[ P ] celebrate the reckless

Outside of the dungeons, tension was carving Rionnach in half. But within them, Fig felt a sense of unity unlike anything she'd experienced in her two short years of life. Anger and unrest electrified the atmosphere. The still, moist air, which would have otherwise felt cloying, was addictive, as if she could taste the solidarity just by opening her mouth. Words spoken in hushed, foreign languages melded with open dissent. Snarls erupted when the guards made their rounds. Wolves who would never have crossed paths were shoulder-to-shoulder facing what was now a common enemy.

Fig had no sway by either king, but this felt like a step in the right direction. For too long had monarchy and corporal punishment ruled these lands. Laws bound wolves like shackles being tightened around their ankles, laws that kept the hierarchy in tact. Laws that assigned wealth, status, and freedom, the latter of which was the most grievous wrong. What right did a corporal or a king have to dictate her position in life? What right did they have to give and take autonomy from another living soul? Her lips curled just thinking about the injustice of it all, but she quickly silenced it.

Regardless of the electric intensity emanating from the wolf-shaped tempest, Fig's eyes were never so bright. They lit in the gloom, brilliant suns in an eternal twilight. She was done resting.

Pain flared in every motion, but it was becoming more tolerable day by day. She couldn't bear to stand yet, but she could shuffle across the floor if she ignored the scent of piss and shit. As she wriggled her way slowly to the bars, she peered across into the only other cell she could see into, trying to discern who was residing within. Valois hadn't even been in the courtroom, which meant his sorry ass had tucked tail and ran, and though she had seen Gwydion, she didn't think he was anywhere nearby either.

Curious and eager to set her plans in motion, Fig called out, "Would you fight for a king or yourself?" She knew it was a risky question- there were staunch Jacobites prepared to lay their lives down for his cause surrounding her, and Imperial soldiers making rounds- but she wasn't afraid. That was an emotion Fig just didn't feel. Instead her voice was bold and confident, though still hushed. She didn't want the guards overhearing and extending her recovery time.

@Willow

table ; bunny

The days and the nights were all the same down in the dungeon, far removed from the sunshine, the moonlight, the fresh air and spring flowers… the darkness was unending, the stench overwhelming, and meals in short supply. It was all part of their punishment. That’s what they said, anyway, but the Lowlander girl couldn’t trust any of the guards or their ilk. Willow longed for an outside world that continued on, despite the plight of the prisoners. And for what? So the so-called king could make an example out of them?


Mostly, she slept, or talked in quiet voices to her cellmate. Today, she was staring outside of her cage. Suddenly, bright eyes, golden as sunflowers, stared at Willow from across the way, sights alight despite their grim surroundings. The girl looked so small – not just because of her diminutive stature, but because she looked like she was scarcely old enough to be in a place like this. Willow doubted that the other had even reached adulthood, only to experience imprisonment…


But before Willow’s bleeding heart could ache with the pain of another’s suffering, the stranger spoke up in a surprisingly self-assured voice: "Would you fight for a king or yourself?" Willow blinked, a sudden flurry of concern fluttering through her core as she anticipated the cruel guards to overhear and add more punishment to their sentences. Her eyes flicked in their direction, but no one seemed to be paying much attention to their unlucky guests.


After a few silent, thoughtful seconds, Willow responded in a similarly hushed voice, but a voice that lacked the same resounding confidence that the younger wolfess possessed. ”I fight for the ones who can’t fight for themselves.” Vivid green eyes shimmered with the threat of tears. But Willow was tired of the despair they had been plunged into. Her visage was sincere as she continued: ”The ones – all of the wolves who don’t have enough, and have never had enough.”


@”fig”

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

That sunflower stared lit with delight. I fight for the ones who can't fight for themselves. The wolves who never had enough. "Well said, sister." The unbreakable spirit in her wanted to stand if only to bow to this voice emanating from the shadows. Her certifiably breakable body resisted. So much so, she had to settle on just a bow of her ash-and-flame head, though Fig promised herself to do better once she was able again. Moments where she encountered like-minded wolves like this were rare. They deserved the proper respect.

With the camaraderie established between them, Fig shimmied closer to wedge her muzzle between the bars. It did little other than highlight her eagerness. "Do you intend to fight when you get out of here?" Whispers of unrest were still circulating Rionnach it seemed, and they had infiltrated these solid stone walls. It was a sign that the world outside was just as angry as the world within these walls. Fig had no interest in the alleged war- but it would serve as a distraction. If a draft really was drawing all able bodied wolves to subdue the uprising, that meant fewer foes to stand in her way. Phase two could soon begin.

table ; bunny