HOME | DD

Description

Quip coughed violently, each time unable to stop it from shaking his entire body. He was in the corner of the room, huddled up with a blanket he'd grown attached to that was now stained horribly with black smears of blood. Even looking at the blanket made the normally sunny wyngling want to burst into tears. He felt miserable, all shaky and weak and feverish, and now even his comfort item was being ruined and the world seemed to be falling apart.

He didn't know what was happening. He was confused. After all, the Deelagun had been stopped, hadn't it? Everything should be better now. He'd found someone to take care of him and someone to have as a sibling and then, not so long after, everything had started falling apart. Quip still kept up his happy facade around everyone else, but all of the misery practically emanating from the wyngrew in wynsiph was making him nervous and jittery. And above all else, he felt like he didn't understand the world anymore. Sure, he didn't know what really lied outside of the city or why everyone got told not to wander far into the woods outside of it, but he'd known that this place was safe. Not entirely, of course, but nobody got hurt for good. A few bruises if people were unlucky, and Quip felt absolutely horrible whenever he saw someone with scars or bruises, but eventually everyone came around alright, as far as he knew.

But then that monster had come into Wynsiph and suddenly everyone was running for cover, being carried far away from where it was invading the peace of their home, and if there was one thing Quip hated, it was someone ruining the peace. In theory, from stories and what the other gros mentioned, it happened before, and sometimes wyngrew got....hurt more than Quip liked to believe was possible.

He'd never seen it happen, though.

Quip's little bubble of permanent happiness and joyful ignorance was being popped, and he was fighting back hard against it. He was just being scared again. It was making him a little sick to his stomach, that had to be it. It would all be okay again once he got a good night's sleep with the rest of his family. There was no more deelagun. Wynsiph was safe....

But why had those horrible holes appeared in his adoptive father's side if everything was alright? It was almost terrifying to see those things, like dozens of little black eyes staring right back at you. Why was he being told not to go outside without Little Fang and not to leave his sight? Quip had been allowed to before. was Little Fang just afraid of another deelagun attacking? Could he convince his father that everything was safe again?

Quip stood up shakily, legs trembling and breath rasping around black blood pooled up in the back of his throat. He coughed hard again, abandoning the comfort of his blanket and forcing a weak smile into his face and eyes as he half walked, half stumbled his way towards where he believed Little Fang was. With those scary black holes counteracted only by the warmth of his huge fluffy body and the comfort of having someone bigger and fiercer there to protect Quip against something nasty like that deelagun. This time, however, Quip had to remind himself that he was going to try and help Little Fang.

It took Quip some time to find the winged yellow gro, wandering the house and staring about until he finally spotted the quad, examining his new third eye. That had come not long after the black holes. It wasn't as terrifying, but it was weird. Then again, Quip had never let it be a habit to leave someone just off of new looks.

"Dad?" chimed the little leafy-eared wyngling. Little Fang looked up and towards him, letting out a soft gasp. Quip couldn't figure out why. He was smiling, he was sure he was because he could feel it at the corners of his mouth, and nothing was too wrong with him, was there?

Little Fang was no stranger to the symptoms, though. No grown gro was and not many wynglings were either.

"Daddy, why don't you let me or Shylock explore like you used to? The big monster's gone, isn't it? Everything's just back to normal. The tree's just gone, but everything's fine!"

No time wasted, then. Little Fang paused to stare blankly, starting to stand up and reach for something to write with to state his answer when Quip fell over coughing again, his usually unstable legs caving under him until he finished. He struggled back to his feet, black blood dripping down his chin as he managed a smile for a half second before he had to give in to the misery-inducing pain in his body. He gave up on any ideas of trying to comfort what he perceived as Little Fang just being paranoid, letting out a strangled sob, a tear just managing to get out around the runny magic gland, as Quip stared up at his adoptive parent.

