The world of remnant has always been a grim existence, to those who wander its' surface. Monster of decay and bone hunt only for pleasure and without apparent reason, warning, nor any mercy. Humans and their more animalistic counterpart, the Faunus, live to be at each other's' throats. Add on top of a bad year for crops and the unexplained encounters with Atlassian forces on Mistralian territory, and it can easily be said how tough of a year it's been.
But even as we strike our stones and steel in desperation of light, every now and again, a spark is born. Will she grow into a grand flame of warmth? Or, will she smother?
Disclaimer: I do not own RoosterTeeth nor any RoosterTeeth creations. This is a fan project with no canonical connections to the series it is inspired by; RWBY.
The taloned steel of a boot crashed down onto the matted down mud, beneath it. The light of a lantern flickered against the hide sheets of the tent as it anxiously danced with every wind passed by the pacing figure. Maps and bounty letters occasionally skid as the tempered, reddened leather coat waved with every sharp turn of his calloused heel.
Iron armor softly chattered and leather belts clung to the thick cotton beneath; a rhythmic jingle followed in tune by the leather purse at his hip as it bounced, to-and-frow. Arms clasped behind the feather-like plates lined against his lower back, scraping against the chain mail beneath. Broken and uneven, akin to the tattered jute cloth hastily tucked into his iron cuffs and chest.
The beastly man paced with a calm mask over his worn, oaken skin. Lips, as flat as they could be and without a tremble. He bore the personification of a warrior; fearless and unstern.
And yet, his eyes…
Red eyes focused on nothing, not even ones' feet as he marked idly in place. Pupils narrowed sharply in a panic at the muffled yells and sounds, partially muffled by both distance and the thick layers, of his shelter.
A much more lithe man sat on the edge of the mercenary's bed, tattered hood covering his pale face. He spoke in a silken, aged voice; matched kin-ly to his leathered skin and silvering hair. "Touma….slow your pacing. She will be fine. They both will be."
The hulking figure turned, the usual, guarded sharpness in his faded-red eyes. "Do not manipulate me, Krish. You and I know very well that the chances of survival on BOTH ends are very low. I have every right to be worried of her! More so than you, more so than the shaman, more so than anyone in this damned guild!"
His nostrils flared like a wild hog, trapped within the trap he finds himself stuck in. Large, tanned hands stretched and curled into claw-like strains, his knuckles white from this action.
The monk puffed out a small sigh through his scarred, rosy lip. Fragile hands reached up to his hood, gently lowering it to rest against his back. He stared up with pale, Marigold eyes and a kind smile. "Touma, I know…but, you must calm yourself." He managed a carefree laugh, despite the tense, heavy air of the dawn. "You're practically pounding the dirt into stone! "
Touma lifted up one of his taloned boots, blinking at the sunken in mud. He grunted, looking off with half-lidded eyes before the old man continued. "My dear friend, we all worry about them. Just as we worry about each other on a day-to-day basis." He puffed out a small chuckle, his voice carrying an ever-so-slight wheeze. "Granted, this is no scale of our current fears we now face, this bleak 'morn."
The tensed giant opened his mouth to speak, only for the flat palm of the monk to be held up in silence. "We must keep faith, in our hearts. Your wife would like you to do so, you know? Besides, we all know that with fear…"
The dark man sighed, his salt and pepper brows furrowing and his fingers ran over his scruffy chin. "Comes Grimm…we cannot afford such possibilities in our weakened state."
The reality of their situation came blaring through his current fears and doubts. They were forced to set up camp in the dawn-lit forest, miles away from civilization. That is to say if whatever town they were to come by would even offer a roof for Faunus; much less, an actual doctor.
He sighed, running his hand over his still-damp mane, which miraculously still stayed straight and feather-like, even after the rains of the previous midnight storm.
Attuned ears picked up on the ever-growing cries of agony, along with the shouted demands of the shaman and the scurrying of her helpers. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, staring pleadingly at his indentations, in the mud; as if he expected them to answer to his doubts.
He blinked, looking back as he heard the linen on his bed being pat. He and his life-long mentor shared a nervous smile before he carefully sat down next to the frail, old man. To which, he carefully had to help him retain his balance as the layers of padding flatted like a river stone beneath his rump.
The monk snorted, shaking his head. "How can one of your breed have the weight and build of a bull, shikra?"
