16th of Ash, 120
It was Arkash's second day awake. He'd only managed a few hours of consciousness on the fifteenth for the sake of rehydrating and discovered that he'd lost the majority of his body mass, his left arm, and his left eye. It was only that day that he realized he was losing his patience, too.
There, in the dust and grime of the warehouse, Arkash had been given a most generous gift of food by his caretakers. But when Arkash began to struggle to dismantle the bird with his one hand, he lost his temper, threw the chicken, and even tried to attack Asmodei, the winged man that served as a sort of guide and protector for the young rathari. Arkash couldn't bring harm to the giant even though he tried exceptionally hard to do so, but he was grateful for that once he'd finally calmed down.
It was an odd thing, Arkash found while he reflected. The decisions were his to make, but he found no inhibitor. There were no breaks on his mind, no buffer between his thoughts and motor functions. His upsetness just blew up in the form of blinding anger, and he couldn't recognize the patterns or triggers before he'd already swung his claws. Even then, he needed a jolt to recognize what he'd done.
Asmodei had shaken him, then verbally managed the rathari's breathing to calm him manually. The blame fell upon stress, of course. It was the most reasonable explanation for Arkash's destructive behavior, especially considering he'd began to grow violent in the days that lead to his incident. Nonetheless, the avialae continued in his campaign to rehabilitate the rathari.
He'd saved the chicken Arkash had thrown in his fit of rage, as well as the wooden slab that acted as a plate, then put it back on the komodo dragon's lap and told him to try again. Arkash stared at the plucked fowl with uncertainty, then looked at the avialae with a frown. "I can't," were the first words that came from his mouth.
"You can, Arkash," pressed the avialae with little give. Arkash merely looked upon the gifted meal with a frown, then pressed the elbow of his good arm into the chicken's breast and gripped the leg with his claws, and pulled. As expected, he brought his arm to shake with strain, and the leg still didn't come free. it was the same result as the last time he tried. Arkash bared his teeth while he pulled on the limb and shook. It didn't give. He was certain that he hadn't even popped the joint, and he couldn't get an angle on the limb to do so, either. "Alright, stop," instructed the avialae after half a minute of struggle.
Arkash obeyed, then stopped as he panted and huffed. He'd lost too much muscle, it was impossible. "I told you..." Arkash muttered, hopeless. "I'm too weak, I was asleep for too long." He was convinced that was the issue. It would have been easy if he had decent meat on his bones. But he didn't; he was a twig.
"No you're not," started the avialae. Arkash looked at him in confusion. Did he not just see Arkash trembling under the pressure and strain of trying to remove a drumstick? "You're only using half your strength, Ark." Half his strength?!
"THAT'S ALL I HAVE!" Arkash pleaded, tearful. It hurt too much to face; how dependent he'd become.
"What are you talking about? You didn't even lift your left arm." Asmodei crossed his arms. Arkash's eye flashed with rage and bewilderment.
"MY LEFT ARM IS FUCKING CHOPPED OFF!" Flecks of drool and venom were flung from his maw as he emptied his lungs at the false argent. Asmodei stood then, and the chair he sat upon was kicked back with the force of his stand. Arkash flinched, and the rage in his eye yielded to fear. The giant came at him from his blind side, but he turned his head fully to watch the false argent as he approached, then lifted his claws to stop the avialae as the man gripped the upper half of his stump. "Wait!" Cried Arkash as Asmodei pulled the damaged limb... and pressed his elbow into the breast of the fowl.
"Now use your other hand to pull the leg off." Arkash stared at the stump that rested two inches above his elbow in disbelief. The solution was obvious when he stared at the way Asmodei had set him up. "You can still use your left arm, Ark. It's not useless, just different." The revelation touched Arkash deeply. Asmodei was right, Arkash had fallen into a state of mind where he thought he couldn't even use his left arm. It still had its uses, he could hold the bird down and pull its leg off with his other hand.
So, Arkash did that. He pressed hard into the chicken's body while he pulled with his only set of claws. There was no immediate progress, but he tilted the limb to pop the join free, then pulled at the skin and raw meat beneath until it finally came free in a satisfying tear. His yellow eye stared at the drumstick as though it was the greatest thing he'd ever accomplished. With his injuries, it was. "I did it," Arkash spoke in disbelief.
"You did, and you did it without anyone else's help." Asmodei smiled. Arkash looked at him with a certain softness to his brow.
"No, you helped me. I'm grateful, but-"
"-No, Ark. I just had an idea with my outside view. You would have figured it out given a little longer, I'm sure." Asmodei reclaimed his seat with a smile, then brushed a hand over his hair. "Eat up; you've earned it."
Arkash smiled softly despite the uncomfortable pull of the left side of his face, then flicked his forked tongue before he tossed the raw drumstick in his mouth. The piece of food fell to the back of his throat, but it settled strangely. Arkash didn't recognize the feeling, but when he swallowed hard around the drumstick, his breathing stopped. Arkash's eye widened, and he leaned forward while he held his neck with his claws. It was stuck. How? He'd swallowed entire apples in the past. How did a drumstick lodge itself in his throat?
