Chapter Text
A spear thuds into the wall next to her. Instinctively, she parries; a second spear clinks against the ground behind her as she grabs her pup in her mouth and leaps. A bomb whistles past her ear, past the mewling pup latched onto her back; she tries not to flinch as it explodes a few tail lengths away from her. Ignoring how her ears ring from the noise, she hits the ground running, bounding away with her pups as she weaves through a rainstorm of spears and explosives.
Coming here was a mistake, but did they really have another choice? Food is getting scarce around their den, and rarely does the food they bring back to the pups stay fresh until they return. It had seemed simpler to just bring their pups along, but—
Her mate screams, the sound a drawn out, agonized howl. Every muscle in her body tenses, and it takes all her willpower not to turn around and dive back into the fray. They should not have come here. Their pups will be safe; she will ensure that, but with them in tow she cannot lend her strength. Her mate is strong, but… she’s never seen this many of them before. Not over a small centipede nest.
A scavenger, an ugly, gangly brown thing, shoves its way out of the ground next to her. Its eyes widen, but little more than a peep of terror escapes it before she jams a spear into its throat, snarling. She’s running again before it even hits the ground, swerving around a corner and leaping up onto the blocky path that leads to their den. The pup in her mouth mewls, squirming as she continues running. She dares not let them down with the sounds of explosions still ringing behind her. She’s so close now. Her chest burns from the exertion, her paws ache from the rough ground scraping against her toes, but on she runs regardless, ducking around another scavenger that waves its spear at her. She’s almost there. Almost home. Almost safe. They can’t follow her there.
Leap, crawl up two steps, kick off the wall, bomb jump, and she’s up to their den. She ducks in, releasing the pup in her mouth and sliding the other off her back, and she ushers both deeper into the little hollow in the stone they made their home. Tottering on their little paws, they stumble into the soft bedding, blinking up at her with huge, terrified eyes; she croons to them as she curls around them, briskly grooming the explosive powder off their tiny bodies. They’re unharmed, thank the stars, but they’re shaking. That was not a good first introduction to the outside world.
She grooms them and rubs her face against theirs until they settle into her, breaths soft against her side as the tension bleeds out of them. Distantly, the explosions continue to ring, interspersed with the clanging of spears; her mate’s keeping them busy. She tucks her tail around their pups as she watches the entrance of the den, ears pricked for any sound of her mate returning. They… had not gotten any food. The scavengers arrived before any centipedes emerged. She can’t leave their pups here to try and hunt someplace else; they’re too young to be left unattended.
So she waits. She counts the spots on her pup’s back; there are five, the dark blotches splayed unevenly against the gentle blue of their fur, and they ripple as they paddle at her, nuzzling against her belly for the long dried up milk that was once there. She traces the outline of her pup’s ears, watches the way they flick at every explosion, how they flatten against their head as they tuck their face under their little tail. Their fur, as green as the acid that pools along the ground, as soft as the plants that she and her mate painstakingly harvested before they arrived in this world, as sleek as the surfaces of the pearls that she chances upon sometimes.
They are beautiful. Precious. Both look more like her mate than her, but that’s alright. She starts grooming them again, rasping her tongue across her pups even as they squirm and wriggle away from her, chirping in protest. She corals them back into her embrace, wrapping her tail tightly around them. They are everything to her.
A soft drumming of rain above their den begins. She looks back towards the mouth of the den, ears twitching worriedly. The explosions have stopped, but there’s no sign of her mate. Out hunting for food, perhaps? The two of them can go without food for a while, but their pups need to eat. Though most things would have gone back into hiding by now…
The rain crescendos to a persistent, impatient drumming, then to a thudding downpour, and then to a screaming crash that makes her pups whine; she tucks her tail over their ears. Still no sign of her mate. This area is more shielded from the rain, but sometimes the caverns flood. Neither of them can swim well.
She waits, eyes searching through the dimness for a flash of bright teal. She can’t hear anything but rain. Their pups start dozing off, unaware of the pounding fear that twists inside her chest as she waits, and waits, and waits.
There are other dens. This is not the only safe area to ride out the rain. There are places that don’t flood, that are warm, that can shelter her mate until the end of this rain cycle. There is a world beyond this. Her mate will be fine.
Her vigil stretches on with no end in sight. Her eyes start fluttering shut, but she yanks them open again, shaking her head to clear it. She’s exhausted, and hungry, and afraid. The nest is conspicuously colder without the warmth of her mate pressed around her. She can’t tell if it’s flooding. Can’t tell if her mate found food. Can’t tell if her mate is warm. Is safe.
She can’t keep her eyes open anymore. She lets them drift shut, lets herself sink into an uneasy, fitful sleep filled with nightmares that she can’t pull herself out of.
Over and over, she dreams of her mate never returning. When morning comes, the ache in her body rivals that in her belly, a dull, throbbing soreness that does not go away when she stretches. The cold bites into her, sinking its fangs deep into her bones as she limps around the den, and then out to the exit, peering around outside.
Her mate is nowhere to be found. No cheerful yowl to greet her, no centipede being carried up to their den, no gentle grooming of her ears amid a storm of purring. Gone. Dead. Her mate is dead.
The last bushel of hope in her chest shrivels up into nothing.