[ P ] Don't Leave Me

The blood was drying now. His own, and the blood from others.
It warped the taste in his mouth into something bitter and metallic. He could feel where his fur had matted with it and, as he ran, it was difficult to avoid stepping into pools of it.

There was so much... carnage. Dust had been kicked up, cobblestones had been shattered. Carts overturned, stalls splintered. Many wolves had deserted, yet some still laid on the ground. Alive, most of them. He hoped. He didn't stop to check. There was only one person on his mind.

Belfast raced through the throng, unsure of where to go. He checked the middle of the street where the worst of the fighting had been but she wasn't there. Then he raced by the square but, no, not there either. Oh so quickly he was beginning to run out of places to check.

She's okay, she has to be, was the thought that rose within the back of his brain. I'm okay and I know less than half of what she does. But he had also been fighting with a clearly deft and capable soldier. Xandria would have been more the type to take on risks and throw herself into harm's way for others. Not foolishly but... selflessly. But she has to be fine.

Maybe she was just checking in arrests near the castle wall?

Belfast sprinted by, attempting to draw as little attention to himself as he could. Without the sandy soldier or the spotted she-wolf to vouch for him, he was afraid of being apprehended as a protestor. It was one of his fewer concerns. Arrest only bothered him because it'd keep him from knowing if she was okay...

... No.
No that couldn't be her, carefully tucked near the castle wall and out of harm's way.
Not her, there on the ground with dust lightening her underbelly.
Not Xandira, with eyes closed and blood quickly congealing in barely-scabbed wounds.

... Belfast tripped.
He didn't look to see over what or who before staggering back to his paws and walking toward her.

There was a mound of stones. Not unlike what the castle walls were made of. Each had been carefully arranged and flowers had been laid upon it. When Anaca moved a stone, it rolled away to reveal his mother's brown fur. Brown... barely a shade different from Xandria's.

He had found his mother's grave with his sister.

His stomach pitched and he felt the urge to retch there and then into the street.

...

"Xandria," he whispered but his voice was dry. It cracked as he approached her, steps slowing before he forced himself to speed up.

She wasn't buried yet. This wasn't a grave yet.

When he was close, he pulled her into his grasp, turquoise eyes desperately searching her face for signs of life. "Xan... Xan please tell me you're okay..."

His voice began to shake and his vision began to blur as he cradled her there, amidst the dust and blood.

Amidst the wreckage.

@Xandria

Light bloomed over heavy lidded eyes before being eclipsed by a dark shadow. She thought she heard a voice whispering her name, tugging at the frayed threads of consciousness and pulling her back from her dreamless sleep. Warmth wrapped around her aching body and for a moment she thought it was Anubis himself carrying her away to judge her heart. No. She wasn't ready to go. Her body stirred, brow wrinkling as she let out a small groan. The piercing brightness filled her squinted sticky eye and a blurry brown shape came into view. She recognised his smell before his face. Belfast.

Half her sight was still dark and swollen shut. The muscles twitched in protest as she tried to force it open, pain flaring through her face like knives cutting through her flesh. A hiss of pain escaped through clenched teeth and she quickly gave up on opening it. Tilting her head and looking at him through her healthy eye, she could finally make out his features. He looked… broken "B-Bel," she rasped, his name scraping through her throat like shards of glass. "You… You're okay," Xandria sighed in relief, raising a shaky paw to gently touch his face. Was he worried about her? Guilt squeezed her heart like a clenched fist. She tried to push herself up to show him there was nothing to worry about. "I-I'm f-" fine she broke off as a wave of dizziness and weakness caused her to flop back down. A soft growl rumbled in her throat, angry that she was so weak and helpless.

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She moved. By the stars, she moved! At first, he hadn't noticed the first twitch of life. He'd been so consumed with the gut wrenching loss that left him unmoored. In one fell swoop, the sight of her had caused all of his walls to topple. No longer was the trauma of seeing his mother's dead body oh-so-carefully bottled up. Now, that glass lay shattered and he rocked back and forth with no knowledge of how to go on. No sense of what to do. What left there was in.

But then her shifting became more obvious and he lost his breath. He stared at her, gaze without its usual defenses of dry humor and self-sacrifice. Instead, he took her in—wholly, greedily, compeltely. Desperate for proof that he wasn't imagining each movement just because he wanted her to be alive so badly.