"Dad, what's happening?" Quip keened, letting out another weak whimper and starting to tip over again until Little Fang stepped forwards and caught him on one large, fluffy paw. Quip tried not to give in to bawling, he had to keep smiling, he had to stay happy. Nothing was really wrong, he was just sick, he would get better. Despite his efforts, he was still crying, rubbing his face against Little Fang's paw and smearing black blood across it as he clung to it with his front claws like a lifeline.

Little Fang stepped forwards once more, laying down and drawing Quip against his side as he pulled out that pretty blue instrument. Quip was awfully fond of it, it and its music. It was a thing worth being happy about with how it produced pretty sounds for his and Shylock's father when he could normally not say a word outside of writing.

Quip settled against Little Fang's warm side, soaking in the music until he gave in to a fit of coughing again. Shaking, unable to balance properly, he crawled along his adoptive father's body and the floor until he could flop down in front of his chest, twisting into a little ball. When Little Fang put down the instrument, tucking his front paws around the weak wyngling, Quip let out a shaky, sobbing sigh and tried to relax against the big gro, tried to ignore the pain.

It would be better in the morning, he told himself. He'd feel better. He could eat some soup, maybe. And if he was lucky, maybe he could get Little Fang to wash his blanky free of that icky black gunk he'd been coughing up.

Quip didn't realize how sleepy he was until he turned his head up towards Little Fang. "I coughed goo all over my blanky," he sniffed, letting his sleepy head drop against one of Little Fang's arms. "Do you think you can get it clean tonight, Dad?"

Little Fang stared down at him with sad, worn out eyes, tightening his grip on Quip. The wyngling obviously took it as confirmation that Little Fang could do just that. He wriggled around just a bit to try and get as comfortable as he could with this stupid fever and rubbed his runny glands clean enough with the back of his paw. Then, as he did sometimes, he yawned, relaxed against Little Fang, and fell asleep, his jaw slack and head leaning over Little Fang's leg.

The wyngling, oblivious to the end, did not wake up.

1/605

Quip, wyngling, owned by Helixagonal
Little Fang, good dad, owned by smokeing-fish

Description

Quip coughed violently, each time unable to stop it from shaking his entire body. He was in the corner of the room, huddled up with a blanket he'd grown attached to that was now stained horribly with black smears of blood. Even looking at the blanket made the normally sunny wyngling want to burst into tears. He felt miserable, all shaky and weak and feverish, and now even his comfort item was being ruined and the world seemed to be falling apart.

He didn't know what was happening. He was confused. After all, the Deelagun had been stopped, hadn't it? Everything should be better now. He'd found someone to take care of him and someone to have as a sibling and then, not so long after, everything had started falling apart. Quip still kept up his happy facade around everyone else, but all of the misery practically emanating from the wyngrew in wynsiph was making him nervous and jittery. And above all else, he felt like he didn't understand the world anymore. Sure, he didn't know what really lied outside of the city or why everyone got told not to wander far into the woods outside of it, but he'd known that this place was safe. Not entirely, of course, but nobody got hurt for good. A few bruises if people were unlucky, and Quip felt absolutely horrible whenever he saw someone with scars or bruises, but eventually everyone came around alright, as far as he knew.

But then that monster had come into Wynsiph and suddenly everyone was running for cover, being carried far away from where it was invading the peace of their home, and if there was one thing Quip hated, it was someone ruining the peace. In theory, from stories and what the other gros mentioned, it happened before, and sometimes wyngrew got....hurt more than Quip liked to believe was possible.

He'd never seen it happen, though.

Quip's little bubble of permanent happiness and joyful ignorance was being popped, and he was fighting back hard against it. He was just being scared again. It was making him a little sick to his stomach, that had to be it. It would all be okay again once he got a good night's sleep with the rest of his family. There was no more deelagun. Wynsiph was safe....

But why had those horrible holes appeared in his adoptive father's side if everything was alright? It was almost terrifying to see those things, like dozens of little black eyes staring right back at you. Why was he being told not to go outside without Little Fang and not to leave his sight? Quip had been allowed to before. was Little Fang just afraid of another deelagun attacking? Could he convince his father that everything was safe again?

