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Prompt 8: The Cougar and the Crane

"Treachery!" Cockerel shrieked as the serpent emerged from the egg. He was upset at himself for being fooled, but ran away quickly instead of fighting it. It wasn't the only one around, and although he thought he could battle one, he could not take them all. Sometimes, it was smarter to flee.

He was so pissed at himself for being tricked by the feathered serpent. In fact, he was really also upset that he even accepted the mysterious doe's quest. This entire ordeal was one confusing disappointment after another.

Cockerel didn't feel brave. He felt foolish. It was a terrible feeling, and it shook his usual overbearing swagger. Then as he turned, he saw him.

There he was, the kin that destroyed his entire family with fire. He had killed his teacher, and took away everything Cockerel loved in life.

Already frustrated, Cockerel couldn't contain himself. All the lessons he had learned about control and discipline were swept from his mind. THIS was the cause of all of his problems. THIS thing before him was all he hated. THIS was the exact time he had been waiting for. It was time for his revenge.

Cockerel let out a wordless scream. It was primal and ugly, a force of unbound emotion. And he charged the thing in the world that he hated most.

As Web continued on, there was a terrible screeching noise behind him. He glanced back only once to see the feathered serpents, farther behind him then he expected, but still closer then he'd like. It seemed some kin had taken talking eggs; had there been more then one? He couldn't be sure anymore. This whole dream-world was strange and he felt little was making any sense anymore.

So he did the only sensible thing one could do when faced with a hoard of feathered serpents chasing foolish kin who were leading them this way.

He ran like a scared foal.

Maybe later retellings of the story would see Web valiantly slaying the beasts and saving the foolish kin- or most of them. Some tragedy was good in a story. Revisions could be thought of later when he wasn't running for his life.

But eventually he stopped, coming to a field of flowers. He slowed down and listened. No talking this time. And no pesky gnats tickling his ears to guide him. What was he to-

That's when he noticed a large cat, a cougar actually, attacking the crane. He felt at first a sadness, and the a slowly rising anger as he watched the fight. He was angry for a lot of things. The mystery doe who sent him on this journey, that maze that may have trapped him forever had he not met the kindly doe within, the talking flowers, the bugs, the fighting toma, and now this cat attacking one of the most sacred animals of the swamp?

Tangled Web had had enough and he let out a frustrated cry.

What's the matter?

Looking, Web saw a kindly looking doe. He knew her, right? Was she part of the tribe? No no there were only 4 others of yet. Maybe he'd met her in his travels outside this dream? Had they shared stories? Yes, that had to be it.

"You would not believe me if I told you. I have quite the tale to tell." For a moment, his anger ebbed.

Your stories are as worthless as you are.

There was a new voice. Tangled Web spun quickly and stared at a buck. He too, looked familiar. His pelt was yellow and striped and he had wild hair.

I should have thrown you into the swamp. I knew you wouldn't become anything great.

Tangled Web huffed at that. He knew this buck. They looked enough alike for him to surmise this was his father, though he'd never actually met him.

"Not become anything great? I'll have you know I can come up with a story that's been passed down in our family for minutes faster then most kin can tell a bold faced lie!" That's right. Web was the best bullshit artist the swamp had ever seen! ...Right? "I'll become a legend of the swamp. The best storyteller, I will teach all the kin our histories and legends!"

Don't make me laugh. You're worthless. Worthless and WEAK!

Web had had enough of this buck and suddenly lashed out, rearing back to bring his hooves down onto this... naysayer! He was starting to unleash all his fury at everything this dream had caused to build up in him. He lashed out, much like he wanted to lash out at the cougar to save the crane. Hooves beating down teeth gnashing, and eyes clouding with tears of frustration.

Prompt 8: The Cougar and the Crane

Nursing the searing wound on his shoulder, Endless felt something he'd never felt in a dream; old. He felt busted and old and tired and worn and it bothered him. This was normally his domain, a special place where he could sometimes catch fleeting glimpses of things other kin would never see or ever remember. But this dream was different. It was controlling him, yanking him down a path by the antler and he resented it. Damn that white doe, damn her to the deepest pits of the swamp in the summer when the mosquito swarm.