When one golden eye stared up at him, Belfast let out a long, shuddering breath. Her other eye was swollen and blood had caked around the lid. She was scarred, dusty, dirty, and simultaneously the most beautiful creature he'd ever beheld in his life.

"B-Bel," came her voice and he pulled her slightly closer, eyes searching her face as he leaned closer to listen.
"You… You're okay..."

The irony of it tugged an unconscious laugh from him. It was a weak, quiet thing, but it shook him from the numbness that had settled in his bones. With a small shake of his head and shoulders, Belfast nodded. His paws were still shaking but his thoughts were beginning to string together more coherently again. Every time he touched her, however, he was shocked by the warmth of her.

His mother had been so cold by contrast.

"Shh," Belfast murmured as she flinched from the pain of trying to speak. "You sound terrible," was his soft whisper, hints of mirth in his tone. But he still sounded quite raw.

"I need to get you up and out of here. We're by the castle wall... the protest is thinning out. I can hear only a little of it left. Blink once if I need to drag you to a military medicine den. Blink twice if you think I should drag you to the old apothecary."


@Xandria

The thick fog of semi-consciousness swirled inside her mind. It would be all too easy for her to sink into the darkness again and rest the aching heaviness in her limbs. Instead she focused on Belfast's gentle chocolate features and his kind turquoise eyes. They were like a calm ocean that she could lose herself in. His face came closer when she spoke and his beautiful eyes drew her in. Had they always been so bright? She knew they hadn't changed. It was her heart that was finally recognising the dormant romantic feelings she had for him.

She felt his paws shaking as he held her and her brow trembled with the urge to frown. The tight swollen flesh around her right eye pulsed with pain reminding her that even expressions could be painful. Lifting her head, she offered him the only comfort that she could think of since words were off limits, a lopsided half smile. See? I'm fine,

"Shh. You sound terrible," She narrowed her eye at him and then sighed, begrudgingly holding her tongue for the moment. It took far too much energy to speak those few words and her throat felt like sandpaper after. He gave her the option of where he would take her for treatment and she was far too tired to be stubborn about it. One blink. Her family would be able to find her if she went to a military medicine den. There was no need to cause them undue worry as much as she would have preferred the privacy of the apothecary.
.

Art by Bunny

Her small smile was not half so encouraging as she might have hoped for, but Belfast did his best to smile back. While hers had been strained by pain, his was weak from exhaustion. Somewhat physical in nature but, in truth, predominantly mental. He was unmoored. The careful dam he'd built against the traumas of his childhood had finally splintered. What was left was a sea of confusion—and one last tether to sanity.

One blink. Or wink, rather, given that only one eye could move.
"Very well—write to me from jail if you can," was his dry response. With hints of humor coming back, he sinked into autopilot. Ever so gingerly, he lifted Xandria up, careful to lay her gently over his left shoulder. Without someone else to help move her, it'd be a bumpy ride, but he was determined to do his best. At least she had no gaping wounds that posed a risk of excessive bloodloss during transit.

...
...

No one had arrested him—yet.
They'd questioned his motives seconds after taking Xandria from his hands. He'd done his best to field their inquisition, likely with Xandria's help here and there. After it was all said and done, he'd received some aid as well. Ointment was now drying on various puncture wounds he'd sustained while helping the sandy soldier and the white one.

"I... should probably be leaving. Your mom might arrive at any second."

Or any member of the Tiamat hoard, really.

Nassar frightened him in many ways, but one of the greatest ones was her ability to produce a menagerie of children. Belfast's parents had barely been able to cobble together a litter of two healthy but emotionally traumatized children. Nassar had whelped a small army and, from the outside looking in, they had all seemed... happy.

Of course he'd heard his fair share of complaints about Cairo from Xandria, especially when they'd been pups, but he had always sensed love there. Between everyone. Except, maybe, the grandmother, but she was dead now.


@Xandria

The wounded soldier felt guilty for worrying her childhood friend. Xandria didn't know what was going on beneath those brilliant ocean eyes, but she could tell that seeing her like that had deeply troubled him. When it came to her role as a soldier she didn't really think about the danger that she was putting herself in, only that she needed to protect people. It wasn't the first time she'd been wounded in a fight yet even she could tell that it was worse this time.

