FS: Chapter 2 Assignment

Lost.

Dizzily, Sverre staggered forward, feeling the ground dip and sway beneath his paws. A small weight was centered between his shoulder blades, one he was hyper aware of even as his vision blurred and his ears flinched away from the slightest of noises. Whining low in his throat, the combatant turned his head slightly, eyes unfocused and drifting before he finally managed to lock onto the figure draped across his back. Malibu. The little swift's chest was rising and falling rapidly, and Sverre could feel his little heartbeat fluttering against his spine.

"Malibu," he whispered, head dipping before he let it hang limply, paws carrying himself forward even as he lacked the strength to consider continuing. "Please..."

Rowan's voice echoed through his skull-- his orders, his directions-- but the words were muffled to indistinct sounds. Had Sverre ever heard what he'd had to say, or were his memories simply muddled?

Pain radiated through his hind leg, and he was favouring it with each step, while attempting to minimize his limp for the sake of his unconscious familiar. Oh, Malibu.

Was Tess doing alright? She was back at Summer Court, right..? He'd done dreadfully by her, selfishly avoiding his student and cowering from the responsibility of being a teacher. And look how quickly, how easily, she'd surpassed him-- a Timekeeper. In his heart, he knew he had no right to feel proud of her, but he did. He had let her down at every turn. He was so glad she had perservered despite him.

That was his way, wasn't it? To fail others when they relied on him. All he was good for was hunting and staying out of the way. Such simple things as conversing were completely beyond his capabilities.

Who else had been on this patrol? Felmark from his own court... Gwen. Torrid. Strangers within his own court, familiar through pelt and name alone. What did he know about any of them? Did anyone know anything about him? His thoughts, his feelings, his functions, his... regrets.

"I won't die," he told himself, even as another surge of agony shoots up his hind leg and he jumped out of stark surprise and yelped. "I won't!" he insisted, to no one, quaking under the pressure of surviving.

Lie down and die.

"I can't do that to Malibu," he whispered, voice cracking as a sob welled in his throat.

Malibu had been everything for him, everything he lacked and needed; his confidence, his direction, his conscience. The swift lead him through life by the nose, demanding that he continue onward at all costs. Nothing would stop him. Nothing would make him give up on Sverre. After everything he'd gone through, perhaps there was nothing left to test his devotion to the neurotic Felmark. Yet, if there were, the universe was certain that Malibu would barrel through every challenge and come out on top, mocking it for trying and scolding Sverre for doubting him, and then resuming his lifelong job as Sverre's self-appointed caretaker.

Malibu could have been anything. He could have given up on Sverre and cursed his eternal sentence to be this guy's familiar. He could have become a constant reinforcement that Sverre was utterly useless.

But he hadn't. He'd never given up. Sverre couldn't give up. Malibu wouldn't let him.

Something bumped against his forepaw and Sverre's head lolled forward. Blinking slowly, trying to focus his eyes, he gazed down at the peculiar rock.

Fear twisted in his stomach and he took a slow step backwards, drawing away from the egg. Eyes widening, he felt horror rise like bile in his throat, his skull suddenly too tight. A Drake nest lay just before him, three eggs propped against one another, and the scent of reptile thick in the air.

Breathing hard through his nose, Sverre tripped backwards and fought to catch his balance. Feeling Malibu slip, the Felmark dropped and stooped sideways, catching the bird before he could slide too far.

A heavy, rattling growl faded in from the underbrush as scaled claws stepped out. His heart leapt into his throat at the sight of the Drake and he froze, shaking like a leaf, as her slitted eyes locked wide onto his. Lips pulled back to bare her vicious fangs, he felt his hind leg twinge in sympathy at the venom that dripped from her jowls.

When she lunged, Sverre snapped out of his stupor and leapt sideways. Useless though he may be, he'd been trained as a combatant. If he couldn't at least escape an enemy, then he really did deserve to die.

But Malibu didn't.

Sprinting away, he fled her snapping jaws, the image of an artifact laying beside the eggs burned into his mind.

Sharp stones cut into his paw pads, branches scraping at his sides, and finally a vine caught his horn and yanked him backwards, sending him rolling through the underbrush. Twisting enough to avoid crushing his familiar, the Felmark tumbled away with a wail, leaving the swift laying limp on the ground.