He didn't panic; not immediately, anyway. He tried to regurgitate the bone while he leaned his head forward and downward. Gravity would save him, he thought, but it didn't. He tried to hack and cough, but it was no use. "Arkash?" Asked the false argent with a furrow to his brow. The rathari didn't respond. He reached for his mouth with his shaky claw, hesitated, then gripped the edge of the bed to steady himself as he leaned over and tried to hack up the food.
Asmodei yelled something muffledly around him while the pressure in his head built further and further. Bright red droplets splattered the floor ahead of him as the corners of his vision darkened. More muffled yelling followed, and Arkash leaned into his stump to frantically reach toward the back of his throat, but there was nothing there. He couldn't get a grip on the obstruction in his throat, and he couldn't force it out. His gaze briefly lifted to Asmodei, who stared somewhere behind him. The avialae didn't help him. After everything he'd been through, all the trials and hardships, he was going to die to a drumstick.
That was when he was pulled from the edge of the bed by some unseen force, and his stomach was squeezed hard in some sort of hug. Pressure built up high in his chest, and the obstruction was pushed from his throat as the air was directed toward it. The drumstick fell from his maw, and he wheezed as fresh air filled his lungs in ragged breaths. "He was choking, you idiot!" Cried Fayeth's voice while she held him in that same embrace.
Panic ensued, and the blood that had dripped from his nostrils rolled in droplets to his parted lips while he breathed and streamed tears. His whole body shook with a delayed wave of adrenaline, and he sobbed. Fayeth, the pale siltori, turned him to face her and wrapped her arms around him in a protective hug.
"That's impossible!" Argued the false argent with a defensive tone. "I've seen rathari like him eat cats!"
Arkash could only look over his shoulder while his eye streamed tears. Why the hell would anyone eat a cat? "Well, obviously, it's possible," was all the siltori said in response to the avialae. A deep sigh escaped her as she pulled the Rathari away from her, and she lowered to look him in the eye. Arkash stared into the red of her eyes with his yellow iris bared. "You're okay, Arkash. You should probably things smaller than that until you're fighting fit again, though."
Arkash lifted his claws to his eye, and wiped the tears from his scales. "Thanks, Fayeth," Arkash returned in common with blatant misery in his tone. Though he'd nearly died eating the chicken, Arkash continued to eat the drumstick over the course of three bites instead of one. With each swallow, he found some difficulty or other. They blamed his strained throat muscles following the trauma, but that didn't feel right to Arkash. It was as though he'd forgotten how to eat properly, and his throat muscles had to be worked as consciously as his legs did. It was a process, to say the least.
It was Arkash's second day awake. He'd only managed a few hours of consciousness on the fifteenth for the sake of rehydrating and discovered that he'd lost the majority of his body mass, his left arm, and his left eye. It was only that day that he realized he was losing his patience, too.
There, in the dust and grime of the warehouse, Arkash had been given a most generous gift of food by his caretakers. But when Arkash began to struggle to dismantle the bird with his one hand, he lost his temper, threw the chicken, and even tried to attack Asmodei, the winged man that served as a sort of guide and protector for the young rathari. Arkash couldn't bring harm to the giant even though he tried exceptionally hard to do so, but he was grateful for that once he'd finally calmed down.
It was an odd thing, Arkash found while he reflected. The decisions were his to make, but he found no inhibitor. There were no breaks on his mind, no buffer between his thoughts and motor functions. His upsetness just blew up in the form of blinding anger, and he couldn't recognize the patterns or triggers before he'd already swung his claws. Even then, he needed a jolt to recognize what he'd done.
Asmodei had shaken him, then verbally managed the rathari's breathing to calm him manually. The blame fell upon stress, of course. It was the most reasonable explanation for Arkash's destructive behavior, especially considering he'd began to grow violent in the days that lead to his incident. Nonetheless, the avialae continued in his campaign to rehabilitate the rathari.
He'd saved the chicken Arkash had thrown in his fit of rage, as well as the wooden slab that acted as a plate, then put it back on the komodo dragon's lap and told him to try again. Arkash stared at the plucked fowl with uncertainty, then looked at the avialae with a frown. "I can't," were the first words that came from his mouth.
"You can, Arkash," pressed the avialae with little give. Arkash merely looked upon the gifted meal with a frown, then pressed the elbow of his good arm into the chicken's breast and gripped the leg with his claws, and pulled. As expected, he brought his arm to shake with strain, and the leg still didn't come free. it was the same result as the last time he tried. Arkash bared his teeth while he pulled on the limb and shook. It didn't give. He was certain that he hadn't even popped the joint, and he couldn't get an angle on the limb to do so, either. "Alright, stop," instructed the avialae after half a minute of struggle.
Arkash obeyed, then stopped as he panted and huffed. He'd lost too much muscle, it was impossible. "I told you..." Arkash muttered, hopeless. "I'm too weak, I was asleep for too long." He was convinced that was the issue. It would have been easy if he had decent meat on his bones. But he didn't; he was a twig.
"No you're not," started the avialae. Arkash looked at him in confusion. Did he not just see Arkash trembling under the pressure and strain of trying to remove a drumstick? "You're only using half your strength, Ark." Half his strength?!