A soft huff was given when he told her to write to him if she could. She rolled her eye, more for his benefit than hers. It helped him to fall back into their usual banter, this she knew. Her wounds throbbed with pain when she was lifted onto his back. When did he grow so tall and broad? Her chin nestled between the blades of his shoulders and she could remember the skinny youth that he'd been, always letting her tug him around by the tail. He could have fought her on it if he'd wanted to. Her stubborn pout was only ever for his sake. "Don't sleep out in the rain You'll catch a cold," and once again her teeth gently tugged on his tail and he'd followed her back inside.

….

Tiamats did not make good patients. Xandria growled at the medic who touched her face. A sheepish apology was offered, but she could tell that the medic would never forget her rudeness. Were healers always so sensitive? She'd like to see if anyone could smile while face was burning in pain. Once the poultice was applied to her face, the damp mush of leaves began to dry into a sticky paste. The urge to wipe it off was strong enough to make her lift her paw to her face. A medic had promptly slapped it away and told her to leave it alone. A similar sticky paste was drying on her shoulder and throat where she'd taken wounds from defending Sif.

"I... should probably be leaving. Your mom might arrive at any second."

Panic surged in her chest when he mentioned leaving. She didn't want him to go. She didn't want to be alone with her thoughts and fears. What if her eye didn't heal? They couldn't tell if there was any damage to her eyeball and wouldn't be able to until the swelling went down. She knew soldiers who got by just fine with one eye, but it didn't mean she was prepared to lose hers. The eyeball was still intact, that much they could tell by feeling around her eye.

Out of habit she reached out for his tail, teeth catching a few hairs of the tip and tugging lightly. She dropped it immediately, feeling embarrassed and childish. It was something she hadn't done since they were children. "S-Sorry. You can go if you want," she sighed, not wanting to force him to do anything he didn't want to.

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Dark ears perked with surprise as he felt her teeth snag on his tailtip, the jerk sudden and gentle—a contrast to how violent it'd been when they were children. When he turned, he was caught by the sheepishness in her expression. Embarassment caused her to sit back and offer an awkward apology. As he took her in and all of the fresh wounds—especially around her eye—Belfast's heart squeezed with sympathy. And regret.

The tremor had finally left his paws approximately 30 minutes ago. His breathing had slowed to a steady pace and the sensation of being in the medical tent had finally convinced him that Xandria would live. The medics would not have fussed over her to the point of frustration if she had been in danger. That knowledge had, piece by piece, started to tuck away the memories of his mother's grave until he'd felt almost... normal.

Normal enough to fall back on old patterns of sneaking into Xandria's life and then slipping away again before her mother caught sight of him.

So normal that he hadn't stopped to think of Xandria's feelings. She'd just come to after a grizzly fight in the streets of the city she'd sworn her life to protect. She didn't know if her mother or siblings were okay. The swelling around her eye had yet to go down and he... he was about to leave her.

...

Step by step, he walked back to her side. Laying down, he gently rested his chin on her back and glanced at her sidelong. It'd been his own form of punishment when he'd been a boy. She'd drag him inside after a couple of weak protests and then, after enough tail tugs, he'd follow her in. Once inside, he'd have her read to him from her favorite books—the ones with stories of Tiamat heroes of old—while irking her with his chin on her back. She'd never loved touch, but she had suffered it from him.

"Sorry," he murmured quietly. "I won't leave you."

She could always dig him a grave by the TIamat manse so that he'd be close even after Nassar ate him.

"Wasn't there a Tiamat hero that overcame an injury to her eye?" He asked lightly, hoping that it might soothe her to think of her favorite lore.


@Xandria

Her head lowered as she sank back into her nest, exhaustion weighing her body down like stones. Xandria expected him to say goodbye and scurry away like he'd always done when her mother came home. She'd never been able to convince him that Nassar wasn't as scary as she seemed. The warmth of his chin settling against her flank and his fur pressed against hers. It reminded her of when they were children. She'd pull out one of her favourite books and act out all the scenes for him. "I'm going to be a hero one day," she'd declared to him after a particularly heroic tale that got her blood pumping, boldly sharing her dream with a puffed out chest. He hadn't laughed or mocked her for her childish dream. He'd taken her seriously just like she knew he would.

