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Adrenaline pulsed through her veins, pumping with each frantic heartbeat that thrummed within her ribs. A cascade of emotions flashed within her wide, frenzied eyes - anger, shock, and fear. Gone was the confidence she'd felt in battle, replaced only with the impending knowledge that she would very well die on this battlefield.
Every way she turned, another face with teeth hungry for her blood. Wolves she had never seen before seeking to end her life. And then Arran was there... Regret blossomed in her chest, spreading rapidly as her body erupted in such bright pain, bones caving and shattering under the force of a much larger wolf than she, as her world went dark. Nightmares plagued the coma Orlaith was involuntarily placed in. The faces of those who intended to harm her chasing her endlessly as she tried to get away. But as hard as she tried to run, somehow they managed to keep up. They lunged, teeth scraping at her skin. Blood welled, but she felt nothing. Nothing but such intense, debilitating fear. Perhaps to those in the conscious world, they would find the woman whimpering in her slumber. Her ears would press against her bloody skull, face pinching in terror and panic. Her body was incredibly battered. Blood was caked into her earthen furs, covering more of her than what was still clean. Where there wasn't her own blood, there was others or mud or who knows what else. Bones weren't just broken, but shattered underneath bruised and torn flesh. Thankfully, she was unconscious as Arran unlovingly drug her around. Her name was yelled at her, and she awoke with a sudden gulp of air. It left her lungs as a scream; the first image registering in her bloodshot eyes being the visage of her blasted brother. Lips, dry and cracked and bloody, curled over stained teeth as she lunged upwards at his face. It was reactive, a decision she didn't even think about, but her body could not perform. If anything, he would easily be able to deflect her. Still, the fury bubbled within her and brightened her hazy eyes. And then a shudder rocked her form, her muscles quivering uncontrollably as the agony of the aftermath from battle set in. The last moments flashed as blurry images in her head, and she tried to curl into herself, to escape her mind and reality. She had no energy to hear whatever argument Arran wanted to start. She didn't care about his righteous bullshit, especially not now. |
table ; bunny |
Adrenaline pulsed through her veins, pumping with each frantic heartbeat that thrummed within her ribs. A cascade of emotions flashed within her wide, frenzied eyes - anger, shock, and fear. Gone was the confidence she'd felt in battle, replaced only with the impending knowledge that she would very well die on this battlefield.
Every way she turned, another face with teeth hungry for her blood. Wolves she had never seen before seeking to end her life. And then Arran was there... Regret blossomed in her chest, spreading rapidly as her body erupted in such bright pain, bones caving and shattering under the force of a much larger wolf than she, as her world went dark. Nightmares plagued the coma Orlaith was involuntarily placed in. The faces of those who intended to harm her chasing her endlessly as she tried to get away. But as hard as she tried to run, somehow they managed to keep up. They lunged, teeth scraping at her skin. Blood welled, but she felt nothing. Nothing but such intense, debilitating fear. Perhaps to those in the conscious world, they would find the woman whimpering in her slumber. Her ears would press against her bloody skull, face pinching in terror and panic. Her body was incredibly battered. Blood was caked into her earthen furs, covering more of her than what was still clean. Where there wasn't her own blood, there was others or mud or who knows what else. Bones weren't just broken, but shattered underneath bruised and torn flesh. Thankfully, she was unconscious as Arran unlovingly drug her around. He approached her, closer this time, despite her rude greeting. His eyes bore into hers, full of judgement and almost.. confusion. She stared back at him, unwilling to flinch under his gaze. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She wanted to scoff. He walked around her, and she watched as all she could think of was how disgusting he was. He made himself to be all hoity-toity, as if him being in the army somehow made him better than her. As if those suppressors were honourable, as if King Adamh was fair to all. She should have laughed, but she didn't have the energy. Did he honestly believe she was fighting for Jacob? She watched, in silence, as he spoke his wrong observations. She watched, and noted the limp - though it was slight - that caused him to not look as invincible as he thought he was. However, despite all her strong, unbridled feelings at this very moment, she couldn't find it in herself to argue again. And this realization almost made her more angry - he was here, all prim and proper, forcing her into a situation she couldn't physically match him with. He drug her to the border and now spewed his word vomit, expecting her to actually understand, to what, see his side?! Orlaith worked herself up within her own mind, frustrated and angry and furious and and and-- Then he knocked his forehead into hers, like they had done when they'd just learned how to wobble to each other. The memory came to the forefront of her mind, fresh as if it were yesterday. And all of the rage melted away, if only for a few moments. So the baby sister leaned into her brothers touch, breaking down the walls of hurt. She soaked in his warmth for what felt like the first time in years; allowed the tears to brim along the edges of her brilliantly blue eyes. They glistened like fresh struck jewels as she looked up at him, her bottom lip quivering as she struggled to find something, anything to say. But nothing came. The words could wait - she relished in this moment, in feeling like she had a big brother again (Gwydion was fantastic, of course, but she missed the protection she used to feel as a pup with Arran). She was terrified that it would be fleeting. Orlaith was quiet, listening to him without immediately rebutting with any retort she could think of. Her body ached; wounds oozed her life fluid and she briefly wondered if she was dying. Her heart quickened at the thought of her pups, of Elias, of her mother. But she forced herself to think about the question asked of her. She knew the truth, but would he accept it? |
table ; bunny |