The snow leopard stalked through the territory, pale eyes hooded as he glanced around. Licking his jaws, he felt like slavering at the thought of returning to his old hunting grounds. Claws flexing into the ground--it felt as if it was a wave of ecstasy crashing through him and his mouth opened, drinking in the scent.
He wondered who he would come across today.
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She did not look the same, but something about her was still the same small child she had once been: quiet and anxious, and feeling never quite good enough. She was almost the same size, if not smaller now than she had been before. She was nearer to a lizard than a dragon, if it hadn't been for the wings, anyway. Her back legs were still paralyzed, although a different injury had sent her down that path.
Rhymescheme had a bad feeling about today. She had a bad feeling about most days. Often times, nothing bad did happen. But other times...other times that was not the case. The youth had risen in the ranks, slowly, filling into roles she was not always sure she was of the type for. Deputy she was now, and yet she felt more ineffectual than Polaris. What did she have but tiny claws? Her old favorite, her daggers, were quite heavy for the little creature now, and she could barely wrap her limbs around their entirety.
She was looking for the double-headed snake again. She needed to find them, she had decided, if she was ever going to be able to move beyond this moment, and win back the things she wanted most. She flew low -- with her legs, she could not walk but she was also afraid of heights, so she tended to skim the ground, closer to hovering than flying.
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The smell of WindClan had many memories for him. There was the feeling of fire burning his wings to a ragged crisp as he fell from the heavens. The smell of charred feather and flesh, a gut-churning combination. The wind that screamed and drowned out the crackle of flames...
But there were softer, gentler memories. Mother's milk, the warmth of his siblings, the carelessness of kit-hood. However, it was unlikely that these sentimental memories would drag any sympathy out of him for any WindClanners. He had killed scores of them, more than he could count, really. WindClan memories had never stayed his claws and he didn't plan on it happening right now.
Today, Rheon grinned as he spotted the figure of Rhymescheme. His little daughter, that was what she was. Daughter of Wingspan, whom he had raped and left with his children. She would've saved herself a lot of trouble if she had gone and gotten rid of the kittens in her belly, but like most foolish people, sentiments had gotten in the way. Instead, they brought on more despair and heartbreak than necessary.
Stretching his claws into the ground, the snow leopard glanced over at one of his birds. The black crows took off from the tree that they were resting in, aiming to fly at Rhymescheme's face.
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Nebula had suggested her daughter do just that. But Wingspan had not, and so instead they were left with her. She, who could only be described as having a less than pleasant sort of life. Unfortunately, it did not seem as though her quality of life was improving all that much.
In truth, though, it was better. Now she had wings, so she did not have to rely on a dumb dog to carry her around. But the way she was afraid of actually flying, it didn't amount to meaning much. And, of course, Hodor had disappeared. She had no idea what had happened to him. All she knew was that he had disappeared when the human had arrived, and she hadn't seen him since. What that meant, she was not sure. She was almost certain he was dead now and their attack had killed her. Rhymescheme did not like to dwell on the dead too often; else it would consume her.
The tiny dragon's eyes widened and she felt a thrill in her stomach as the black wings flew to her face. They made her think of Hermes, who had also deserted her. No companions left for Rhy anymore, just the shams of things that couldn't even properly be called friendships -- and then whatever she had with Justice, which was far too complicated to understand. Black wings. It could hardly mean anything good -- it certainly felt uneasy to her. The black reminded her of a griffin she had known far too recently. That creature had given her a new scar to her neck.
She threw her claw up against her face, protecting her eyes. Of course the movement was not particularly easy for the paraplegic, and her wings ducked a little, deciding perhaps it would be best to land completely until the storm of crows passed.
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"Well, if it isn't my daughter. There is really no better company to welcome me back to WindClan. Outside of Wingspan of course," the black spotted wildcat drawled as he approached, his long claws unsheathing as he strolled over towards her. There was a playful lilt to his voice, echoed by the way his tail swung from side to side in the rhythm of his words. He was really going to oh so enjoy this encounter.
He hoped that his familiar voice was going to spark up some type of emotion in her. Fear, particularly. He did love tasting the fear in the air.