But it was also very different from when they were children. Xandria's feelings for Belfast weren't an innocent bond of friendship anymore. Sometime over the years they had developed into romantic ones and she had denied them until the risk of losing him had forced her to question her true feelings. Her heart began to race at his closeness and she was tempted to push him away so that he didn't hear it. A half-hearted nudge was all she could bring herself to do, golden eye glaring at him like she'd always done before she relented.

Sorry. I won't leave you. She let out a huff in response, too proud to admit how relieved she was to hear him say that. The tension in her body relaxed and she began to breathe easier knowing he was staying for a while longer. He began to talk about Tiamat heroes and she knew he was doing it for her benefit, but she hesitated. The wounds on her face, her eye, both could be life changing for her. She still hadn't seen how bad they were. "How bad is it?" she asked, trying and failing to keep the tremor from her voice as she turned her injured eye towards him so he could see it better. The teeth marks had left raw lacerations starting from her brow and down across her eye. What she wanted to know was… if she was disfigured. If the wounds to her eye had ruined her face. She had always taken pride in her appearance and was afraid of it being damaged beyond repair.

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Her light, half-hearted shove reminded of the good ol' days. Granted, she hadn't been so gentle as a child. To her credit, she also hadn't been littered with wounds. But at least she was closer to being the hero she'd always dreamed of being.

After a moment, what levity he found from acting out old habits began to fade. The tremor in her voice and the clear concern in her gaze caused his heart to constrict.

"How bad is it?"

He'd seen worse. He'd also seen better. What worked in her favor was that the wound was clean, not jagged. Her skin would have a better chance of knitting itself together clean. Maybe there'd be a scar, but hopefully a pale and thin one.

The wolf that had attacked her had done so without remorse or caution—a reality that made his stomach twist nauseatingly. Had the attacker's teeth been close to her throat at all—his brow creased and, before she could take that as a reflection of her appearance, he leaned forward.

Lightly, he tapped his nose against her uninjured cheek.

"It'll heal. It's already scabbing well and the swelling will only continue to go down. There could be a bit of a scar, I don't deal much with wounds after the herbs for them leave my—Alphonse's—shop, but I don't think you need to worry." His head canted to the side as he searched her face for any hint of relief.

And, for the first time in his life, he felt minorly useful to her. It gave him a flash of affection for the old man that had taken him in. It had forced him into a darker world of poisons but, as an aside, it'd given him some valuable knowledge. For that, he'd be sure to visit the man's grave and properly give his thanks.

"Worrying takes too much energy anyway."

Belfast's smile waned slightly before he glanced at the ground.
"Do you think this violence will continue?" His voice was hollow, devoid of too much feeling as if he'd just asked about the weather. But it was necessary to keep that separation or he'd start shaking again at the thought of her dying in a protest just like this one next month or next week.


@Xandria

Her golden eye focused intently on the soulful ocean gaze examining her injuries, searching for signs that her fears were confirmed. Belfast's brow creased for the briefest moment, but then it was gone in a flash. She couldn't be certain if it was a frown or a twitch due intense concentration. Normally they didn't study each other's faces in silence. He leaned forward suddenly and her ears perked up in surprise, something cold wet lightly tapped against her cheek and she blinked in surprise. A flutter danced in her stomach like a restless fish in a river, reminding her again that her heart was reading into every little touch way too much. It'll heal, he began and she felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Thank you, Doctor Moss," she playfully replied, trying to smile and realising too late that it was painful. "I'm glad I'm not going to have a face only my mother could love," she said, tone light-hearted despite the honesty in her words.

"Do you think this violence will continue?"

His monotone voice caught her by surprise and it took her a moment to reply. "Yeah… This is a sign of worse things to come," Xandria sighed, head drooping wearily. "I was actually looking for you before all this started," she admitted, remembering the urgency in which she'd left the Tiamat Manse after her discussion with her mother the previous evening. She had been planning to tell him how she'd felt. Life had a way of making everything complicated Maybe if I'd found you, you wouldn't have gotten hurt too," she sighed again, leaning over to lightly touch his side with her nose.

Art by Bunny