He knew it was fragments of memories, whispers of his childhood, yet that didn't help the fear, the instinctive reaction of the tiger to protect. Many nights the scene unfolded, leaving him tangled in sheets, drenched in sweat. Liquor couldn't calm him, he doubted much would. His twisted psyche threw up various ways he could've saved them all. Ways he wouldn't have lost everything that mattered to him that night. He knew subconsciously it wasn't true, he'd barely been in control of himself then, but the nightmares still grabbed hold, refusing to let him leave their grasp.
It always started the same. He'd woken to the smell of burning wheat grass. Shouting echoed outside the tents as he'd scrambled up from the nest he'd curled into. Even though he was part human, he'd felt safer surrounded by nature. Others thought the small wildlands of Brasilia were home to gypsies, hippies. People living in a commune of tents as a throwback to the 60's. If only they knew the colony of weres protected this land, and those idiots who lived here. He'd figured this was the same, some human spotting a tiger and acting a fool. Someone would surely shut him up and send him home with a random story soon.
It wasn't until he heard his mother's scream that he realized something was wrong. His mother never screamed. His father's strident tones broke through the din, as he dimly became aware his siblings had clustered closer to him for protection. He hadn't reached full maturity yet, even at twenty. Weres aged so much slower. His heart beating, he looked up as his mother rushed into the tent, her long bohemian skirt trailing through the packed dirt floor, sending dust into the air. He barely heard what she was saying. He'd understood he had to go. Had to take his siblings. But where? Why? For the first time, she slapped him. Hard. Blinking his sight back into focus, he realized she'd lifted the canvas of the tent, was urging him to take the others and run. From what, he didn't know. For once he'd done as asked without retort, shoving B and G through first, then I and T. Ducking under the material, his last sight of his mother showed a look of profound sorrow on her beautiful features. As if this was goodbye.
Following his siblings into the starry night, he stared at the carnage around them. Tents were torn down, dark stains spread across the sand. Metal cages sat on the shore, some empty, some holding his friends. His family. Hearing a pained roar, he turned back, shock widening his eyes as his father fell. He couldn't let it happen. Flames danced around them, rising higher as he pushed his siblings towards the treeline, demanding they all split up. If they could make it into the damp darkness of the last bit of jungle left here, they'd be safe.
Casting a terrified look back at them as they ran, he turned back to the inferno, back towards his clan. He wasn't sure what to do, or even if he could do anything at all, but he wasn't a coward, and he'd try to protect his family as well as he could. Hearing someone shouting his name, he blinked, trying to see through the smoke that kept getting thicker. As a child, he knew the voice, but the adult version of him didn't remember, so in his dreams he never could place it. Friend or foe? He fought almost blindly to find the person who called him. He needed to know.
He choked as the smoke filled his lungs, the stench of death and burning hair all around him. Those that had tried to run were savagely beaten. Their cries of pain echoed around him, he'd forever remember the sound of strong, proud tigers being forced to kneel, to beg. He kept glancing around warily, wanting to find the voice from his past but wanting to ensure he kept enough attention on himself that his siblings could get away. Turning back the way he came, he swore for an instant he saw I's terrified, tear-stained face through the low ferns, but that was impossible, he was too far away.
Dodging an outstretched hand that reached for him, he whispered a prayer to a God he didn't believe in to save them. To save his family. He'd intended to try to get to his father, but by the time he'd managed to move closer to the voice he'd heard, his father was shaking the bars of the steel cage they'd crammed him in. He couldn't see his mother through the smoke and tears staining his eyes. For all he knew, she'd already been killed. A sob almost choked him, but he forced it back, turning to the one constant in this dream. Sometimes he saw his mother, sometimes he tried to free his father. But every dream ended with the voice. He'd sworn he wouldn't forget the pain and suffering this day held. Wouldn't forget the voice that led him through hell to safety.
