An anchor. Yes. That is what Sawyer was. What she’d always had been. Loyal, steadfast. A protector. Sure, she was still growing into herself, still far from the woman she’d one day be, but there were always glimmers. This pull in her heart, to do what’s right, always right, by others. Maybe it was upbringing, brought about by the gentle paw of Elswyth, or perhaps it had always existed within her. Dormant. Like a dream. Sawyer believes the other girl’s words easily, despite the feeling in her gut that this was very, very real. She’s young, she still bends to the slightest of pressures. And there’s something authoritative about this cub who, despite being even younger than her, seems wise beyond her years. The crown tends to do that to you. Terrible for the skin. But Sawyer didn’t know the strange girl was a princess just yet. It’ll be our little secret. I am @Lazare Dieudonné, I think What an odd thing to say! It almost pulls out a laugh from the golden child, but Sawyer is too afraid to disrupt that awful peace. Well, she was right. If this was a dream, she could probably speak whatever tongues she wanted to. But that was so boring, such little food for the imagination, that Sawyer decided to test other possibilities. "I've got a better idea." Yes, this was their dream. They could do anything. Be anyone. And what Sawyer always wanted was to fly! “Stand back,” an impish grin plays on her face, “I’m about to make lion history.” The child got a running start (thankfully in the opposite direction of the quicksands) and made a valiant leap into the air! And she feels it, for a second, the wind in her fur, the warmth of the sun peeking through the clouds. She is a bird, floating on the stream of air, perfectly set between earth and heaven. Until she flopped onto her belly like a fish. “I-” Sawyer muttered from where she lay, flattened, on the ground. “I don’t think this is a dream.” Or if it was, it wasn’t a very nice one! "Speech" those ocean eyes

baby, you’re a haunted house

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of self-harm

A better idea?

Angular features flutter into clear curiosity, glassy eyes shining. @Sawyer straightens herself up, launching forward with grace and agility. The landing, though.... not so much. Lazare does not so much as wince as the other girl hits the ground, somehow expected even as surprise thrums dully in her chest. Delicate paws carry her back towards where Sawyer landed in the sand, happy to take up her looming position once more.

This time, though, she rocks back onto her haunches -- her tail curling around her hips as she smiles. Soft and almost sweet, wholly unfocused. I cannot fly either, the little predator says, as if this will make Sawyer feel better. A little hmm purrs from her throat, melodic but falling short of sympathetic. She was never very good at that.

What she was good at, though, is making a point.

A paw raises, her wrist lolling in a lazy motion. Careless as it seems to be weightless. Ivory claws extend as she presses her paw to her own chest, just to the hollow of her collarbone -- where the skin ( and fur ) is thinnest. At first it is a gentle touch but then she jerks her paw, and those very same claws rend her own flesh.

See? Lazare murmurs, hardly batting an eye since there is no pain. Even when red bubbles and oozes from her claws, dropping lazily to the sands below. un rêve! (a dream!) She declares, still smiling as she offers her bloodied paw out to Sawyer -- clearly a gesture of friendship, companionship.

better find another superstition!

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This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of Blood Sawyer is quickly tiring of this dream, it was strange and unsettling, that kind of dream that, once you wake, settles beneath your skin. She was already half-convinced of it being reality, especially because of the way her stomach hurt from the anxiety of it all. In your dreams, you don’t really have a stomach, or a body really. You’re just a floating pair of eyes going around the uncanny valley of your imagination! Oh, how torturous the subconscious can be. If this really was a dream, her subconscious had to have it out for her. When @Lazare looms over her again, looking like a mountain in shadow, Sawyer smiles a bit. Somehow, finding herself laying down here and felled by the forces of nature again, she can almost find some humor in it. I cannot fly either. “Maybe lions are not meant to fly,” she gets up with a huff. The next time those azure eyes land on that little cub…the sand is stained with red. Lazare’s paw extends towards her, glistening crimson, and those same eyes grow wide. Terrified. This is not a dream, this is a nightmare. And her newest friend is not a friend but a dark wraith of her very own making, a monster she’d never thought capable of being created by her young, innocent mind. Tears rolls down Sawyer’s cheeks, mix with the blood in the sand. “I want to wake up,” she cries, “I want to wake up!” "Speech" those ocean eyes

baby, you’re a haunted house

It is not the reaction she wanted.

It is not the reaction she expected.

Her smile falters, fractures right at the center, when @Sawyer pulls back and wails. blood still oozes from her paw, painless and rhythmic -- staining both her fur and the sand red. Bright, brilliant red -- almost as brilliant as the fat tears that streak down Sawyer’s cheeks. They pull her attention, even as confusion rages but it's only when Sawyer cries out a plea does lazare finally speak.

