from the candle waxed to the floor in a corner.

The werewolf was burning up, quite literally. Body slick with sweat, his body temperature had climbed several degrees since they had arrived and hadn't yet started to come down. When the small, withered old healer had started to try to tend to him, it had at least stopped climbing. When the healer had first tried to work with him, he had resisted, and had fallen back into some of his more wolfish behaviors: snapping and trying to bite, lunging, clawing at the man's face. The man had had to subdue him with a bitter-tasting solution, but in the end he had lain quiet.

Now that he was alone though and the mean was gone, he was unable to lay still. Tossing and turning, his eyes restlessly scanned the cramped room, not really seeing anything. He felt trapped in this tiny space, unable even to rise and make his way to the door where the light beckoned so tantalizingly.

His head turned. Dark eyes fixed on the candle's dancing flame. Fire. So pretty, so carefree... so very dangerous. A beautiful and deadly foe, it was the only light to be had. Fire. A whimper emerged from the werewolf's throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head from side to side.

His dry cracked lips moved, but no sound came out. His eyes opened again, pupils dilated in irrational fear; he couldn't look away. The strange dancing light held him captive. But something wasn't right, and the fear was building. Where was Beatrix? Away from here, he hoped. Not burning to death in the same tiny prison. "N... Nuh... No..." he moaned, trying to jerk away from the light.

It was too bright, the room too small, and he couldn't move to get away. He was petrified. He could hardly breathe, his mouth refused to speak, and while he lay helpless, trapped within the prison of his own body, the sinister shadows grew and advanced as the candle's flicker became a blaze. To high the flames climbed, too close. Was that smoke?

Gael whimpered again and shied away. He drew in a breath, but broke of and lapsed into a fit of coughing. He closed his eyes again and tried to move away, away from the fierce blaze, but it followed him and he could find no peace. He tried to sit up, but couldn't even raise his head. It was growing hotter, harder to breathe. The darkness pressing all around him was suffocating, the harsh contrast from the light painful.

Once again, he tried to rise but fell back. "Bee-ah-tricks," he mumbled as the darkness closed in. Where was she? Why did she leave him alone with the fire and the pain?

ooc:

THECRO wrote:

The play always got happier after the person tried to pull their hair out.

That made me laugh so hard. {Hugs} I missed you, Cro. Welcome back. Don't worry about not posting!! It's totally cool; you do have a life... Right? Right! Yay! You have life!! Life is good. {Wink} And I love your post! It's awesome sauce!! I wish everyone could write like you; you're so amazing. ^_^

Oh, and Gael's just delirious; so everything's fine!

Up the little worn path a shriveled up old woman with a very thick cane came hobbling around the corner. The woman's multi colored eyes peered into the Forrest around her. The old woman looked like a very grandmotherly looking person, wrapped in a dark traveling cloak. She spotted the healers hut and made her way towards it. Climbing up the steps she banged on the door with her walking stick.
"Open up Ammon!" She bellowed, "I am a hundred and seven! I shouldn't have to be left waiting!"
Inside the Healer had a look of mild panic cross his face before he opened the door. She charged inside and whacked the healer around the shins with her hard, very worn, very old walking stick. "Took your own sweet time opening that door," She told the watery eyed healer. "In my good ol' days I would have bent you over my knee and tanned your backside for being so sluggish." She glanced around. She stacked up the pictures on the table then plunked herself down on the wicker rocking chair in the corner. "Your stew is burning." She told him.

((How was that for an introduction?))

Footsteps sounded outside the room, far too loud, far too fast. Fear sent his heart hamming a violent tattoo against his chest and he shrank back. The shadows thickened, the smoke choking him intensified. The demon fire lunged for the door and he shot upright, eyes wide with fear. The handle turned-

"Gael? Are you awake now, Gael? How are you feeling?"

Upon hearing his name, Gael calmed down. The light was suddenly was just back to a dim candle, and the shadows which had once seemed so threatening before had receded. "Trixie? he asked, his voice child-like. Relief colored his voice. Suddenly, it was all okay again. Her lithe figure was framed by the light from the hallway outside, her red hair like a fiery halo surrounding her thin face. "Trixie!" he cried happily, sitting up and clapping his hands together. "You came back!" he said delightedly. He cocked his head to one side, curious. All his past worries and fears were forgotten now that Beatrix had returned. "Why'd you leave me?" he asked, still in the childlike personality.

ooc: Nice and dramatic.

Beatrix went and knelt by Gael's bedside.
" I didn't want to leave you, Gael, but Ammon said that you needed to be left alone to rest. You need all the rest and healing you can get before I have to break you out of here......"
Beatrix's voice faded away as she neared the end of the sentence. She had not intended to mention that, not while he was still so weak.
She sensed a question rising to Gael's throat.
"Ammon is the old healer man." Beatrix explained before he could ask.

"I am a hundred and seven! I shouldn't have to be left waiting!"

Beatrix stood up and looked around. "What was that?"

She didn't wait for Gael to shrug.

"I am sorry, but I need to go see who that is. Oh, and be very careful what you say to Ammon, his knowledge and intuition are probably as timeless as his appearance."

"I will be back as soon as I can. Don't worry."



OOC: there is not an excuse in the whole world that is good enough to make my slacking okay....
And on top of that, this is a sad, short little post....

The grandmother tasted the stew and made a face.
"That is not a stew, that sir, is centaur vomit." The little old lady announced as Beatrix returned into the room. The little old grandma looked very huggable but in reality she was as prickly as a cactus that grew in Scopulous.
"Where is the meat? Only vegetables, bah!" She opened and closed some of the cupboards in search of a few things. She pulled out a hunk of salt, pulled a smaller chunk loose and dumped that in the pot. Then began hunting for something besides vegetables.
Ammon clearly seemed to be getting frustrated.
"Ha. Meat." The old woman pulled out some dried vision. She ripped it into pieces before chucking it into the pot. Then she mixed for a few minutes before testing it.
"Much better," she cackled, "Here try, you look slightly scrawny."
She shoved a spoonful into Beatrix's face.