The younger man laughed, despite himself. "My mothers' womb must've had last minutes ideas for me." He swallowed back a spike of nervousness. "…Bad time, for that particular type of joke."
The old man pats his shoulder, grunting softly as he had already closed his eyes. Touma looked down at him, a brief tremble traveling down his back before bringing his knees beneath him. He closed his eyes, resting the palms of his hands against the metal "feather-plated" grieves against his thighs.
He was not one to be religious, but all the rung through his mind was a silent, pleading prayer.
After what felt like too long, the drapes of the entry flew open to reveal a young teen, his black ears, one of which appeared to be chewed up, flattened against his head. Mud splattered against his calves, as well as unknown smears against his forest green undershirt. He panted, looking at the two who were now on their feet. He only but offered them a wordless nod, his trembling lips unable to get the words out.
The two looked to each other before making their way out. Touma accidentally shoving the boy as he took off towards the shamans' tent, making a mental note to apologize later.
The fog clung to his sweating skin and dripped from his plated armor, his breath huffing out clouds of hot steam onto the chilled, early autumn morn. Red had already begun to bleed into the morning skies, ever-so-slightly lighting his way past the thick, morning vapors.
He barely halted himself to a stop as he entered the tent. A cloud of morbid silence hung onto the air as the shaman slowly turned to him. Placing a small hand on his chest, their pierced lips offered a slow, growing smile. Her accented tone spoke out, "That is the quietest baby I have ever seen."
She chuckled as he let off a breath of relief. The crowd around the new mother turned, eyes widening as the noticed who had entered. All dispersed from her figure to allow their chief to make his way towards her.
Her eyes slowly opened to him, inviting green eyes practically forming a smile of their own above her rising, freckled cheeks. A small, blue feather tied into her bangs that clung to her dampened face. Only blankets covered her now deflated form, a familiar petiteness nearly there, from her youth. Cheeks stained with tears, from both the birthing and the labor. She weakly reached a hand out towards him, the bloodied rags from beneath her finally forming an almost orange ring around the blood soaked into it. She had managed to stop bleeding, at least excessively. Pale, golden wings fluttered as they began to release their protective form around their newborn child.
He hurried his way to her, practically chuffing as he gripped her thin hand in his, kissing her clammy fingers repeatedly before moving to her head. She giggled, tucking her head beneath his chin before directing her attention down to the tiny swaddle.
Despite her pre-matureness, the baby had survived her passing from the womb. Her body gently covered in extra, pale linen; contrasting with her bright pink, rose skin. A few tuffs of pale, grey hairs sat on her practically bald head. With still closed eyes, the infant turned her attention to the new figure.
Touma shakenly hovered his hand over her, almost frightened at her fragileness. His lips quivered before he swallowed back and let out a small 'hello.' Almost immediately, afraid the infant would think his voice was too rough and raw for her.
Tears could only prickle in the corners of his eyes as the infant's mouth twitched ever so slightly as if to try and smile. Yet, unsuccessful, she let out the tiniest grunt as she snuggled against her mothers' breast.
The young mother looked up, fatigue clinging under her eyes like darkened weights. Even so, she spoke up in her clear, gentle tone. "Did…I do well?"
Touma let out a wet huff of a chuckle, nuzzling his nose into his hair as he sat on the edge of her bed. The shaman and her helpers let out a few laughs before she tugged on the backs of their shirts, dragging them out.
He looked down pridefully, "How could you not? Look at what you made. No man is prouder than I, this morning."
He looked as if he was gonna continue to gush on before a thin, ivory finger ghosted gently upon his lips. Blinking, he frowned as he could only wait to see what she was doing. Her eyes closed in concentration, he could only just realize that she was listening as the quiet forest suddenly echoed with the song of the morning bird.
Opening her eyes, she smiled delicately. "Wren…" Looking down at the infant that slumbered against her bosom; carefully adjusting the linen around her. "What a wonderful name…"
Damn, this has been a while coming! And by that, I mean working on it two years ago, posting it one on , tons of regret, and not touching it for too long. I ran across the old file on my pc and decided to look it over and saw it could use some improvement. It was both a blessing and thorn in my side that my old word program was 'expired' or some shit. Thus! I actually tried to do something, for once! Will maybe do more. Maybe. Criticisms are much appreciated!