❝ CONGRATULATIONS ❞ they were wilting. like the flower they were, they were wilting under the circumstances. that much was clear when, upon entrance of the king and many others, they turned numbly on a lone heel to stumble toward camp. blood and bile still oozed and crawled whenever frisk's eyelids fluttered shut, the horrors freezing senses and making them dizzy, but the killings hardly laid in wait for an hour before tragedy struck again.
one would have thought by now he had gone home, that he'd possibly even wait awhile longer before going on the prowl again. though to be fair, some of the people did caution that they should double check the borders— but how was one to know that he had already been past them, lying in weight elsewhere in the territory, only to catch young child by surprise via jumping out at them on their way to camp.
orders were still fresh to ears, telling how they were to stay in groups for protection(!!), how patrols would be doubled, how they were to fight tooth and nail, to kill if possible, should the stinking murderer waltz back into this land of rot and ruin. and they did, they tried, because in that moment their leader's words actually registered through their faint and mournful state. teeth snapped at a thick neck and claws had split ribbons across skin but all should remember— this was just a child, one who had seen war and hell and fought in both, yeah, but one who also could barely stand on three paws by their lonesome, against a full blown assassin. the outcome was inevitable.
so now hermes stands alone, his snout pushing against ruffled sands to sniff and inhale and snort and squeal panic at the combining scents of floral and gore, of cinnamon and injury. for those who happen upon yelping pig, they will have the delight of seeing indents and imprints that stain shifting sand, shapes big and small, and a splatter of blood— someone's blood, but who's it truly is is free for all to figure— that appears then and again and seems to pace all the way back to the border, so far from where the original struggle took place. the smell of the rogue overlooks it all.
tldr; frisk has been captured like maybe half an hour or less after the murders! there is a little trail of blood here and there that, if followed, will head toward the border but whether it's theirs or slade's or someone else's altogether is up in the air! there are scuff marks / clear signs of struggle from where the actual attack happened and deathstroke did not bother to hide his scent. the first to note their disappearance was their feral pig hermes who is now standing over the scene being really loud. frisk will be back when i get back from camping; july first </3 Deathstroke