(( I was laughing so hard at this post. You are forgiven crow as long as you begin to post regularly.))

Beatrix recoiled. The soup was delicious, but extremely hot. And a crazy old woman was shoving it into her mouth. That made it slightly less savory.
"Who are you?!"
Beatrix leaned around her view of the elderly woman and locked eyes with Ammon.
"Ammon, who is this?!"
Beatrix licked her lips.
"...And what is in this soup? This is delicious." She shook her head slowly.
"Nevermind, forget the soup. Who are you?!"

ooc: I am pretty/very/extremely sure that I am back for good this time. Sorry, this is short and bad, I am out of practice.

There were loud voices coming from behind the door, and she uttered a few rapid sentences and was gone. He sensed from the tone of her voice and the nature of her gestures that she meant comfort, but he couldn't stifle the involuntary cry that flew from his lips at the sight of her leaving.

"Trixie!" Gael cried, crawling forward and rising to one knee, his injured one limp and dragging against the course blanket, long white fingers gripping the foot of the bed for support. His thin frame swayed, the flickering light of the candle reflected dully of his damp, waxy skin. Overlarge eyes followed her shimmer of autumnal hair as she retreated out the door. "I d-, I-. I-, I-" he stuttered to a halt, frowned, shook his head so hard that his hair flopped. Would she be back? He hurt and drove away everyone he knew, how could he know that she would walk back through that door? But she walked back once before... Frustration twisted his lips into a scowl at his lack of ability to communicate; he needed to talk to her, needed her to hear. He didn't know why he felt so strongly, all he knew in his daze was that he had to get through to her. His thin face contorted in concentration as he tried to form the words correctly, "Don't want healer," he mumbled at last. His grip relaxed, and he sank back, chest rising and falling rapidly. "I-, I want... you... Want you..."

The werewolf gasped in a painful breath, feeling as though an invisible giant hand was squeezing his chest with every intention of preventing him from getting in that next essential breath. He wanted Beatrix. He didn't want to be alone in this small dark room with its monstrous shadows and the tiny light in the corner that threatened to burn the place down. He didn't want to be alone in this nightmare. Shaking, skin slick with sweat, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Sweat dripped into his eyes, he blinked, leaning forward, placing weight onto his feet.

White hot pain lanced up his leg, and the memory of the fight, the blood, the panic, and the whisper of a strange name slammed against his battered mind. His hands had suddenly lost their grip, and he was plummeting over the edge. He had not a long way to fall, and he landed on his side in a tangle of over-long arms and legs. The pain was so acute that he hardly noticed it. It was like one of those moments when the water was so cold it was hot, but with pain. The pain was so intense that it seemed surreal, like a dream. His head fell back and his unfocused eyes latched onto the darkened ceiling, confusion clouding those dark depths.

Slowly, Gael pulled himself into a sitting position, leg stuck out awkwardly in front of him. "Trixie?" he whimpered, eyes on the door handle. Maybe, any moment, it might turn down and she might be there in that space between this nightmare and freedom. And, maybe, she could take him with her. The werewolf didn't know what was happening, but all he knew was that he wanted to get out of his head. Anywhere was better than alone with his mind.


ooc: Haha, no worries. I am too. I've been REALLY stressed lately so I haven't been writing much.

The healer just stuttered and threw his hands in the air, frustrated by Natasha and her meddlesome ways. But the chimera counsel payed her to be meddlesome, to figure out who was who and worm her way into courts. Get the inside information and track down rule breakers.
"I am Grandma Anya." The old woman gave her a toothy grin. "Ammon here supplies me with herbs for my creaky joints," She turned back to the soup. She jumped and dropped the spoon into the pot. Ammon fished the tongs out of the pot while Natasha went to investigate the loud thump. She opened the door and saw the feverish Gael on the floor. Her mothering instincts kicked on and she hurried over and touched his sweaty face.
"Come on," She had a surprising amount of strength for an old woman and Natasha helped him back onto the bed.
"How long has he been like this?" She asked Trix, her multi colored eyes not looking at the healer.

If Gael had been a puppy, his tail would have wagged excitedly when the door creaked swiftly open, but it wasn't Beatrix's fiery red hair that caught the candle's light, nor her golden eyes that raked him so analytically. These eyes were different than his chimera's soft golden orbs. These were the deepest of midnight blues, and unless the weak light was playing tricks on him once again her pupils, when she got closer, were dark emerald green. Hair that once might have been blonde framed an ancient withered face of icy white skin, and he felt himself shrink back involuntarily. Who was this creature? No human had eyes like that, where had she come from? Why was she here?

Before he could become aware of what was happening, there was a flutter of movement and he was no longer his own to control. The old woman was surprisingly strong, and she lifted him from his awkward position on the floor with graceful ease. Nevertheless, when she released him, he was unable to quell the urge to drag himself a few inches away from her, large black darting from her to the door. Unease settled in the pit of his stomach; he didn't like this.

But then the door was pushed open again, and this time he found a pair of eyes that were his familiar gold. Even if she looked none too pleased, she still returned, and that's what mattered. The old woman spoke a question to her, one whose words he was unable to catch. Confusion clouded his eyes, and his expression crumpled from excitement into a mask of warped pain and confusion.


ooc: Tag! CRO, you're it! You're turn.
^^Going to be our best way to keep order. Might as well have some fun.