Quip stood up shakily, legs trembling and breath rasping around black blood pooled up in the back of his throat. He coughed hard again, abandoning the comfort of his blanket and forcing a weak smile into his face and eyes as he half walked, half stumbled his way towards where he believed Little Fang was. With those scary black holes counteracted only by the warmth of his huge fluffy body and the comfort of having someone bigger and fiercer there to protect Quip against something nasty like that deelagun. This time, however, Quip had to remind himself that he was going to try and help Little Fang.

It took Quip some time to find the winged yellow gro, wandering the house and staring about until he finally spotted the quad, examining his new third eye. That had come not long after the black holes. It wasn't as terrifying, but it was weird. Then again, Quip had never let it be a habit to leave someone just off of new looks.

"Dad?" chimed the little leafy-eared wyngling. Little Fang looked up and towards him, letting out a soft gasp. Quip couldn't figure out why. He was smiling, he was sure he was because he could feel it at the corners of his mouth, and nothing was too wrong with him, was there?

Little Fang was no stranger to the symptoms, though. No grown gro was and not many wynglings were either.

"Daddy, why don't you let me or Shylock explore like you used to? The big monster's gone, isn't it? Everything's just back to normal. The tree's just gone, but everything's fine!"

No time wasted, then. Little Fang paused to stare blankly, starting to stand up and reach for something to write with to state his answer when Quip fell over coughing again, his usually unstable legs caving under him until he finished. He struggled back to his feet, black blood dripping down his chin as he managed a smile for a half second before he had to give in to the misery-inducing pain in his body. He gave up on any ideas of trying to comfort what he perceived as Little Fang just being paranoid, letting out a strangled sob, a tear just managing to get out around the runny magic gland, as Quip stared up at his adoptive parent.

"Dad, what's happening?" Quip keened, letting out another weak whimper and starting to tip over again until Little Fang stepped forwards and caught him on one large, fluffy paw. Quip tried not to give in to bawling, he had to keep smiling, he had to stay happy. Nothing was really wrong, he was just sick, he would get better. Despite his efforts, he was still crying, rubbing his face against Little Fang's paw and smearing black blood across it as he clung to it with his front claws like a lifeline.

Little Fang stepped forwards once more, laying down and drawing Quip against his side as he pulled out that pretty blue instrument. Quip was awfully fond of it, it and its music. It was a thing worth being happy about with how it produced pretty sounds for his and Shylock's father when he could normally not say a word outside of writing.

Quip settled against Little Fang's warm side, soaking in the music until he gave in to a fit of coughing again. Shaking, unable to balance properly, he crawled along his adoptive father's body and the floor until he could flop down in front of his chest, twisting into a little ball. When Little Fang put down the instrument, tucking his front paws around the weak wyngling, Quip let out a shaky, sobbing sigh and tried to relax against the big gro, tried to ignore the pain.

It would be better in the morning, he told himself. He'd feel better. He could eat some soup, maybe. And if he was lucky, maybe he could get Little Fang to wash his blanky free of that icky black gunk he'd been coughing up.

Quip didn't realize how sleepy he was until he turned his head up towards Little Fang. "I coughed goo all over my blanky," he sniffed, letting his sleepy head drop against one of Little Fang's arms. "Do you think you can get it clean tonight, Dad?"

Little Fang stared down at him with sad, worn out eyes, tightening his grip on Quip. The wyngling obviously took it as confirmation that Little Fang could do just that. He wriggled around just a bit to try and get as comfortable as he could with this stupid fever and rubbed his runny glands clean enough with the back of his paw. Then, as he did sometimes, he yawned, relaxed against Little Fang, and fell asleep, his jaw slack and head leaning over Little Fang's leg.

The wyngling, oblivious to the end, did not wake up.

1/605

Quip, wyngling, owned by Helixagonal
Little Fang, good dad, owned by smokeing-fish