[Bless] Burning [Scarlet Fever/The Killing Moon]

[Ruriska]

In his dreams, he burns.

In the waking world, Scarlet Fever endures. He seeks the cool shade and the deep pools, trying to soak away the memories of the night. It never works. There’s always a coal in his belly, reminding him of the pain.

But he continues regardless, tired, haggard.

Some days are better than others.

It is rare for him to seek company. Why seek the warmth of another when you’re always on fire?

But for a little while he burns in a different way. She’s sweet and small and simple. There’s nothing complicated in who she is. And so he transfers his attention to her, if only briefly.

One day of peace.

Then another night of agony.

Scarlet Fever wanders free, his skin always itchy. He hates the sun. He hates the swamp. He’s boiling alive here.

Another day in the shade, head drooping, the remains of his last meal nearby. Darkness creeps into his vision as his body tries to rest but the sun is still up and that’s enough to keep him awake, still holding the dreams at bay.

There’s a wolf.

And a stag.

One in the same.

Scarlet Fever lifts his head and regards it steadily.

He doesn’t fear death. He never has.

But the kimeti wolf isn’t here for his life. It’s looking at him through knowing eyes, offering compassion.

Scarlet Fever laughs.

He doesn’t need that.

He doesn’t need pity or help.

The stag that is watching over him is made of fire but his flame is obviously controlled. It runs down around his face, those flickering flames of orange, utterly entrancing.

Scarlet Fever gives a low ‘oomph’ as he pushes himself up to his hooves and tries to stop his legs from shaking so hard.

“What do you want?” He asks, his voice a deep and tired rumble.

“I’ve come to offer a blessing.”

That is the answer he receives and it confuses him for a moment until - ah, the doe. Of course the Swamp would curse his one and only dalliance in years.

The wolf’s eyes glow too brightly to look at directly.

“I don’t need one,” he grunts.

The stag chuckles softly. It definitely sounds full of pity. Scarlet fever grits his teeth.

“It’s not for you. I can’t help what ails you.”

He considers that, runs his tongue across the back of his teeth where they’re clamped shut. Eventually he un-clenches his jaw and turns away, sinks back to the ground and shows the wolf his back.

“Do as you will.”

“Very well,” says the voice, somehow closer now, sending a shiver down his spine. “May they sleep well and without pain, never to burn.”

Scarlet Fever flinches.

Tension eases ever so slightly in his chest. A tiny measure of relief.

There’s the soft pad of paws and countless seconds later Fever finally turns to look back but the wolf kin is long gone. With a long sigh his eyes close and exhaustion pulls him down, back into the fire.