[Gift] Just A Walk

The past few seasons have been… 

Eventful.

That’s the word Ravager decides to go with. He could say horrible, exhausting, infuriating… But he’s trying his best to stay on the bright side. Not that he’s ever been the optimistic type, but he’s spent enough time wallowing in the anger and defeat and knows he needs to start moving forward again.

The first thing he does is reflect on her.

What a fascinating individual. She’s clearly wary of him, and for good reason, given all he’d done in the past. He remembers, in excruciating detail, the day she first came into his life. A new recruit looking to join his pack. Head hanging low, saying nothing, watching suspiciously all around her - but there was a quiet strength deep within her. He could sense it. With time, he knew he could mold her into the perfect minion. And then she left, slipped out into the night. Not the first to disappear within his ranks and certainly not the last. Just another blip on his radar, lost to the wind.

So then why did he fixate on her so heavily?

Even before she found him three seasons ago, broken and bleeding and abandoned by his pack, he never quite forgot about her. Never did he imagine he’d find her again, and yet there she was, standing above him as he lay on the verge of consciousness, convinced she would be the last thing he’d ever see. He never found the words to ask why. Even though the question burned in his mind the way her namesake smoldered beneath the desert sun.

She spent all this time nursing him back to health. Tending to his wounds, bringing him meat, nagging him to exercise the leg that had been so badly injured it might never fully heal. It aches now, unhappy with the late winter chill that still lingered in the air. His face pulls into a grimace at the pain as he shifts in his nest and forces himself to stand. 

For some reason, Ravager feels the strange urge to return her kindness in some way. He tells himself it’s because he hates to be indebted and wants to be able to leave on his own terms with a clean slate. 

Dune had left at first light, likely to hunt and find new bedding. For him; he feels a slight tug at his chest at the thought. He didn’t want to be dependent on her or anyone any longer like a mewling hatchling who can’t even hunt for itself. He pushes himself forward despite the screaming in his haunches and steps out of the cave. 

As fate would have it, the very one he’d been thinking about appears from beyond the trees as soon as he begins to walk towards them. She drops the bundle of fresh straw and feathers she carried in her jaws and speaks.

“What are you doing?” she says with an accusatory glance at the leg he won’t put too much pressure on.

Even though the sand-colored cryosaur had been the focus of his thoughts that morning, the question irritates him. “Don’t concern yourself with me,” he replies gruffly, continuing his march.

She easily catches his pace. “I will,” is her stubborn response. “Your leg is not yet healed. You could injure it further if you don’t rest.”

They haven’t done much talking in these past several moons. His simmering over the incident that crippled him combined with her general wariness led to the passing of many silent days and nights. 

“I’ll be fine.” He thought that would be the end of it and that she’d leave him alone. But to his surprise, she continues walking alongside him. “I’m not a hatchling,” he growled. “I don’t need a chaperone.”

She shrugs, unfazed by his glaring eye. “Consider it a walk together, then.”

He continued to stare at her, somewhat thrown off by the remark. He snorted and turned, saying nothing more. What a strange one, indeed. 

They walked through the forest floor in silence, nothing to break the crisp air but the sound of crunching snow beneath their claws. He had intended to hunt and contribute his weight to the den, but now with her here… well, he doesn’t feel like risking a potential embarrassment in front of her if his leg ends up hindering him. 

The more he stretches it, though, the looser it feels. Stronger. He hadn’t spent a lot of time walking far from the den until now; perhaps Dune was right in her advice, after all. He picks up the pace, eyes still turned ahead of him. Dune turns to look at him, but matches his stride. He goes a little faster. And faster…

And then he breaks out into a full sprint.

He hears the calls of concern behind him, but doesn’t stop. He needs to feel the rush of the wind against his hide, feel the burn in his leg as it screams and tells him to stop just as the cryo at his tail does. He defies them both. 

The icy chill nips at his nose as he breathes in deeply, enjoying the way the cold air fills his lungs. Dune finally catches pace beside him, seemingly given up on trying to get him to stop. They run together through the winter wood like juveniles who haven’t yet learned not to scare away their prey. 

Eventually, Dune begins to slow, and Ravager thinks she must be getting tired. His head turns to flash her a smug look as if to taunt her for not being able to keep up with a wounded dinosaur. Too late does he hear her cries to stop and feels himself falling through a well-hidden drop off a snowbank.

The slope, thankfully, is shallow, and the fall is only a few feet. But the burn on his cheeks as he lay tangled over his own limbs and twisted roots is worse than any pain his body could come up with. Dune stands on the bank above, worry initially etched into her features. Upon realizing he’s not hurt, however, she lets out a small, stifled snort of a chuckle. “Don’t need a chaperone, huh?”

Ravager boils with indignation. He growls and shifts onto his back, using his powerful tail to thwap at the wall of dirt and snow. It causes the edge Dune is standing upon to crumble, and so, too, does she, a cry of surprise escaping her as she falls. 

Unintentionally, she ends up falling directly on top of him. The force sends a shock of pain up his leg, but his attention is much more focused on the cryo whose face is just inches from his own. They stay like that, motionless, neither willing to break the dam of awkward tension. A loud squawk from a nearby magpie eventually breaks it for them and Dune quickly scrambles off of him.

“A-are you alright?” she reflexively asks, avoiding direct eye contact. He slowly rises to his feet, shaking off the snow and twigs clinging to his hide. 

“Just fine,” he says without taking his eyes off of her. His voice does not betray the irritating tug in his chest. 

“That’s… good.” She falters for a moment, as if unsure on how to continue the conversation. So Ravager takes action. Wordlessly, he starts walking back toward the direction of their den, and just as wordlessly, she follows behind. 

After another moment of silence, Ravager speaks. “Thanks for the walk.” He doesn’t look back, but he can feel Dune perk up at the statement. She catches his pace and strides directly beside him, now, just barely close enough to touch.

They don’t speak again the entire journey home, but the way he allows himself to lean ever so slightly against her says more than words ever could.