Written for Febuwhump day 7 – Poisoning


The cut left liquid fire in its wake, burning into his veins. Bigby licked the wound gingerly, tasting the unmistakable traces of poison. A low growl built its way up his throat, escaping through razor-sharp teeth. He kept running, pushing off on his hind paws to gain speed.

Footsteps through the undergrowth pursued him, but it wasn't hard to outrun the hunter in his current form. They thought they were clever by lacing their knife with poison, but Bigby was built sturdier than that. He ignored the hot-seeded sensation spreading in his leg, up to his torso and scorching underneath his fur, exhaling rapidly through his nose.

He had been the runt of the litter, the smallest and most inconsequential thing.

Now he had become everything beyond that. He could still taste the blood on his maw.

Before long the sounds of those tracking him had faded far behind him, replaced by nothing but the crunching of the snow beneath his claws. The wind howled, scurried behind him and Bigby stopped, scented its trail. He could find one of his shelters close.

Jaw hanging half-open, he chased the short distance to an alcove, the rough rock eroded away to make a nook just big enough for him to fit. He huffed and transformed into his human form, ignoring the sharp pain it caused. Some loose-fitted clothes had been left there by him earlier and he pulled them on quickly, shaking loose his wet and matted hair.

As much as he disliked this form – how weak and shaky it was compared to his true nature – it did make inspecting the wound easier. The cut was barely an inch deep, running along the outside of his thigh above his knee. But the burning sensation had not seized its spreading, turning all the flesh beneath it unpleasantly numb. Bigby hissed when he touched it.

It didn't need treatment, not even with the poison. But it was annoying all the same.

"Are you hurt?"

The voice made him bristle, almost made him transform back instantly if it hadn't been for the pain still plaguing him. The girl who had spoken startled, wide blue eyes edged with worry. She looked scared.

Scared not of him, but for him.

"Who did this?" she asked urgently, closing the distance between them. She kneeled down on the ground, a long pale cape trailing her body. When she threw back her hood to get a better look at his injury, it revealed a tousle of jet black curls beneath. "Bandits?"

Bigby didn't answer. He hadn't spoken common in ages, he couldn't be bothered to remember how to at this moment with the liquid fire still running through him. She put an icy cold hand on his knee and he pulled away.

"Hey, I'm trying to help," she said, a frown contorting her beautiful features. She was certain to be considered stunning by regular fable standards. From the folds of her clothes, she took a parcel wrapped in paper. As she undid the twine, Bigby could see it were herbs and flowers she had traveled down the mountain to gather, a long and treacherous hike.

After sorting through them for a moment, she offered a handful to him. "At least take these? I promise they'll help."

He took them without a word, eying her warily. Sunset gold meeting cornflower blue and her lips pulled up into a thin smile. There was something so hollow about her, so starved. Bigby wasn't hungry – and even if he was, this young woman didn't seem to have much meat about her.

"Well, I'll be going now." She pulled the cape tighter around her, harboring against the icy wind. "Stay safe." Her careful steps resounded on the snow, but her pale skin blended in so perfectly she was lost out of sight quickly. Bigby watched her leave.

Would he remember her among the others. Would he have cared to know the run of her blood before ripping into her throat? For some reason, it did not seem as impossible.

Then he shook his head and went about fixing up his wound.


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