[ WP-004 ] Fierce Warrior

[rexcorvus]

[imgright]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... uncert.png[/imgright]

He was growing used to these dreams.

They still felt like dreams; all blurred around the edges, as though he was looking in on himself rather than being in his own body. He felt this way outside of dreams, in the waking world; continually going through the motions without actually truly understanding what it was he was going through and why he was doing it in the first place. Questions circled their way through his mind, turned over and over and over again until they lost their original shape and all he could think about was a blank, empty void where his heart had been.

Like the other dreams, too, he felt as though he had taken the journey with them, though he knew he had not. There were a scattered few faces he thought he had seen before, some from the other treks, others from merely around the Swamp. Fierce was alone again this dream, moving dreamily up the side of a mountain, tasting blood on his tongue before he realized what was happening - or what had become of the obelisk.

The fractures climbed their way up the side of the stone, broken and splintered pieces striking out in sharp, jagged points towards the sky - or towards them, Fierce didn't know. Something inside of him hurt, though he couldn't quite understand what it was (though, if he was being honest, he understood very little about himself anymore); a strange, uneven beat that thrummed in his heart as though it too was as sick as the obelisk felt to him. It was weak; he wanted to move away from it, to stay clear of it, to not go any closer than he had to. But he also wanted to go towards it and see if it could be healed; if he could give it some sort of relief.

It was not a living thing, but it felt like it, sometimes.

An outsider to the fighting, to the bloodshed, to the cold of the snow at his hooves, he did not do anything more than just stand there, watching as the kin took on their tasks with a wild sort of determination. He understood, after some time, that they were putting the obelisk back together; pieces of it were scattered across the mountain, its vicious and angry beasts defending their territory with a ferocious sort of intensity that Fierce could almost taste in the air.

He was not used to being on the side, not for fighting; he was a defender of his tribe and his children and his grandchildren; he had told himself this, many times before, and it was in his very name. He could not stand idle if he could do something, but more and more in these dreams he found himself instead doing nothing, standing alone, separated from the rest by a chasm he could not cross. He could hear their yells, their screams, the breathless sobs of those who were injured and the relieved cries at the sight of the newly restored obelisk and yet -

He could not move. Fierce's hooves were on the ground, but they were not going forward. He was not moving forward.

Where was he supposed to go from here?


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