Rheon approached Rhy, keeping his pace leisurely as the crows dissipated back to where they watched from the trees like silent black-gowned specters at a funeral.
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The small she-dragon heard the voice and it was all too easy for her to recognize. It was not because it was overly familiar, but rather because the few times she had heard it had left large imprints in her memory, impacting the tiny deputy. Did he know, she wondered. Had he been watching her? What did he know of her life nowadays?
He wanted fear, and he got it. Rhy was scared of many things. She was scared of flying. She was scared more generally of heights. She was scared of the clans enemies. She was scared of her personal enemies. She was scared of her own clanmates. But there were a few things that could instill a greater fear even than that. Rhy could count them more easily. They were the fears she could not so easily hide. Her father was certainly one of those things.
It had been so long she had almost managed to forget. She had even thought, perhaps, that he was dead, well and truly gone, or that maybe, even if he was still alive, he had forgotten about Wingspan and herself. After all, she hadn't sssent him around, or even any evidence of him, for quite some time.
She took a shaky breath, watching him approach. He was so cool about it, his pace easy and casual, as if he did this all the time. Rhymescheme tried to keep her fear concealed from him; it wouldn't do her any good to show it, she reminded herself sternly. Welcome him back to WindClan? What did that mean? He didn't really...he wasn't expecting to stay here? He couldn't be. So what was he here for? For her mother? For her? "What are you doing here? You stopped sending gifts." She tried to sound confident and nonchalant, but her tone betrayed her with a tremor.
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He kept his daughter's gaze evenly, his pale eyes alight with a cruel light. His tail flicked from side to side in a playful manner, like a cat watching a bird and waiting for the opportunity to strike.
A sly grin crossed his jaws as he heard the challenge in Rhyme's voice. Or at least, perceived challenge. The snow leopard's nose wrinkled a bit as he considered the question. "Is it a crime to visit my home?" he stated dryly. "Of course, as long as I don't mean to hurt anyone on WindClan territory." That didn't exactly restrict him from murdering WindClanners outside.
The gifts? He tapped a claw alongside his jaw for a bit. "Perhaps I've been busying myself with other things. Gifts are very hard to select, acquire, and...present."
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She could imagine. Where did he go, what lengths did he take, to find his matching bodies? Wouldn't it have been easier to actually kill the people he was mimicking? Rhy would not think about the fact that she had not seen Hodor for months -- ever since the humans had attacked. Her father couldn't have anything to do with that anyway, right?
Sometimes Rhy wondered how he had all that time on his paws. Servants? Something else? The tiny dragon swallowed, trying to keep the movement small and not as though she needed to fight back fear and keep it down. She couldn't let him see that. It would have been dangerous to tip him off.
Anxiety pricked at her pelt. "What are you doing here? No one wants to see you." She tried to sound tough. Of course if he'd come across anyone but her, they wouldn't know who he was, wouldn't know how dangerous he was. If he asked to see her or her mother, they probably would run to fetch them, as though nothing at all was wrong. Sneaking around was the far more suspicious route to take -- but less public, if he were to run across someone. No, he had to be here to hurt someone. Why else would he bother?
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{Sorry about the late reply. My working week started and I've been doing 12 hour shifts for the past four days ;_;}
Rheon let out a chuckle as he heard Rhy's words. No one wanted to see him? That was plain false. The snow leopard's pale eyes slitted dangerously as he attempted to give his daughter a hard pat on the head with a rough paw.
"You're wrong on that. Plenty of people want to see me here, Rhy," the wildcat remarked, his voice dropping to a low sultry purr, as if he was sharing an intimate secret with her. A cruel smile tugged at the corner of his black lips, his long canines peeking out from his mouth as he grinned a bit wolfishly at her. Wolf wouldn't be a good animal to compare him to at the moment. Perhaps a shark, with its savage and constant gape and dead eyes.
"Your mother. For one. She would like to see me...dead," Rheon finished. He chuckled at his own wit. "I'm sure you'll like to see me the same as well."
