Title-- Resurrection
Rating and Warnings-- PG for emotion and physical pain.
Species and Characters-- Species = Korat. Character is Atumi, black male, and Kaw (formerly called Shucho), red male and Atumi's former pack leader when Atumi was very young. Also cameoed is the entire KRPG pack, and especially Tew, tan male and Atumi's fellow pack second under red male Shula.
Summary and Notes-- This is actually a role-playing post I wrote specifically for KRPG, but it was just so blasted good that I wanted to put it up here for nostalgic purposes. This post takes place right after Aftermath [drabble], where Atumi is basically dying and dragging himself away from the battlefield. Anyways, to set the scene: Shula's pack, renowned for their excellence in body and mind, had just fought one too many battles in a row, and a neighboring pack of Erauqs (highly volatile flying canines) were rather mad at them. The four masters (Shula, Atumi, Tew, and white Erashun) that led the pack respected the Erauqs' rather formidable might and, even in full health and even as skilled as they are, would never take on the entire Erauq pack themselves. So, wounded and exhausted (and, in Shula's case, half-dead), as the Erauqs grouped to attack slaughter the Korats, it was necessary to flee the territory in order to keep the pack alive. Atumi stayed behind in a basic suicide/kamikaze mission to fight the Erauqs, thusly giving the pack time to escape and start running. This is what happens after the uber-battle.


Half-broken claws darker than night and glittering with a sapphire sheen clench into the dry soil with every silent step--the beast is walking, not running, paws lifting and falling with deliberate rhythm onto the receptive drum of the earth. The strong sunlight does not shine healthily upon an ebony pelt, but instead highlights patches and streaks of dried blood until the rusty color glows almost mystically, nigh-invisible waves of heat rising from the dark hide. No gaping wounds mar the seams that fresh scars create across the well-built frame, but the lingering ache and burn of healing injuries is still evident in the slowness of the hunter's gait.

"What the btsa?!" the voice had snarled. Angry, but shaken. Guilty. All too guilty for fleeing when everyone else had, too... "You're alive." Shock. He had tried to lift his head out of the puddle of his own blood into which it had fallen, but only a tremor raced through shredded muscles. Then, silence.

Each step is paced, silent. It matches a blink every so often, dark lids falling over bright eyes.

The crunch of earth under a heavy frame was loud after that silence, and again he tried to turn his head, tried to see the familiar voice's face--but nothing could move a dying body, not even exhaustion-weakened willpower. And then, paws pressed against his flanks, and then the earth pulled away from him. Sudden warmth was under him, and the texture of coarse fur rubbed against raw wounds, and the scent of a red was all around him. Guilt. Guilt was all around him, not his own but almost tangible in its acrid thickness. Then, he lost consciousness, knowing he would never awaken again and regretting too many things undone in his life. Wureshi still lived...

Even the winds gusting past the tall, once-graceful form don't really touch the blood-soaked blackness.

When his eyes next eased open, he was confused. He had known he was dying, and he had accepted it as a warrior's fate... but there was one green and one blind-white eye watching him closely, and he didn't know if that was part of a strange death or a strange part of life. Then, the recognization hit--and the face of an old pack leader became less blurry. 'Shucho...' A growl stopped him. "It's Kaw now, 'cho. You're as healed as I can manage." The voice was gruff... and the scent of guilt was still around. 'Why are you guilty, Shucho?' he asked, voice younger, mind half-disabled simply from shock...

When the scents of four strange Korats mingle superficially with those of Shula's pack, the hunter stops briefly. A few quick inhalations tell the story better than the words of an observer could have, and the slow, steady walk resumes.

"...my name is Kaw," the gruff red restated, ignoring the question. But he knew, he would have been guilty too if he had left what amounted to a packmate behind to die, even if the packmate wanted it. Any leader-figure would have had guilt burning in their veins for years if they had done it. He wondered how Shula felt at leaving him behind. "There's fresh meat right here," the voice continued, softer now. "Eat. I'll protect you until you wake again." And he had jerked, had felt the burn of still-unhealed wounds in his back at the injudicious movement--protect him? Why? But the rich scent of food overpowered death-hazed thoughts, and he gorged and then slept again.

Soon, the distance between scent-trails and scent-origins narrows to a measurable length, but the gait doesn't speed up. Step, step, step.

He awoke again, his body writhing under the relentless ache of not moving in his sleep for several days, and the massive red was still there, guarding him. 'Shu... Kaw,' he finally said, shock releasing his mind from a more basic state and allowing the liquid steel that was his will and intellect to flow freely again. "What, 'cho?" came the response, the ex-leader not bothering to look over his shoulder at the prone black. 'Do not call me cub. ...and... thank you.' He forced himself to rise, senses flaring outwards instinctively to pinpoint his location. "Alright... mri'kar." A pause. "You're welcome."

Step... step... step...

Nigh-colorless eyes met a lone eye of emerald, and the two males briefly touched muzzles in a silent, unexpectedly difficult farewell as Kaw turned away. In running, and then walking, upon the trail that his pack left, the black's eyes slowly regained their brilliant hue as his spirit regained its strength.

...step. And then, as scents clarify and honed vision espies familiar forms hunkered down against the flat plains, the convalescing hunter breaks into a lope that stretches every tight muscle and enflames every deep bruise with pain. But, he runs--and when he comes within a few leaps of the half-sleeping pack, probably having woken them all up by now, he stops abruptly in a cloud of dust.

Teal eyes look towards Tew's bedraggled, weary face, and Atumi--for the first time in his life--bows his head in a nod to the fortitude of the tan master.