But he did forget. He'd made his way from continent to continent. Grown, matured. Honed himself into a lethal predator, one that stalked the world over searching for what he feared he'd never find. His family. Somewhere out there, he knew they had to be waiting. He'd continue searching. Drifting until he pieced his broken family back together again. He was weary. Tired. Far older and wiser than he had a right to be. More lonely that he cared to admit. Yet hope, that damned menace and killer of souls, failed to ever disappear completely and leave his side. His constant companion urged him on. One more town. One more broken down, dingy motel. One step at a time, trudging on into oblivion in search of those he'd foolishly cast aside, desperately trying to save them. Now, he was just as determined to find them.
It wasn't until he heard his mother's scream that he realized something was wrong. His mother never screamed. His father's strident tones broke through the din, as he dimly became aware his siblings had clustered closer to him for protection. He hadn't reached full maturity yet, even at twenty. Weres aged so much slower. His heart beating, he looked up as his mother rushed into the tent, her long bohemian skirt trailing through the packed dirt floor, sending dust into the air. He barely heard what she was saying. He'd understood he had to go. Had to take his siblings. But where? Why? For the first time, she slapped him. Hard. Blinking his sight back into focus, he realized she'd lifted the canvas of the tent, was urging him to take the others and run. From what, he didn't know. For once he'd done as asked without retort, shoving B and G through first, then I and T. Ducking under the material, his last sight of his mother showed a look of profound sorrow on her beautiful features. As if this was goodbye.
Following his siblings into the starry night, he stared at the carnage around them. Tents were torn down, dark stains spread across the sand. Metal cages sat on the shore, some empty, some holding his friends. His family. Hearing a pained roar, he turned back, shock widening his eyes as his father fell. He couldn't let it happen. Flames danced around them, rising higher as he pushed his siblings towards the treeline, demanding they all split up. If they could make it into the damp darkness of the last bit of jungle left here, they'd be safe.
Casting a terrified look back at them as they ran, he turned back to the inferno, back towards his clan. He wasn't sure what to do, or even if he could do anything at all, but he wasn't a coward, and he'd try to protect his family as well as he could. Hearing someone shouting his name, he blinked, trying to see through the smoke that kept getting thicker. As a child, he knew the voice, but the adult version of him didn't remember, so in his dreams he never could place it. Friend or foe? He fought almost blindly to find the person who called him. He needed to know.
He choked as the smoke filled his lungs, the stench of death and burning hair all around him. Those that had tried to run were savagely beaten. Their cries of pain echoed around him, he'd forever remember the sound of strong, proud tigers being forced to kneel, to beg. He kept glancing around warily, wanting to find the voice from his past but wanting to ensure he kept enough attention on himself that his siblings could get away. Turning back the way he came, he swore for an instant he saw I's terrified, tear-stained face through the low ferns, but that was impossible, he was too far away.
Dodging an outstretched hand that reached for him, he whispered a prayer to a God he didn't believe in to save them. To save his family. He'd intended to try to get to his father, but by the time he'd managed to move closer to the voice he'd heard, his father was shaking the bars of the steel cage they'd crammed him in. He couldn't see his mother through the smoke and tears staining his eyes. For all he knew, she'd already been killed. A sob almost choked him, but he forced it back, turning to the one constant in this dream. Sometimes he saw his mother, sometimes he tried to free his father. But every dream ended with the voice. He'd sworn he wouldn't forget the pain and suffering this day held. Wouldn't forget the voice that led him through hell to safety.
But he did forget. He'd made his way from continent to continent. Grown, matured. Honed himself into a lethal predator, one that stalked the world over searching for what he feared he'd never find. His family. Somewhere out there, he knew they had to be waiting. He'd continue searching. Drifting until he pieced his broken family back together again. He was weary. Tired. Far older and wiser than he had a right to be. More lonely that he cared to admit. Yet hope, that damned menace and killer of souls, failed to ever disappear completely and leave his side. His constant companion urged him on. One more town. One more broken down, dingy motel. One step at a time, trudging on into oblivion in search of those he'd foolishly cast aside, desperately trying to save them. Now, he was just as determined to find them.