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// don't worry, I've been traveling anyway
Her whole body was tense, and at once it seemed to ache with the tenseness. Her father was back again, and for once showing his horrible face instead of hiding behind bodies that represented so much more than only death and death again. Gruesome and painful deaths were never far away from her father. Except his own.
She was quiet while she listened to him, for a moment wondering where he was going with his speech before the end. See him. Dead. Rhy's heart leapt a little at the idea. Oh no, Rhy was no saint. There were several people she devoutly wished death upon. Unfortunately, none of them currently were.
The tiny dragon actually doubted her mother would wish that on anyone. She was far too kind and soft of heart, so unlike her daughter who must have inherited some of her father's coldness. Rhy would have loved to have seen him screaming in pain, bleeding out before her eyes, bones crushed, eyes finally hollow and empty. "Are you volunteering?" She asked, her heart beating. Where was he going with this? Fear ran through her like tremors in he earth. What did he want?
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The snow leopard leaned forward, almost eagerly. Already, something was clicking in his mind. Something definitely fitting the situation and something that he would enjoy oh so much. Rheon could almost see the emotions playing out from under Rhy's face.
"What rank do you hold in WindClan now, my dear?" the spotted wildcat asked, raising a brow as he watched the young dragon.
{apologies for short reply}
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Her position? Somehow she doubted that he already knew. Rhymescheme became more uneasy. Why did he want to know? Her mind immediately went to Iceshattered, Justice's father and...and so much more to Rhy, so many more terrible terrifying things. The tiny dragon knew he had been interested in Justice's position, and things had been precarious once Justice was demoted.
There was no way she was telling him if he didn't know already. "That's none of your business," the tiny green creature said tightly. She was becoming more and more unbalance. It wasn't right -- how come most other people could have at least tried to force an intruder away from here but Rhy...getting into fights was not exactly something she could do well. Or have a hope of winning.
It made the back of her eyes burn with anger. Why should she be one forced to withstand this while others could move beyond it so easily? What had she done to deserve this? It's a punishment, Rhy. You deserve it. And she knew somewhere that likely she did. She deserved every punishment she got.
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"You're my daughter. Of course it's my business," he stated sweetly. Honey-sweetly, almost, though like many sweet things, it masked the taste of pure venom. Rheon's pale eyes flickered slightly as he raised his head. "You've risen high in the ranks. Wingspan's just above you at vice-leader, no?"
He could almost smell her fear and indignation and Rheon felt alive. This was what he lived on--the desperation of others. It was thrilling to know that there was nothing that she could do to stop him. After all, he had raped and murdered his way across the lands and not a single paw came close to ever catching him or attempting to catch him. So much for their justice.
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As if he didn't know. But Rhy wasn't going to tell him. Why should she make anything easier for him? Why should she give him anything? It wasn't like she owed him. Maybe he had created her, or half of her...and Rhy had her issues with that. But Rhy felt no debt to him for that. Sometimes she would rather she didn't exist than her mother to have suffered. Other times, she wanted to be alive, and she was angry at the idea that Nebulaheart had suggested that Wingspan kill her before she was born.
Rhymescheme's eyes darkened. "No," she lied, "she's dead." Why not say that? Maybe he would believe it. Maybe he would think his information was outdated. Maybe she would leave Wingspan alone. Her mother was far too fragile to be messed around with much more lately. She turned her head away, as though she was hiding tears. But Rhy wasn't a practiced actress. The only thing she was good at was hiding what she was feeling. Showing it was another story.
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Rheon made a small chuckle, a nasty little laugh that winked in his lifeless gray-blue eyes. It was the dark humor of winter, the type of comedy that played out when winter starvation was eminent and the elderly offered to go hunting to never return and spare their sons and daughters the burden of feeding another mouth. That was his type of humor.
"You know I don't like liars, daughter," the snow leopard stated, baring his teeth in a shark-like grin at last. He played with his claws a bit, flexing and unflexing them to unsheathe and sheathe the wicked sharp talons.
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"I don't," she replied, trying to ignore the look on his face and the subtle catch of his claws. The small movements might not have alarmed most people -- after all, it didn't look all that violent. But in reality, the tiny dragon could feel the anticipation of danger and it seemed to be almost as strong as actual violence. Wasn't that strange? It made little sense to her, but that was how it worked. Fear of the thing was worse than the thing. Unfortunately, that revelation didn't make her feel any better.
