07-29-2020, 11:32 AM
[font=trebuchet ms]/tw: detailed gore in paragraph 6
It was an uncomfortably warm night for a patrol.
Even considering that it was nighttime, and that their high altitudes mitigated the summer's heat some, the atmosphere felt thick, humid, stifling. Maybe, had she not been plagued by paranoia for this long, she might have suspected that this was an ill omen. As it were, it seemed to be just another dark night, twisted by her mind into something horrifying.
If only it had stayed that way.
The smell of blood, the sound of far-off chomping and chewing and gnashing, the general sense of something being horribly wrong, all collided headfirst with Rin's consciousness. Startled awake, she bolted towards the border, her mind flooding with all manner of worst-case scenarios- worst-case scenarios that, in her experience, were the most likely scenarios. If she didn't get there in time, if she didn't save them, if she couldn't save them-
-she arrived just in time to see a trail of blood, leading in the attacker's direction, away from- from-
The snow leopard hung there, silent, shrouded in white and red- none of it able to hide the viscera, dripping down from shredded, eviscerated flesh, the blood washing over her paws in a red tide, reaching up, strangling the life out of her- the one at fault. Your fault. YOUR FAULT.
She can't even choke out a scream-
-before she detaches once more.
She walks over to the body, left out to rot, barely identifiable. When she has distanced herself from the scene at hand, when some time has gone by and her entire mind can come together again without shattering, she will remember exactly who the wolf was. A proper memorial will be hosted, she knows that much is necessary. For now, however, it's best to bury the fallen wolf before scavengers can come by and feast on the body.
Digging a hole large enough for the wolf, Rin then cautiously lowers the wolf's body into the grave. Scrubbing the blood and gore out of the grass can be attended to later, and in the meantime it will serve as a useful reminder to anyone who comes by this part of the border. Packing a layer of dirt over the wolf slowly, gently even, Rin glances in the direction of the blood trail. It can't have been that long since the attacker left, she figures.
Planting a small stick in the dirt to mark the grave's location and dipping her head, she then starts following the trail of blood. There's a river in this direction, she remembers that much. Hopefully the attacker hasn't already crossed it.
Re-attaching, she knows, can wait.
It was an uncomfortably warm night for a patrol.
Even considering that it was nighttime, and that their high altitudes mitigated the summer's heat some, the atmosphere felt thick, humid, stifling. Maybe, had she not been plagued by paranoia for this long, she might have suspected that this was an ill omen. As it were, it seemed to be just another dark night, twisted by her mind into something horrifying.
If only it had stayed that way.
The smell of blood, the sound of far-off chomping and chewing and gnashing, the general sense of something being horribly wrong, all collided headfirst with Rin's consciousness. Startled awake, she bolted towards the border, her mind flooding with all manner of worst-case scenarios- worst-case scenarios that, in her experience, were the most likely scenarios. If she didn't get there in time, if she didn't save them, if she couldn't save them-
-she arrived just in time to see a trail of blood, leading in the attacker's direction, away from- from-
The snow leopard hung there, silent, shrouded in white and red- none of it able to hide the viscera, dripping down from shredded, eviscerated flesh, the blood washing over her paws in a red tide, reaching up, strangling the life out of her- the one at fault. Your fault. YOUR FAULT.
She can't even choke out a scream-
-before she detaches once more.
She walks over to the body, left out to rot, barely identifiable. When she has distanced herself from the scene at hand, when some time has gone by and her entire mind can come together again without shattering, she will remember exactly who the wolf was. A proper memorial will be hosted, she knows that much is necessary. For now, however, it's best to bury the fallen wolf before scavengers can come by and feast on the body.
Digging a hole large enough for the wolf, Rin then cautiously lowers the wolf's body into the grave. Scrubbing the blood and gore out of the grass can be attended to later, and in the meantime it will serve as a useful reminder to anyone who comes by this part of the border. Packing a layer of dirt over the wolf slowly, gently even, Rin glances in the direction of the blood trail. It can't have been that long since the attacker left, she figures.
Planting a small stick in the dirt to mark the grave's location and dipping her head, she then starts following the trail of blood. There's a river in this direction, she remembers that much. Hopefully the attacker hasn't already crossed it.
Re-attaching, she knows, can wait.
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