[ P ] Gauze

The day of the protest had started like any other. She'd woken up early, early enough to beat the sun. It was her way of sneaking around the house before Hinata woke up. So she checeked her secret stash of money—ensured it added up to the same amount it had the previous night—before slipping out into the hazy hour before dawn. She then spent that lonely, quiet time searching for fresh herbs to harvest before returning home and gathering her wares. Now, she felt established. She knew the proprieters next to her and had started trading goods with them. While the thought of giving away anything for free had stung at first, she now saw the value in it. They saved a spot for her and helped to keep an eye on thieves and other shady characters slinking by. And, when the fighting broke out, they had pulled her out of the fray before she could risk her life for rare roots. ... For the first time since arriving in Rionnach, Sakura had taken the morning off. She had not wanted to see the market or the carnage the protestors and soldiers had left behind. By afternoon, however, she could no longer stand to stay in bed. It made her feel like her dead-beat brother. With trepidation sinking like a stone in her stomach, Sakura had ventured toward the market street in Rionna. Rather than beeline there, she took a more circuitous route. When at last she arrived, her heart constricted. There was dust and debris everywhere. Blood splatters still stained the stone and—as she approached the threadbare blanket she'd once been so proud of, she stared down at it hollowly. Crimson now stained it too. Her ginger roots were nowhere to be seen. ... She would have cried if this had happened a year ago. Now, she just stared. The sound of pawsteps caused her to look up. Her eyes widened then when she saw him. Hurt, rough around the edges, but alive. Yet he still looked positively stunning. Ears perking, she trotted toward the soldiers, slowing only when she was close so that her approach didn't trigger their fighting instincts. Odds were, they were jumpy after everything they'd just gone through. "Arran—!" She called lightly, notes of happiness in her voice. It had been a while since she'd seen him. Already, approximately two seasons had passed since they'd bonded in the pumpkin patch and named their newfound pets together. "the stars have melted to become your crown."

art & table ☓ bunny

@Arran

"Weep, little lion man..."

The protests were fresh in everyone’s mind and so too in many a body. It marked a change in the political climate. It would forever be etched into their shared histories. However, even those who fought or protested or fled alongside one another would have a different tale to tell. Some would come traditionally on the tongue and others would surface like scars on the skin.

Emotional and physical wounds clung to the soldiers who were able to continue to perform their duties. Today was a day of recovery, of reassessment. For it was a new dawn and everything that had occurred before was just as it was, history. Sometimes it was better for it to stay that way. It hurt less.

The little lion man limped alongside his true brothers and sisters, those of the Imperial army. They had not yet time to discuss what had transpired individually. It shrouded them in a melancholic state. Each tortured in their own way. Each haunted by what had transpired.

Arran was no different in that regard. He had oft relived the events since they occurred. An incessant replay looped within his minds eye. The flash of Nassar at his side. The images of Gwydion clashing against her. The feeling of chasing after Orlaith. The pain of the punishments he endured by both she and the ebon nobody. Or at least that’s who he was reminiscent of, Rue Nobody.

A heaving sigh wracked his aching form at the notions. The very idea that those soldiers who walked with him now were more his kin than his own birthright siblings as well as the idea that perhaps it would be better if the pair of them were simply nobodies too.

The familiarity of the market had the russet crowned Kinnaird prince awash with new emotions. Muddled sentiments that he waded through with as much difficulty as his actual state of mobility. Emerald eyes squeezed shut as he worked to transform those memories which had rushed back upon coming to this place.

Replace the known with the nobody and transfix on what was worth recalling, remembering, reminiscing. Yet he dared not look. No, he couldn’t bear the thought of it. Not just the silent ache for her, for the lowly peasant femme who had secretly enraptured him but so too the horrific realization that she may have been here for it all. She very well may be dead.

Swallowing hard past the knot constricting his throat, past the bruises and punctures of his neck, Arran forced himself to open his eyes. Forced himself to not glance toward the blanket, to not search the ground for a single damned root.

So focused was he on this personal task that he heavily relied on the others to be his senses. He was admittedly weakened in so many meanings of the very word. Alas, movement still beckoned his attention and the quick turn in that direction had him grimacing. Hind limb screaming and neck throbbing.

To add insult to injury after injury after injury, the sneer of displeasure reopened the deep lacerations on his muzzle and lower lip. The crimson bead that dotted the dirty path seemed to stare up at him with the same allure as the very eyes of… Sakura!

The sound of his own name upon her maw, rolling off the foreign lilt of her tongue was bittersweet. The relief he felt in knowing she survived was overshadowed by the pending judgement of his brethren. It would be a fine line to walk but he was slowly mastering how.

“Sss… shouldn't! You shouldn’t be here. The market is off limits to civilians at this time.”

He caught himself, for he dared not say her name. He wished not to be judged for his association to her. A cursory glance to those around him and yet none seemed moved by the simple interaction. It was what he had hoped for as he moved toward her with purpose. Arran’s bloodied muzzle firmly nudging her shoulder towards a side street, out of view.

“I’ll escort you out.”

Another somewhat emboldened push against her but this time with his broad chest. He hoped she could not feel his heart about to beat right out of its cage. He wondered if she’d understand.

table by rae - image by ashon

@Sakura

The soldier had become a fixture in her fantasies as of late. When she woke up early in the morning, she envisioned Arran waking up to patrol. She liked to think that their paws were passing over the same paths in spirit if not in person. Once she arrived at the market, she'd picture him returning to the barracks. The wolves that greeted her were customers and friendly sellers whilst he had comrades and superiors to speak with. Their lives were different but they were linked. At least she liked to think so. He had offended her greatly at first. His choice of the word peasant had inspired her first act of self-advocacy in this country. While it had left an undeniably sour taste in her mouth, she now saw it as a painful but necessary experience. Not that his hand in it had been forgotten. Just forgiven. Of course, he had been a bit unnervingly violent in the pumpkin patch. Full of growls and sharp turns as he had chased her between the corn stalks. It was only when the denizens within the maze—actors or true yōkai she wasn't sure—turned on them did he begin to shift his prideful anger away from her. In those brief snippets of peace, Sakura had come to appreciate his work ethic. She found his blustery nature somewhat cute and saw his quick temper as a knee-jerk reaction to uphold all of the status that he had thus far built. Sakura understood that. She'd snapped at Hinata enough times to know the guilt that came of such actions, too. In seeing herself in him, she simultaneously assumed that he felt that same remorse. Which, in her naive heart, meant that she didn't really need him to express it. So long as she felt it was there she could forgive him. Which was why she greeted him with such warmth as if he had truly been there walking side by side with her for so many months. ... Did his emerald gaze soften slightly when he saw her? Was he happy? Sakura greedily searched his expression for signs of similar excitement but quickly deflated when his response was strained. "I know, I was worried about you," she answered, her left ear drooping slightly. Sakura followed his gaze back to the other soldiers but thought little of it. He was likely just checking to see if they were bothered by her appearance here. Perhaps if they had been, Arran might have helped protect her and explain away her ignorance. When his bloodied muzzle brushed against her shoulder, she felt both sympathy for him, pride in his work, and a rush of warmth that washed away her brief disappointment in his distance. He was working, it made sense that he'd be brisk. And he was escourting her out all the same. Did that not make her somewhat special? "I can help you if you like," Sakura offered, doing her best to sound neutral. "I know a seller of medicinal herbs. She'd give me some if I asked, she's not too far from here." In truth, she wanted to flex some of her knowledge for him. Maybe then he would respect her too. "It would be a shame if those protestors left a permanent mark on you." "the stars have melted to become your crown."

art & table ☓ bunny

@Arran