Nurse Trixie
(( Nima! Glee!))
Achilles perked his ears at the sound of approaching footsteps. They were clumsy and akward, making him think another human had gotten lost in the forest. Dropping his jerkey, he got up and raced forward, down the river, telling the kits to <stay there!> He thought it foolish to bring so many kits along, but they wanted to help. He couldn't stop them all.
He reached out with his mind, trying to figure out who was out there. He picked up on an animal signature, and found that it was another Quivoux. The Demon? he wondered, his hackles rising. He quickened his steps and raced forward, growling in chalenge. He would not let these kits die if he could help it.
He darted around a tree, and came upon the creature. Its coat was blazing with fire, and he hesitated. Had he had seen those colours before, a long time ago? <Who are you?> he asked the Quivous in challenge. He did not look like the danger, but any unnanounced visitors would not be tolerated... not in these dangerous times.
((sorry but Achilles is paranoid>< wink )
<Who are you?> Nima echoed the thoughtphrase uncertaintly, testing it out. He scuffled at the dried leaves and nuts below him with a scraped and bloody forefoot, shifting suddenly as he accidentally pressed the pinpricks of thorny pain even deeper into his paw than they had been before.
<Who am I?> His voice was high and lonely, the vowels slurring into each other like tapioca pudding. <Who am I? What a question to ask.>
Another pause and Nima pondered the forest floor, glancing up at Achilles with the swift, unexpected movement of the prey observing its predator. Deciding that the other...creature...wouldn't be satisfied with no answer at all, he elaborated--<There are many answers to such a question, you know.>
Delicately, unobstrusively, he lifted a forepaw to his mouth, picking away tiny burrs with sharp teeth, licking his hurt limb soothingly. Putting the paw back onto the ground, he spat a few barbs to the side, expertly hitting a small bushy plant. His muzzle was now ringed with blood.
<I do not care to give an answer. You may call me whatever you want. It doesn't matter, anyway.> With that, the depressed Quivous curled up on the ground, tucking his tail away by his snout. Perhaps the Other Creature would leave; perhaps he, Nima, would be able to garner a few quick snatches of sleep. Perhaps he could relax, alone, and ponder life with this new lense of sadness he'd gained, and maybe one day his thorns would erode and fall out, leaving behind new skin and faint thorn-scars, or perhaps they would dig in forever more. Pain was necessary for an existance, he mused to himself, and thus it should be coveted. To an extent.
To an extent. Once more he began to pluck at the thorns, irrate.