As soon as his momentum ceased, Sverre scrambled to his paws, only to feel his hind leg give out. Crashing back to the ground, he started heaving for air, panicked, and hauled himself forward, kicking.

There. Malibu. Wrapping himself around the small bird, Sverre nosed the other's wings out of their sprawled position, tucking them gently against Malibu's sides.

"Malibu," he murmured hoarsely. The swift didn't stir.

How long did he lay there? Too long. He needed to get back to the court, Malibu wouldn't forgive him for wasting this much time.

Not wanting to risk dropping the other again, Sverre gathered the bird gently within his mouth and forced himself to his feet. Breathing carefully around his familiar, the combatant began to walk, unsure of his environment, his direction, his chances. But he moved forward. Malibu always made him move forward.



Blinking through the blurry scenery that the world had become, Sverre stared with mingled despair and relief at the sight of the court entrance. Breathing shakily around his familiar, he trudged forward, his limbs heavy, his tail dragging along the ground, his head hanging limp. Malibu's soft breathing was still coming rapidly enough to make fear twinge in Sverre's heart. What was wrong with him? Was he-- was he dying..? No, please no-- Tears burned in his eyes.

He didn't know he had entered the court until he heard a stunned gasp off to his side. The fever heat radiating from his wounded leg made him think that the infection must look dreadful.

Finally in a place of sanctuary he collapsed, jaw falling open, his familiar rolling from his grasp. "Malibu," he panted quietly, eyes slipping shut.

"Sverre!" That voice sent a thrill of grief through him, and he lifted his head weakly to gaze blearily out as Tess raced towards him from across camp.

Tess-- of course, Tess. The one he'd let down the most, next to Malibu. Malibu had deserved so much more, the whole world, but oh, Tess, she should have had a strong, dependable, passionate teacher, someone to fuel her and encourage her and show her the ropes. Instead they had both been stuck him him. Pitiful, useless Sverre.

His leg hurt. His chest hurt. The Drakes were venomous... he shouldn't have been so careless. Even jumpy and anxious as he'd been, his attention had been focused on his familiar-- his familiar who had dropped from the sky after several hours of uncharacteristic silence, save for a short scolding when Sverre realized he'd gotten lost. Oh, he shouldn't have been so careless, letting a Drake bite him...

"Malibu," he mumbled, eyes rolling slightly and he shut them tightly to keep himself from growing too dizzy.

Listening to Tess go over the small bird, he waited for the worst-- he's sick, he's dying, he's dead...

"He's sick," she responded, and he felt a whimper stick in his throat. He couldn't help Malibu. He had never done anything to repay his familiar for all that he had done, and now the swift would die before Sverre could truly pay him back.

Ah... but he would die anyway. Exhaustion settled over Sverre like a blanket of snow, and he felt his heart's stuttering and racing slow down, even out...

"Tess..." He couldn't open his eyes, only hoped she was listening-- he couldn't apologize to Malibu, couldn't thank him, but with Tess right here...

"I'm sorry," he whispered, twitching at a fresh surge of pain from his wound. "Y-you deserved a better teacher than m... me."

"Sverre."

"I'm sorry. To everyone... for being so w-worthless." He'd never done anything for his court. The underachiever, the dead weight, the weakest link. They would have been better off without him. And now, they really would be.

"I-I'm sorry..." A distant roar of silence filled his ears and he felt every ache and throb in his limbs as the static behind his eyelids dragged him down into unconsciousness.

Sorry... everyone.

---

Tess gazed down at the unconscious combatant, brows upturned in mild concern, ears folding back at his despair. "Sverre," she tried again, extending a paw slowly to touch his cheek. He didn't rouse, and she exhaled slowly, looking towards the wound on his hind leg. "But...

"I healed you." Lowering her head, she listened to his chest, hearing his heart beating slow and steady. Straightening, she nosed Malibu's chest, feeling his breathing returning to normal, the illness dissipating from his tiny body.

Standing again, she stared down at the fainted felmark with the first inklings of exasperation for her former teacher.

"You're going to be fine."