The colour of bone

Silent words and bloodstained fur

Jonathan closed his eyes, cradled his head in his hands. 

He could hear the other kids laughing in the common room, it echoed in his ears. 

He stood abruptly, shook his head violently and stalked towards the bathroom, he turned on the shower and tried to avoid looking in the mirror. As steam filled the drab little room he shot a glance at the glass, it had mostly fogged up but he could still see the startling green of one of his eyes, and the milky blankness of the other. 

Jonathan ran hesitant fingers over the slightly raised scar that bisected his eyebrow. The skin felt rough and taunt. He jerked away from the mirror and began to methodically strip, he stepped beneath the warm water and tried desperately not to think.

He was fighting a losing battle.

Every time he closed his eyes he could see the flames curling through the gaping remains of his childhood home. 

He could see his little sister lying in a hospital bed, blood seeping through bandages that seemed far too big for her tiny body. 

His mother’s remains hadn’t been found, nor had the person who had set the fire. 

He remembered the police sitting him down, trying to find a gentle way to tell him that his family was dead, his home gone, all over a robbery gone wrong. 

He remembers screaming until his throat was raw and he could taste blood and ashes on his tongue. 

A sharp pain wells up in his chest, Jonathan presses his hand to his sternum and grits his teeth. he can feel bones shifting beneath his skin, and he knows if he looked he’d be able to see claws or teeth or talons pressing through the taunt gaps between his ribs. 

He stumbles out of the shower and pulls on his clothes, shoulders past anyone who gets in his way. 

He moves blindly through and out of the house, he doesn't know where he’s going and he doesn't really care.

The pain becomes unbearable when he reaches the river, he collapses to his knees and digs his fingers into the mossy undergrowth. 

His muscles convulse and his bones shift and jerk, his head is thrown back and his throat moves in a soundless scream. 

He twists and writhes on the ground and he hears something not dissimilar to hounds baying and  he feels something in his chest flinch in instinctive fear. 

It rips out of him, tearing and mauling and cracking bones. 

He falls away from consciousness, the last thing he sees is a flash of ivory teeth and fur like charred flame. 

———————————————————————————————————————————

“Jonathan” 

“Jonathan, wake up”

Something is curled around him, it smells like blood and home. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you” 

He opens his eyes and comes face to face with a fox. It’s fur is smeared darker in some places, he soon realizes that the fox is practically dripping in his blood.

He doesn’t speak, he only watches it with his single working eye.

It nuzzles at the scar on his face. 

“I am Adriel” it whispers to him. 

Adriel’s eyes are soft as she looks at him. She does not ask him anything. She knows he does not speak. 

“Don’t worry, Jonathan, I will be your voice. I will be our voice” 

He feels something in his stomach that had been clenched tight since the fire unfurl. 

He feels the tension in his shoulders ease.

He is nowhere close to healed, but finally he feels as though he has a chance. 

He stands on legs as shaky as a newborn colts and gathers Adriel in his arms. She shifts with water-like fluidity and curls around his shoulders. 

He strokes her ash-soft fur and he does not smile, but for the first time in months, he feels as if he could.