Welcome to Gaia! ::

Fang wanted to learn to care for his planet again. His whole life, he'd been left behind by it as Chaos poisoned everything. Everyone. Starving, half-mad, nearly completely feral. But he'd been a child then, when it had started. Now... he was stronger. Better. He could trying to fix everything. He desperately wanted to. His memories of the early days were fainter now, but he knew he wanted to bring his world back. He'd heard people were doing that, and he was desperate for it. If he could bring the Chrysocyon back, he'd.... he didn't even know what he would do. Cry, likely.

He took a deep breath and turned to Michel. He couldn't bring himself to go alone still. Not yet. Being alone frightened him more than anything.

"Ready?" he asked, tilting his head as his ears twitched slightly.

Fang beamed brightly at him and took his hand, concentrating for a moment. In a blink, they stood on the planet Fang again. Immediately, Fang's shoulders tensed as he looked around. The dim light that been the norm since the original start of the fall of his planet seemed to almost choke him, but he took a deep breath and reminded himself he was safe. He could leave at any time.

darkcolddarkcolddarkcolddarkcolddarkcolddarkcold

He ground his teeth together audibly and gave a little growl deep in his throat to chase off the offending thoughts. SAFE, he countered to the voice of fear in his head. Pack. Home.

With a sharp exhale, he opened his eyes (not realizing they'd shut in fear) and looked out into the darkness again. In the barest hint of a memory, he could almost see the fields and the forests beyond in bright daylight. He wanted to bring that back.

"Thank, Michel. What look for, to fix?" he wondered, aiming to see if Michel might have thoughts about where to begin. Surely he knew more about the process than Fang did—but if he didn't have ideas, Fang did.

Fang nodded a little, also not releasing his grip on their clasped hands. It just—it felt better, having that real, physical anchor to remind him he wasn't alone anymore. he took a deep breath and tried to see if he could sense anything magical, but nothing seemed new or different from when he'd lived for so long, trying to scrounge off the dried up lands.

"Can't feel anything," he reported, opening his eyes. He tilted his head, flexing his ears to see if he could pick up on anything, but no.

He scowled into the night and sniffed the air. Smelled the same, too.

"Maybe Fang think too hard," he said with a soft sigh, dropping his head to look at the ground—and then paused.

"Fresh tracks," he gasped, pressing closer into Michel's side.

Fang grimaced, looking at Michel, and then down to the tracks again. Slowly, he knelt down and sniffed at them. A strong scent of death wafted into his nose and he sneezed, pulling back up quickly and retreating into Michel's side once more.

"Dead things don't move," he said harshly. "Yet. Smell dead. Smell wrong. Not prey-dead, not hunting-dead. Dead-dead."

He fiddled with one of the coins on the edge of the scarf at his right side, bringing it up to show Michel.

"Paw marks are Chrysocyon," he explained in a grave whisper.

"Fang not know. Fang not remember the dead walking." He stared at the ground.

That awful memory floated back to the surface. What had he and his mother been running from? He wasn't certain anymore. He just remembered running. She fell. Screamed at him to run. He hid.

He knew he'd watched her die, but what precisely had happened? It felt maddening, and his skull pounded with the ache of trying too hard to remember. He knew Chaos had come, seeped into his planet, a planet he'd only just learned he needed to protect, had caused strange things—he felt unsteady as other pieces came back to him, pieces that had been starved out by the hunger the unending, monstrous hunger, other things must have been JUST AS HUNGRY—he whimpered, clutching at his head.

Chaos had corrupted his planet. His people. The village. He screamed, suddenly, a roar that tore itself from his throat. None of the details came to him, stayed maddeningly slipped away, and he loathed it with every fiber of his being.

All he knew now was that for some reason, the dead had begun walking (perhaps again? or had that plague been something different? something that stole the minds of his people and turned them into monsters before they died—he'd heard of something like it on Earth... may-bees?) and his planet was suffering all over again, after so long of being quiet.

Fang's chest heaved with the harshness of his breathing, but he willed himself to calm down as Michel's hand laid on his back, the warmth of it radiating out from its point. It made him relax a little and he sighed.

"Thank, Michel. Fang... too tired. No more today," he mumbled, leaning into Michel's side. "Home?"

Fang perked up at that, tail wagging slowly with cautious excitement. Michel promising roasted rabbit meant good things. He let out a little yip of excitement and hugged Michel, bringing them back home with a moment's thought.

"Yes," he said, in case his body language hadn't been enough.