Non, non -- arrêtez ! Pourquoi pleures-tu? (No, no -- stop! Why are you crying?) What had happened? What had changed?! It certainly couldn't be the failed flight or the wound -- neither of those had hurt. Neither of those were unexpected, or wrong. So what had upset her new friend? What made her cry? You don't have to cry! Exclaims the mottled girl, blue eyes wide -- focused for once in her life. Eager and ready to help, however she could, but --

You can't wake up, Lazare explains, pitching her voice to be more soft and soothing. Just like her mother used on her and her siblings. But it's okay! We're here, together. For once -- a shared dream! And now that lazare has experienced such sharing, she's loathe to let it go -- even if her newfound friend wants nothing else.

better find another superstition!

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The sobs rattle her, the tears cloud her vision and her cries seem to clog up her ears. She’s in world all of her own, this tiny world of pain. Of fear. A new, darker reality. Like a dream. You don’t have to cry! Sawyer sniffles, looking at @Lazare through wet, shining eyes. “Are you going to die?” Just the thought sent a fresh wave of tears dripping down her cheeks. Sawyer shuts her eyes close and squeezes. But when she opens them up again, it’s still the same scene before her. Lazare. Sand. Blood. So she tries again. Lazare. Sand. Blood. She doesn’t wake up, just as the little French girl says. No matter how much she tries, how much she waits, how hard she squeezes her eyes shut. We’re here, together. The tears slow a bit, her breath returns to normal. It soothes her, slightly, knowing that she’s not alone in this wicked dream. Sawyer tries not to look at the other girl’s wound, hoping it might go away on its own. Hoping she would go away. This dark figment of her imagination. “When do I get to go home?” Sawyer begins walking off in an aimless direction, nearly tripping over her feet, searching for the place where the world ends. If she ever found the edge, would she be brave enough to jump? “What are we supposed to do now!” "Speech" those ocean eyes

baby, you’re a haunted house

non, non! (no, no!) lazare says, quick to assure her companion. she was not going to die, she couldn't even feel it. she holds tight to that smile, not looking away from sawyer for even a second. it doesn't hurt -- promise! cross her heart and hope to die. the girl's paw twitches, an obvious jerk in @Sawyer's direction, but she does nothing more aside from flick her ears forward. it was a small show of empathy that stays her hand, here; instead of showing sawyer by slicing her open, too, lazare does nothing but smile.

see?

she was trying.

what little patience she has, though, seems to be fading. because instead of understanding, sawyer simply worries about something else. you can go home now, her smile thins at the edges, brows pinching together -- in irritation, maybe; in confusion, surely. it's still there! it might seem like lazare was changing the rules as they went -- and she was. but, really, the mottled princess just knew better. there were no rules in dreams, not even in these strange half-awake ones.

sawyer's home would be there, but lazare... might not be.

immediately her heart jolts at the thought, the closest thing to fear she's ever felt thrumming hot in her veins. but! she says and it's high-pitched, a cry. if you wake up, i might not see you again! pale eyes, unfocused and bleary, peer at the sandy girl. surely she will not want to go home now; surely she will pick lazare, and stay here forever. bloodied sand and all.

better find another superstition!

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It doesn’t hurt, promise! These words assuage her tears, at least for a little while, but Sawyer can’t help the red that encroaches in her vision. A stain that, or so she desperately hopes, isn’t real. The golden cub stares at Lazare’s evergreen smile, and the furrow of her brow deepens. It was just…not natural. Nothing about this was natural! Everything just felt…wrong. You can go home now. Home. With Elswyth. Soon she would be safe in her mother’s arms, all she had to do was… Abandon her, abandon this strange little figment of her imagination that, despite everything, she couldn’t help but feel for. @Lazare was thin and waif-like, younger than her and looking like a gust of strong wind could blow her away. She sparked in Sawyer that desperate need to protect, to shield. Not even nightmares should be alone. It seems the little girl knows this, that her existence is dependent on her dreamer, and begs of her not to go. Sawyer meets her wet eyes and her own tears begin to roll down her cheeks. The thing is, she is not a protector. A hero. She is just a child. “I’m sorry,” she cries, shutting her eyes and beginning to run towards the oasis, “I have to go home! -Exit Sawyer- "Speech" those ocean eyes

baby, you’re a haunted house

Her dreams are never nightmares. There is no pain in them, there is no unexpected disasters. She finds comfort in the writhing shadows and gaussian soft filters; lazare Dieudonné has never minded her dreams. And yet --

Here, @Sawyer plunged her into a first nightmare.

Instead of staying, instead of indulging what was theirs to share, the gold-pelted girl leaves. The apology sounds hollow to even her ears, the tear-soaked cheeks a cruel ploy. Non, no, wait --! Despite herself, it's still not fear that comes bubbling to the surface as Sawyer runs, eager to leave her behind.

It's disappointment.

It's a soul crushing sadness.

Yet still lazare does not chase her. If the dream was about to end, then there was no use. Claws unsheathe to dig into the sand, loose and unsatisfying, as a cry tears from her throat. A howling wail, loss and grief; a spoiled girl, who's just lost her new favorite plaything.

A sad, lonely girl who just lost her friend.

( she can be both, can't she? )

better find another superstition!

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