thistle & thicket

til death do us part

It wasn't meant to go this way.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

But God truly forbade that anything dare go well for the little butterfly, that's what it felt like to him at least.
And it made gleam so very bitter.

It was slumped against a tree, a hand presses against the grotesque exposed gash that ran down sleeps chest to its stomach.
Blood profusely spilled from the wound, inky black splotches eating through the butterfly's tougher exterior.
It smelt like burning flesh and iron, making gleam feel queasy.

His breathing was labored, having your ribs broken and puncturing your lungs surely wouldn't let you breathe all dandy.
Phord took in an excrutiating breath, biting back a cry as gleam tilted its head up weakly.

A few feet away gleam could see there were splashes of a wonderful blue along the ground, something you'd see in jewels.
But this wasn't a good sign to be seeing. Not now.
Not when his partner was lying in that pile of blue. Peri's own blood.
God.
God no.

"Hydnell?"
Phord tried to call out, although his voice was barely a whisper. Sleeps throat was sore and raw, and gleam could taste iron.

Grimacing, the fairy forced itself to stand, shaking. His vision blurred for a moment, the pounding headache worsening as it took wobbly steps towards Hydnell.
Its legs almost gave out several times, the butterfly's chest tightening with every short breath gleam took in.
Everything burned and ached,
But he needed to see - to make sure - that Hydnell was still alive.

At least enough that gleam could save them.

Gleam collasped as it reached Hydnell's side, coughing and choking on the blood build up in his lungs.
With shaky hands he reaches over and turned Hydnell over, sleeps heart sinking at the sight of the moths injuries.
A large gash similar to its own ran down their body, the same inky black splotches eating through their flesh and fur. Phord nearly gagged at the strong stench.
It appeares that the tipped weapon the assailent used on Phord had been driven through the moth's stomach.

"Hydnell," Phord croaked, reaching up to undo his sailcloths clip, fumbling with it. "Don't. Dont you die."

The moth turned his head, then softly chuckled. Phord could hear how painful it was to do so.

"Just, just don't," He shakily breathed in as it reached to sleeps equipment belt, fumbling with a bottle, nearly dropping it, "just don't move or anything."

"Phord."
Hydnell said.

"Shut. Shut up don't-"
Phord retorted, lurching forward as a harsh cough racked his body.
The fairy choked back the blood, trying to take the cap off the bottle clumsily, its hands shaking.

"Your wings.. They're.."
Hydnell spoke softly, sitting up with a hiss. He reached a hand towards Phord.

The little of what was left of the fairy's wings twitched.

Phord bit down on his lip as he poured the peroxide mixture onto the sailcloth, splashing it almost all out onto gleamself and Hydnell.

"That doesn't matter right now."
Phord mumbled, pressing the soaked piece of fabric against the moth's wounds. Blue stained into the fabric, mixing with the dried purple blood from the butterfly. There was so much to the point it began to wet Phord's hands.

The moth hissed and grimaced at the burning sensation, but didn't retaliate otherwise.
Phord pressed harder, pouring more of the peroxide onto the wounds. But nothing stopped the blood that kept pouring out - The wound was too deep, and what was he to do about the flesh being eaten through.