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Set at the same time as The End Of The BWP

He is barely standing when it ends.

When the chains break, when the ancients speak.

Vitus has done his part, taken blows and continued to break the chains that bind with the others, blows that would be the end of him. Bites and tears he could have avoided, if he had only moved.

The ground vanished beneath his feet, and for a brief moment he stood at Eastborne, baby blue eyes looking at those around him as the warmth dripped down his throat. The world was melting, at long last, the sun was shining.

So why did he feel cold?

Vitus looked down in annoyance as he felt another drip, not...registering, just what it was. The fountain that was coming from the side of his neck, his pale fur soaked in red.

Blood.

.....how?

He has seen his future, he has seen himself an old man, he was not supposed to die yet.

Fate it seemed, had other plans for the seer, as he slid to the ground with the thunder that boomed around the group.

It was....a good place to die, at least.

Pretty.

Did he have regrets?

He had wanted to do more.

skill: death touched

It came as no shock to Ezra, seeing his brother dying there. The moment he left Jakten, he knew he was a dead man walking. It was as though every moment Ezra (and for his siblings too before their death) he turned his back, someone died. As if he didn't constantly keep his eye on them, they would be gone in a blink. At least, as far as his family went.

Would it be the same with Amunet? Ezra would be left to fear any time he was sent on mission, wandered to another nearby land, took a tunnel or two… If he didnt keep his eyes on her every waking moment, would she too die? But there wouldn't be any meeting her one day in Valhalla, would there?

I knew it…. He spoke the words outloud, now, as he stood over his brother laying, bleeding out on the ground from a gaping wound on his neck. How? Did it matter? It didn't change the end result.

He sits, then, slowly. His head lowering down as he hunched down near him, his crippled leg raised a little off ground. It ached, but surely not the way his brother did now. You'll wait for me with the rest of em, won't you? There was no use for dramatics - to yell, to wisp him up in his arms, to cry in agony. Ezra knew where he was going. He just hoped all he could do was wait for him.

Fear? Surely not, but being lost and the scent of blood heavy in the air...her mind went to the worst outcomes. Wincing, she choked back the sound, heavily pressing into her throat. Scents she did not know and one she had grown intimately acquainted with. Ezra? Her chest tightened, her paws moved before she could think. The dark woman had known loss, but she cursed the idea. Her breathing was ragged, uneven; it felt as though the air had been drawn from her lungs. No cry could be found on her lips; only her eyes would give away her silent curses and hidden pleas. Her family's words are forsaken this time. Her teeth gnashed as anguish rolled over her in waves of denial, cursing fate, and bargaining with it all the same.

It felt like an eternity tracing the scent, the overwhelming scent of blood now churning her stomach. The back of the familiar male was the first thing she saw. Ezra? Her words came out like a prayer, half-whisper, half-broken. She doesn't approach a weight settling into her bones as she takes in the scene. Her eyes rest on the silver and gold-hued creature on the ground, and her head drops slightly. She didn't know this wolf, but it seemed as though Ezra had. Everything in her screamed to reach out to see if it was real or an illusion. The dark woman couldn't bear to invade this space this time. She couldn't know the weight that this loss carried, but she settled reverently in the background. If it was he, then her presence was announced in his name alone.

Pale opalescent eyes lingered for a moment longer before she focused more intently on their surroundings. Uncertain what to do, she would stand in a silent, protective vigil. May you walk in the Field of Reeds. She muttered the blessings of her family's sake softly and mostly to herself, to fate, to whoever could hear the muffled whispers of reverence. She could only hope that whatever god the fallen male served would receive him well and bring the soul peace. Despite her attempts at being mindful of their surroundings, her eyes continued to find themselves focusing on that oh so familiar frame, anxiously waiting in a careful silence and conflicting emotions.

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— artwork: Ulfeid3 ·
Common Speech Coptic Speech