| [Jul. 7th, 2008|05:13 am] |
The urgency driving her voice was far too clear. Maybe Shiki and Yuuko weren't dead; maybe this was their chance to pull out, a world too late. Tsume didn't explain, and Ryouma hurt too much to ask. He flattened his left hand on the ground, trying not to grit his teeth against the pain in his index finger, trying not to scream. At least they'd only mutilated one of the nails on his left hand, and hadn't got around to ruining the rest before Tsume burst in. At least they hadn't blinded or crippled or castrated him, or cut off his fingers or cut out his tongue.
He had a lot to be grateful for. He had a lot to thank Tsume for.
He focused on that, on how he'd killed her dog and she'd saved his life and he owed her that life and anything else that he could give, as he pushed himself up. The palm of his left hand dug into the ground, and his abdominal muscles seared around the gash on his stomach. Somehow he managed to sit upright, to pull his legs under him and to shove himself up to one knee and then to his feet. He wavered, and the torn-open wound in his calf painted blood down his heel, but he stood.
And a black-faced wolf as tall as a horse stood in front of him, lips crinkled back to expose yellowed fangs dripping blood and shreds of flesh. Its eyes burned him like the desert sun.
"I remember you," he croaked. "Thank you." He reached sideways, brushed Tsume's shoulder with the heel of his left hand. "Thank you." |
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