..but you’re pretty when you cry.
Looking back on it, this situation was not one that any deer would want to wake up to. Mind you, it’s not that Nine was hurting. In fact, if anything, he was fuzzy minded, swimming up out of the morass of sleep that still clung tenaciously to his mind, like fog curling at one’s ankles. Through that fog, however, something was annoying him. He couldn’t quite pin it down – metaphorically speaking, of course, as hooves aren’t particularly talented with push pins, but –
…he heard this buzzing sound. It didn’t sound like bees, because bees hum fatly, like wives pleased with their husbands. No, this was an annoying hum, the one that gets too close to your ear, which makes your ears twitch and oh God, what was that smell?
Nine lifted his head about four inches from where he’d been settled chin-to-leg when he realized that lifting his head any higher was not exactly the best idea in the world.Someone…was standing over him. He barely felt his head brush something admittedly soft.
And pliant. In fact…he could almost use the term ‘squishing’ and not be far off base.
That sound? It intensified the second his head brushed that something soft and it’s origin became very clear the second a fly flew up his nose.
He coughed sharply, head ducking back down.
As he was trying to dislodge his buzzing friend, he heard a laugh from above him, the sort of laugh that sounds like crows on the battlefield, pecking out the eyes of the fallen. The last snort he made cleared the offending insect from his nostrils, and he whipped his head around, quickly…
…to see his gloriously white pelt spotted with rusted red and ichor black, maggots and curious cockroaches that bumbled about in his fur, curiously looking for a meal.
Above him, Bylah was standing tall and proud and the grin that his head wore was as pleasant as only a skull’s can be, unrelenting in it’s tenacity.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Nine asked him, already trying to crawl out from beneath the Beast.
Bylah’s head tilted as he stepped aside; the touch of his hooves sent grass curling brown for autumn, dying slow deaths. “Looking out for your well being, of course. A pelt that white? Why, you are practically begging to spotted and snatched up and crunched upon.” Bylah’s teeth went clattering together, the fires of his eyes harboring the sparks and smoke that poured, as if from bellows, from his mouth.
“It simply would not do well to be seen so easily by the likes of me, now would it?“