ἡ Κρεσσιδά εὔχεται τὴν ΄Εκάτην. (magikos) wrote in st_margarets, @ 2016-03-17 16:04:00 |
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While the temperature lately had its highs and lows, it wasn't quite spring yet, even if the equinox was on Sunday. She was changing some plants around, putting them into larger pots. She used magically infused fertilizer to help the plants prosper, giving to the small containers of earth back what she often took. Lord Byron was somewhere in the greenhouse, probably trying to sniff out any animals that might have sought shelter in the glass house. Since the students were on spring break, it gave Cressida time to herself. No classes to plan or teach, and while she and Micah had become an item, it didn't mean they had to spend every waking moment together. Cressida was still a somewhat solitary creature and working in her greenhouse often allowed her the opportunity to ponder and process the world outside of her little garden of eden. She thought about the students who would be leaving this year and also the ones she still had there. She thought about poor Thérèse and worried that these trips to France would become more frequent. There was quite a bit to think about, and she might have remained focused on those topics had the first warning sign not transpired. Something was wrong. Cressida felt it in her fingertips and then it spread into her hands and then it went right into her arms. It was like her nerves were going crazy. The clay pot she held fell out of her hands and shattered as they hit the ground. She had enough control that she could still stand and keep herself steady. She found a chair and sat down anyway, bracing herself as she reoriented her mind enough to focus on what was going on. It wasn't her but it was her. It was happening to her but she knew that somewhere else, it was happening even stronger to someone else. "Oh no," she whispered and looked to see Lord Byron lying on the ground, his body twitching there. The muscles spasmed, the body clenched, and the horror in his eyes as he looked right at Cressida as if to ask What's happening to me? He groaned and Cressida attempted to try to pull some of it into her, more than she already took in already due to the nature of their connection. A witch with a familiar were bound in many ways, not quite the same as a vampire and a fangling, but Lord Byron always knew when she was in danger as she knew when he was. Sometimes that sharing came in the form of physical pain or ailments, but usually when close in proximity to each other and when Cressida had used magic filtered through the mastiff. The seconds that felt like hours passed and then Lord Byron's muscles became less tense, his body relaxing as the muscles unlocked slowly but surely. Cressida's white knuckles stopped gripping the arms of the chair so tightly and she felt the seizure-like sensations fade from her nerve endings. She released a slow breath of air and found the strength to walk over to where Lord Byron lay, his large chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. "Shh," she whispered softly, taking his head into her lap and stroking his short fur gently, "It's over now, love. It's over." Or was it? That was the first time that Byron experienced that sort of seizure and she remembered Argos had a few as well. Toward the end of his life. Old Byron was rather old, and getting to that age where many of his own species died. Actually, he was there. But Byron was a strong dog and one that only a week before had bounded after some students who tried to play fetch with him. He was old and Cressida knew that. While he still had some energy in him but it wasn't how it was when he was younger. Byron made a whimpering sound and she leaned down to place a kiss on his head, "Shh, love, we'll see a doctor tomorrow." Cressida was still reeling from the residue of her own experience, and Lord Byron was in no condition to move yet. So she stroked over his fur, reminding him she was there and he was there, and they were together. While she administered her comfort, Cressida felt the seeds of fear planted into her heart. She knew this time may come again but it still felt so far. It was probably nothing. Dogs could get seizures and it wasn't necessarily a death sentence. But a deep sense of foreboding had her fearing that the day she lost Lord Byron was not as far in the future as she wanted it to be. There was a very good chance that by this time next year she would not longer have him. Shaking off that feeling of dread and sorrow, Cressida focused on the now. Lord Byron lying there and looking up at her with a love that only a familiar and a dog could have. |