07-30-2019, 07:32 PM
"Who did this to ya?".
Not even a "I'll miss you". Not even an "I love you". Delilah Evergarden was laying at his paws, mortally wounded, blood seeping through the pink tufts of her pastel pelt. The poor femme was scarcely breathing, barely holding on, and hardly capable of speech. As she cried out for help, the mongrel simply glared into her blind eyes and inquired about her assailants - he had cared more for identifying the attackers than the medic’s wellbeing. The grisly recollection frequently came crawling back into his mind, despite the plentiful efforts made to prevent it; for, every time that the image of Delilah’s ruptured body arose within him, all the smells, sights, and noises from the fateful day surged through the hound’s veins. And the guilt. Oh, the guilt. Nothing was hurt more than the feeling of remorse in the hours following her demise - he should have done more, should have said more. She had returned a couple of times after her apparent "death", Delilah had. And both times, Leroy lacked the ability to show his face in her presence - only amplifying the levels of remorse pumped by his heart.
Upon witnessing her flowery figure, his jaw dropped in a way comparable to a ship dropping anchor. The unkempt hairs dangling from the mongrel’s chin gently swayed in the summer breeze, as intermittent twitches of utter shock shook his lower jaw. A trembling forelimb reaches forward, the coolness of mud meeting his paw as it met the Earth’s floor. "D... Delilah?" Leroy huffed as he took another rocky step.
He’d coo "I've missed ya, Delilah," as his figure brushed past Mikolaj’s. Eventually, he found himself placed to the left of the general’s son, Selby. That’s as far as he currently wished to go, though, for he knew not if his old friend retained memories of him.
Not even a "I'll miss you". Not even an "I love you". Delilah Evergarden was laying at his paws, mortally wounded, blood seeping through the pink tufts of her pastel pelt. The poor femme was scarcely breathing, barely holding on, and hardly capable of speech. As she cried out for help, the mongrel simply glared into her blind eyes and inquired about her assailants - he had cared more for identifying the attackers than the medic’s wellbeing. The grisly recollection frequently came crawling back into his mind, despite the plentiful efforts made to prevent it; for, every time that the image of Delilah’s ruptured body arose within him, all the smells, sights, and noises from the fateful day surged through the hound’s veins. And the guilt. Oh, the guilt. Nothing was hurt more than the feeling of remorse in the hours following her demise - he should have done more, should have said more. She had returned a couple of times after her apparent "death", Delilah had. And both times, Leroy lacked the ability to show his face in her presence - only amplifying the levels of remorse pumped by his heart.
Upon witnessing her flowery figure, his jaw dropped in a way comparable to a ship dropping anchor. The unkempt hairs dangling from the mongrel’s chin gently swayed in the summer breeze, as intermittent twitches of utter shock shook his lower jaw. A trembling forelimb reaches forward, the coolness of mud meeting his paw as it met the Earth’s floor. "D... Delilah?" Leroy huffed as he took another rocky step.
He’d coo "I've missed ya, Delilah," as his figure brushed past Mikolaj’s. Eventually, he found himself placed to the left of the general’s son, Selby. That’s as far as he currently wished to go, though, for he knew not if his old friend retained memories of him.