Bleeding Heart 23 Whisken, I Miss You

The smell of burning flesh, fur and feathers had stayed with Raven even after they had moved to set up camp where the smell would not waft. Perhaps it was because being blind so greatly enhanced his sense of smell but it really made his stomach turn.

There was an odd sense of familiarity with that smell. Well, not the feathers so much, but he was sure that he had smelled burning fur before. It was the oddest thing to jog something inside of him but it was.

He did not really talk much with the other men in his tent before rolling over and trying to sleep. He tuned out what they were talking about in quiet tones as well. Before he knew it he was slipping into sleep and to the land of dreams.

His dream though seemed more like a memory, though influenced by what had happened earlier.

In it there had been blood everywhere. His hands were coated in it, and he was bleeding from several gashes on his sides and arms. He was gripping a sword in one hand.

His breath came out a bit ragged, but he continued to fight with everything in him against a band of rag tag men. Why he was fighting them was unclear.

By his side, flas.h.i.+ng teeth and growling savagely was a wolf. In his dream he watched one of the men grip a torch he was holding and fling it at the wolf. The wolf yelped and rushed the man, getting stabbed as the flames climbed up higher.

Everything blurred, and the next thing that was clear was he was kneeling by the wolf, having thrown a now smoldering cloak over its body as it was breathing its last breaths.

Tears streaked down his face as he sobbed in a panic, "Come on Whisken. Just fight. Please…"

His voice broke and he buried his head in the Whisken's shoulder. Even the pain caused by the wounds in his body seemed much lighter as the pain in his heart grew.

He woke up feeling strangely sad. For a moment he stared up at the top of the tent, tears gathering in his eyes. It took him a while to realize that he actually remembered more than just that dream.

It was not that he remembered much of his life. But he did remember Whisken. Whisken had been with him for much of his early years, they had practically grown up together. Inseparable, and having a deep bond together that even now felt special to Raven.

Most of his memories of Whisken were pretty blurred. But he could summon up dozens of them just of Whisken playing, fighting, snuggling. He could remember that the wolf had a fondness for stretching in front of the fire, be it in a fireplace or a campfire. He also remembered that Whisken had been fairly old for a wolf when he had died.

He did not know how long he just cried for the wolf who had probably already been dead for several years but it felt rather fresh right now. He was still silently crying when he heard Dawn calling him softly for their watch.

He left the tent, wiping the tears from his face, feeling the tears slightly make his fingers sting.

As he sat beside of Dawn, and focused his attention on listening, he heard her soft voice asking him if he was alright.

"Yeah," He hesitated a bit, "I remembered something that saddened me is all."

"Really what was it?" She sounded concerned about him and he realized that she actually cared about him a little.

"My first pet and how he died." He murmured quietly almost expecting her to laugh.

She did not. Instead she patted his arm, and for the first time since that dream he felt his heart lighten at the simple act of care. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head and gave a small smile, "No, I'm good. I just needed a bit of time to calm down. I already feel better."

"Are you sure? You strike me as the sort to get really attached to your pets."

"I think I am, you know. At least from what I remember I was pretty attached." He sighed softly,

"But I really do feel better now."

He did not mention that she had made him feel better just by asking if he was alright. It seemed a bit silly and illogical. But Raven was not completely sure he was actually the most logical person. Sure he was bright, and seemed to have a strange grasp of tactics that he still had no idea where he had picked up but when all was said and done he was pretty sure he was actually a highly sentimental fellow. Just he did not remember what to be sentimental about.