A buzzing filled his ears and turns to his left. The white doe is there, standing next to him, smirking. A growl rumbled in his chest and he turns swiftly, trying to whip his tail across the doe's face. It passes through as the doe's head, or rather the massive swarm of white bugs that made up her head. They buzzed angrily at being attacked but come together and formed the pretty creature's face again. Then she began to laugh mockingly, cruelly. Laughing at his conflicts, his poor choices, his pain. With a angry snarl he lashed out at her again. And again. And again.

Does he balk? Isn’t he fast enough? His rage is still there and it lends him strength. But here, in this violent dreamscape, it isn’t enough. It tangles his mind, makes him quiver uselessly with the torrent of emotions and even as he shoves, bites and fights… he is overwhelmed.

Killing Moon bellows as he dies. Something inside him breaks and shatters and before his time is done, he looks up and sees the buck for who he truly is. It doesn’t matter. If given the chance he will tear out his throat anyway. If he can just get up…

But he can’t. He is done, broken and bleeding and now…

.. awake.

The Killing Moon blinks slowly, eyes adjusting to the grey light of dawn. The anger from his dream lingers for a moment and then is gone after he studies it closely and shoves it down, deep and far away. He feels sullied and dirty from the experience.

The dream is already a haze but there are also bright memories; a face here, a voice there. He groans softly and hears a whine in reply. “Echo,” he calls as he pushes upright. “Let’s go take a bath.”

[Exit post! Good luck guys!]

PROMPT 9: THE WHITE KNIGHT

It was easy for the rage to reassert itself when her twin's face melted away to reveal another. It was easy to close her eyes and go for the through even though the other kin was kicking and biting and screaming at her, trying to live. She laughed, throwing her voice to the wind, happy and scared. She pummeled the other kin until he was unrecognizable, anything to not have to face herself and the end of this dream, anything to be able to breath without that pain in her chest again.

"It's just a dream," she spat, spiteful, at the dead kin. She stepped back and shook herself, trying to reassert the fit of her skin over her bones. Though he had managed to get a few solid hits in, she was fine. It did not matter, his death was not on her hooves because it was a dream. They would all wake up and, because she needed it to be, it would all melt away.

She did not join the kin at the pool washing away the blood. She didn't need to. The blood was a badge, a warning. So she walked on.

The sudden appearance of a zikwa could not even serve as a surprise. The dream just kept throwing things her way; she could not simple walk in peace. In some ways, it was a relief though. With him there, she could focus on his frailty, his story, instead of her own. On they walked as she listened to his increasingly implausible tale. She could not find it in herself to turn him away though; he did not seem to mind the stench of blood.

Then he got stuck. Her first instinct was to run but then she felt something familiar, a mixture of mockery and love, something that appeared as her gaze slid over the zikwa and his frailty reminded her of a different buck, one who was a touch too familiar, like a dream. She stood, frozen, for a long time and though the feeling faded, she could not think of a good enough reason to not help him. It didn't matter. It was only a dream.

"Stay still," she commanded, no entitlement in her voice this time, only resignation. She approached to help him out.

PROMPT 8: Resolution

Suddenly the acha strikes back, only it’s no longer the dark eyed phantom but a buck of striking yellow and green. Her anger drains away as the other’s blows come in hard and fast, breaking her body beneath his hooves and teeth.

She tries to cry out but she’s so weak and in so much pain. Her blood is everywhere and she feels with certainty that she can’t possibly survive his. The final blow is coming, she can feel it baring down on her, resigned, she has a mere moment to contemplate what death will be like before she finds herself abruptly awake.

Fair Thought is very still for the longest him. She’s sure, this time, that this is where she had fallen asleep. It had been a dream. Finally, some time later, she allows herself a hesitant sigh of relief. Thank the Motherfather, it was only a dream.

Pulling herself to her feet, her legs shook and her breathing hitched, almost expecting her body to collapse beneath her, but it stayed strong, not broken or bloody. It would be a long day.

It has only been a dream.