The laugh. That was what was really unnerving. Oh, he knew without a doubt she was lying. And he was mocking her for her attempt. "I don't know you." And she didn't want to. Father-daughter bonding time? Not really on the schedule. Her fears flared up again, wondering over and over again: what did he want?
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"You don't either, so why are you lying?" he added icily, his voice dropping all semblance of friendliness. With a rush of movement, the spotted feline attempted to rush forward and pin down the deputy. Needle sharp claws extended, there was no care on his part to make sure they didn't slash open anything in his attempt to subdue her. In fact, if she was hurt, Rheon would say that would be an added bonus.
Real rage glinted in those pale gray orbs as he bared his teeth in a snarl of sorts. Long yellow fangs heralded the hot blood-stink of his breath, the smell of carnage that always hung around him like it was part of him. In truth, it was. "Lying through your teeth. I should pull out all those nice pretty teeth of yours."
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Even though Rhy had been wary this whole time, his sudden movement took her by surprise. They had been talking so long, and all he had been giving her was glances and glares. He hadn't moved for her, and so part of her had forgotten that he was violent and not just talk and games. He was real. He was more than a figment, like the visions she saw.
Her wings hurried to raise themselves, but they were too late. The membrane of her right wing caught in his needly claws, tearing through the thinner area. He had her in hand, just like that. Just. Like. That.
No. No. She had to get out of here. Why had she even stopped? Why had she talked to him? Why hadn't she just ran? Hadn't she known that was the best thing to do, for someone like her? Deputy. Rhy was a joke -- even more than Polaris. If the Star Council had pulled names of hps out of a bag, hers would be the one everyone surely would have dreaded the most.
Suddenly he was so angry, spitting at her about lying. What had enraged him so much? He breathed into her face and she turned her head away. He smelled like death and decay. He smelled like what he did. You smelled what you were, it seemed. He smelled like a bastard. "They'd be the first nice thing you had," she snarled. The pain was too mild for one who had suffered like her. This was nothing, and she was angry too. Sure, she was scared. But she wasn't broken.
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"The first nice thing I had was the soft pelt of that girl I found on ShadowClan borders. I raped her and made her death a slow one before skinning her. That was before I realized that skinning someone was a nice slow death anyways," Rheon hissed back in reply. Ever practical and improving with every murder, it seemed. He attempted to dig his claws into her scales, his eyes growing wider in contrast to his pupils that narrowed into pinpoints of insanity.
"She screamed. Sounded like a bird. Until I tore out her throat. It was good that she was still alive afterwards. But her cries didn't make a sound. Except a sound like a hiss as the air escaped her broken windpipe."
Why he was telling her this? The situation seemed appropriate. "Little birdy. The only sound was the hiss of air coming from her and the crunching of the leaves as she squirmed. Not another sound she made."
Then he glared down at her, his teeth bared as he hissed. "You? Your teeth aren't nice things. Neither are you. You're broken, and cripples, bastards, or broken things aren't nice enough for me to take."
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She wasn't good enough for her father. Well, surprise surprise. Rhy wasn't good enough for anyone or anything. She could only do so much when she was the way she was - he had the proper word for it - broken. She had been broken. And some other people, they broke too - but they didn't stay broken. She was the exception, and there didn't seem a good reason why.
She shuddered as she listened to his story, straining against him. When had he started? How long had he been doing what he had? Why? Why did he do it? Skinning someone -- how did anyone even think of that? How did it fall into their heads? She was so confused. How could he do that to someone else - someone he didn't know, some stranger who had nothing to do with him? He was so strange and impossible to her, she could find very little common ground with him at all. How was this man her father? How could someone this depraved be someone she owed half her life to?
Rhymescheme would not let herself cry. She wouldn't let him see anything. He would only enjoy it. "Then...let...me...go..." she hissed. He was right. She was nothing. Worthless. A pile of junk. She didn't know why anyone let her play like she was important.
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