"THAT'S ALL I HAVE!" Arkash pleaded, tearful. It hurt too much to face; how dependent he'd become.
"What are you talking about? You didn't even lift your left arm." Asmodei crossed his arms. Arkash's eye flashed with rage and bewilderment.
"MY LEFT ARM IS FUCKING CHOPPED OFF!" Flecks of drool and venom were flung from his maw as he emptied his lungs at the false argent. Asmodei stood then, and the chair he sat upon was kicked back with the force of his stand. Arkash flinched, and the rage in his eye yielded to fear. The giant came at him from his blind side, but he turned his head fully to watch the false argent as he approached, then lifted his claws to stop the avialae as the man gripped the upper half of his stump. "Wait!" Cried Arkash as Asmodei pulled the damaged limb... and pressed his elbow into the breast of the fowl.
"Now use your other hand to pull the leg off." Arkash stared at the stump that rested two inches above his elbow in disbelief. The solution was obvious when he stared at the way Asmodei had set him up. "You can still use your left arm, Ark. It's not useless, just different." The revelation touched Arkash deeply. Asmodei was right, Arkash had fallen into a state of mind where he thought he couldn't even use his left arm. It still had its uses, he could hold the bird down and pull its leg off with his other hand.
So, Arkash did that. He pressed hard into the chicken's body while he pulled with his only set of claws. There was no immediate progress, but he tilted the limb to pop the join free, then pulled at the skin and raw meat beneath until it finally came free in a satisfying tear. His yellow eye stared at the drumstick as though it was the greatest thing he'd ever accomplished. With his injuries, it was. "I did it," Arkash spoke in disbelief.
"You did, and you did it without anyone else's help." Asmodei smiled. Arkash looked at him with a certain softness to his brow.
"No, you helped me. I'm grateful, but-"
"-No, Ark. I just had an idea with my outside view. You would have figured it out given a little longer, I'm sure." Asmodei reclaimed his seat with a smile, then brushed a hand over his hair. "Eat up; you've earned it."
Arkash smiled softly despite the uncomfortable pull of the left side of his face, then flicked his forked tongue before he tossed the raw drumstick in his mouth. The piece of food fell to the back of his throat, but it settled strangely. Arkash didn't recognize the feeling, but when he swallowed hard around the drumstick, his breathing stopped. Arkash's eye widened, and he leaned forward while he held his neck with his claws. It was stuck. How? He'd swallowed entire apples in the past. How did a drumstick lodge itself in his throat?
He didn't panic; not immediately, anyway. He tried to regurgitate the bone while he leaned his head forward and downward. Gravity would save him, he thought, but it didn't. He tried to hack and cough, but it was no use. "Arkash?" Asked the false argent with a furrow to his brow. The rathari didn't respond. He reached for his mouth with his shaky claw, hesitated, then gripped the edge of the bed to steady himself as he leaned over and tried to hack up the food.
Asmodei yelled something muffledly around him while the pressure in his head built further and further. Bright red droplets splattered the floor ahead of him as the corners of his vision darkened. More muffled yelling followed, and Arkash leaned into his stump to frantically reach toward the back of his throat, but there was nothing there. He couldn't get a grip on the obstruction in his throat, and he couldn't force it out. His gaze briefly lifted to Asmodei, who stared somewhere behind him. The avialae didn't help him. After everything he'd been through, all the trials and hardships, he was going to die to a drumstick.
That was when he was pulled from the edge of the bed by some unseen force, and his stomach was squeezed hard in some sort of hug. Pressure built up high in his chest, and the obstruction was pushed from his throat as the air was directed toward it. The drumstick fell from his maw, and he wheezed as fresh air filled his lungs in ragged breaths. "He was choking, you idiot!" Cried Fayeth's voice while she held him in that same embrace.
Panic ensued, and the blood that had dripped from his nostrils rolled in droplets to his parted lips while he breathed and streamed tears. His whole body shook with a delayed wave of adrenaline, and he sobbed. Fayeth, the pale siltori, turned him to face her and wrapped her arms around him in a protective hug.
"That's impossible!" Argued the false argent with a defensive tone. "I've seen rathari like him eat cats!"
Arkash could only look over his shoulder while his eye streamed tears. Why the hell would anyone eat a cat? "Well, obviously, it's possible," was all the siltori said in response to the avialae. A deep sigh escaped her as she pulled the Rathari away from her, and she lowered to look him in the eye. Arkash stared into the red of her eyes with his yellow iris bared. "You're okay, Arkash. You should probably things smaller than that until you're fighting fit again, though."
Arkash lifted his claws to his eye, and wiped the tears from his scales. "Thanks, Fayeth," Arkash returned in common with blatant misery in his tone. Though he'd nearly died eating the chicken, Arkash continued to eat the drumstick over the course of three bites instead of one. With each swallow, he found some difficulty or other. They blamed his strained throat muscles following the trauma, but that didn't feel right to Arkash. It was as though he'd forgotten how to eat properly, and his throat muscles had to be worked as consciously as his legs did. It was a process, to say the least.
