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Description
An old farming town sits between the mountains and the dense forest, quiet in the early morning. Too quiet, even.
The tired sounds of those who are awake originate from a clearing in the nearby woods. Paws, claws, nails and tails crunching and dragging through the fallen leaves, few words shared between the bloodied and battered warriors as they lay their fallen to rest. A bittersweet sight, zepple lanterns dotting the sky to replace the stars which are slipping out of reach.
And although their morning is quiet,

Beneath a pile of leaves and flowers,

Bough Greenaway stirs.

He opens his eyes, and immediately realises he is alive. Surely Chii’falla would spare him the agony in his arm if he were dead. Bough waits for the pain to pass- or rather, become bearable- before breaking from his leafy grave, filling his lungs with air. The morning was warm, the rising sun shone upon the flower on his chest, yet the chilly bite of winter wind was enough to balance out the temperature. Far in the distance, in the clearing from where he came, Bough sees everyone.

The pelt prowler must be gone, hopefully dead.
But why were there graves?

Wyngrew weren’t buried. They were cremated. The only reason there would be graves would be…

…His mind could fill in the rest. Bough held his bandanna, fresh and new not a day before, was now charred and stained red. He tied it- as best as he could with one paw, then stood up. His leg- the right one, which had been numb most of his life- spiked with pain, and obeyed his brain’s commands. Bough knew he hit the ground on it, and it probably caused whatever bone was off in it to snap back where it belonged, but he couldn’t help but find it comical. An arm for a leg.

He stumbled forward like a drunkard, before letting out a grunt of pain and slumping forwards. This was like nothing he’d ever felt before- every breath he took felt like it brought him closer to death.
I need something to heal myself. But everything wilts in autumn- there’s nothing left!
but I can make something. Bough, still slumped over, began to search for something- anything-
And when he finally pulled himself up, he was in awe.

Flowers.

Tons of them, pushing their way through the carpet of foliage thanks to Bough’s magic, forming a small field around him. They stood out like candles in a basement, somehow still lit despite being unused for years. Their centers were warm yellow, like a kiss of sun against the plump berries of a bush in spring, and it’s petals were pure, cool white, like fresh cotton sheets and medical bandannas that hadn’t been bloodstained.
It could have been his state of exhaustion, but to Bough right now they were the most beautiful thing he’d seen in his life.
Even in the event of mass fatality, they carried on, beacons of light in an inky, unwavering black.

Just like him, in a way.

Any thoughts of pain abandoned, Bough scooped a pawful of loose dirt from the ground, which radiated with life from seeds not yet to sprout. Tucking them in his bandanna, Bough started towards the biggest grave in the clearing.

~~

Next: www.deviantart.com/zedortoo/ar…

Max wyns

Description
An old farming town sits between the mountains and the dense forest, quiet in the early morning. Too quiet, even.
The tired sounds of those who are awake originate from a clearing in the nearby woods. Paws, claws, nails and tails crunching and dragging through the fallen leaves, few words shared between the bloodied and battered warriors as they lay their fallen to rest. A bittersweet sight, zepple lanterns dotting the sky to replace the stars which are slipping out of reach.
And although their morning is quiet,

Beneath a pile of leaves and flowers,

Bough Greenaway stirs.

He opens his eyes, and immediately realises he is alive. Surely Chii’falla would spare him the agony in his arm if he were dead. Bough waits for the pain to pass- or rather, become bearable- before breaking from his leafy grave, filling his lungs with air. The morning was warm, the rising sun shone upon the flower on his chest, yet the chilly bite of winter wind was enough to balance out the temperature. Far in the distance, in the clearing from where he came, Bough sees everyone.

The pelt prowler must be gone, hopefully dead.
But why were there graves?

Wyngrew weren’t buried. They were cremated. The only reason there would be graves would be…

…His mind could fill in the rest. Bough held his bandanna, fresh and new not a day before, was now charred and stained red. He tied it- as best as he could with one paw, then stood up. His leg- the right one, which had been numb most of his life- spiked with pain, and obeyed his brain’s commands. Bough knew he hit the ground on it, and it probably caused whatever bone was off in it to snap back where it belonged, but he couldn’t help but find it comical. An arm for a leg.

He stumbled forward like a drunkard, before letting out a grunt of pain and slumping forwards. This was like nothing he’d ever felt before- every breath he took felt like it brought him closer to death.
I need something to heal myself. But everything wilts in autumn- there’s nothing left!
but I can make something. Bough, still slumped over, began to search for something- anything-
And when he finally pulled himself up, he was in awe.

Flowers.

Tons of them, pushing their way through the carpet of foliage thanks to Bough’s magic, forming a small field around him. They stood out like candles in a basement, somehow still lit despite being unused for years. Their centers were warm yellow, like a kiss of sun against the plump berries of a bush in spring, and it’s petals were pure, cool white, like fresh cotton sheets and medical bandannas that hadn’t been bloodstained.
It could have been his state of exhaustion, but to Bough right now they were the most beautiful thing he’d seen in his life.
Even in the event of mass fatality, they carried on, beacons of light in an inky, unwavering black.

Just like him, in a way.

Any thoughts of pain abandoned, Bough scooped a pawful of loose dirt from the ground, which radiated with life from seeds not yet to sprout. Tucking them in his bandanna, Bough started towards the biggest grave in the clearing.

~~

Next: www.deviantart.com/zedortoo/ar…

Max wyns