So, I'm hoping that this story will last about 50 chapters or so until I finish it. Just to let everyone know, I write these chapters ahead of time before I post them, so if anyone has any ideas about how to perfect the story, say it quickly so I have time to adjust.
This will be a mature story due to strong language, blood/gore, and suggestive material.
Hope you enjoy it and feel free to comment or fave.
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"Take it easy guys; he's starting to wake up." A soft voice penetrated the haze consuming Raphael's mind. He could only assume what had happened after he woke up, still groggy from blood loss. He could tell he was laying on something soft, like cotton or some other fabric. He could hear the crunching of several pairs of feet over stumps and pebbles and the dead grass.
Suddenly, he began to roll to the side, not by his own will, but because something failed to carry his weight correctly. His body lurched with a sudden fall of gravity, until something caught him, "Nice going, you ass! You almost dropped him!" the same voice bellowed. The tigress held the turtle by his upper body, her arms beneath his arm pits. Her tail flicked back and forth furiously. For heaven's sake, she thought to herself.
"What's going on?" Raphael wheezed, his muscles stiff and his jaw nearly set. He still couldn't see straight, but he could see enough to tell that this was a strange sight: Four other "people" surrounded the mutant turtle, helping to maneuver him. They had him on the ground on top of some sort of backboard covered in cloth. One looked very similar to his Master Splinter, but with a smaller snout and dark brown instead of grey, and much younger, "Splinter?" he managed to squeak.
The mouse person gave him a look before shaking his head and turning to the person next to him, who looked like a bird of some king, maybe a hawk with bright red feathers and talons on the tips of his fingers long and sharp. There was also two other people there other than the tigress, a wolf person with an elongated snout and jet black fur covering all over his body and then a sheep person with brown wool covering every inch of his person. What they all had in common were a series of long, jagged scars amongst their bodies.
"Are you okay?" the tigress helped the wolf person to maneuver the turtle onto the back board, giving side instructions.
Raphael wanted to scoff, "Do I look okay to you?" his limbs felt like lead weights with a slight tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers and in his toes. His leg felt like dead meat at this point, stinking up the air and rotting away into nothing but a pile of filth. He looked at her face slightly shadowed by the light. He didn't notice when he first saw her, but now he could see scars. They were everywhere, all over her frame, dragging through her fur, etching and scratching ugliness into her hide, much like the other four mutants.
"My name's Claire." The tigress said, a scar above her upper lip stretched and moved as she spoke, before instructing the four men to lift the back board,. It was difficult because the turtle's shell was rounded and therefore allowed him to roll, but the female kept a hand on Raphael's shoulder, keeping his balance for him, "When we get to camp, a healer will help you and hopefully we can save your leg." She glanced down to the injured limb as it began to fester.
"Raphael." The turtle sighed, every movement of the backboard making his stomach lurch. For the next hour or so, he had to hold in the contents of his stomach as they traveled through the forest; the sun beat down over their heads, causing Raphael to squint his eyes closed for fear of making his head ache any more than it did.
They all stayed relatively quiet, save for the crunching of the dead grass beneath their feet and the rolling of rocks. Claire was the only one who would give any input of their journey, describing the camp and the children and how they were almost there and how it would only be beyond the next set of trees, "I can smell the fires; we're almost there." She smiled slightly at him, showing her rows of sharpened teeth and long canines, "almost there." She repeated, her tail swishing and whiskers twitching.
This time she was right. They had arrived by high noon, Raphael guessed by the heat. Despite this, a small fire in the middle of the camp was brewing, cooking some sort of wild game on a stick. Several tents made of a combination of tree branches and animal skins were erected, reaching about seven or eight feet tall. What amazed him most were all the mutants. They were too covered in scars from head to toe, like Claire, occupying every inch of their bodies. Sever children ran around naked, playing games in the grass and throwing rocks, only to be yelled at by one of the adults to cut it out. The adults were making themselves busy with chores like scrubbing pots with leaves and butchering rabbits, some even make cloth with nothing but string and their hands, humming to themselves.
"Claire's back!" A little boy that resembled a baby bison shouted, pointing to them as they came past the tree line. This caused a chain reaction amongst the children; they all dropped what they were up to and flocked around them. They all seemed excited, but all the movement made Raphael's head pound and his eyes hurt. He groaned, biting his lip out of pure spite.
"Go away, children, we're busy with adult matters!" the tigress had to raise her voice to reach above the shrills of the children. They all "awed" and gave their best innocent eyes and pleaded with her to let them meet the new person they brought, but Claire was having none of it. She shooed them away and instructed the men to bring Raphael to a tent, which they did promptly did.
The tent was small and cozy with a hole in the very top to allow a single beam of light to penetrate the darkness. It was a little stuffy in the tent because of the heat, but Raphael felt like he was in hell, being enveloped by fire. Most of the heat permeated from the gash in his thigh, sizzling silently through the air and making its way up. His breathing became labored and his fingers began to twitch as Claire spoke to the men in a quiet voice, "Please go find Gibson and a healer and have them come here. I'll be fine on my own." She knelt on the soft earth as the men lowered the back board to the ground.
"Are you sure; we know nothing about him." One of the men-Raphael wasn't sure which one- finally spoke up. He was repaid with a nod from the tigress before she pointed a finger to the tent flap, instructing them to hurry.
After they left, Claire busied herself with the mutant turtle. She held up a small bowl from the corner of the tent and brought it to his lips, putting a hand on the back of his head, lifting his head up slightly before tilting the bowl. Raphael drank every last drop of the crisp water, licking his lips when he finished. It cooled him off momentarily before another surge of heat flowed through his body. He groaned, sweating, as Claire rested his head back on the board.
Just as she did, the tent flap reopened and two other mutants entered the tent. It took a few moments for the turtle's eyes to adjust to the sudden shock of light, but now he could clearly see the mutants. One looked almost like an otter with a long, thin tail, his eyes small and dark and brown fur covered him, minus patches of scarred skin. The other mutant was enormous. He was maybe seven or eight feet tall with cloven legs and scales all over his body. His snout was elongated and sharp teeth protruded from his lips, his beady, almost glowing, eyes fixed themselves on Raphael. His fingers and toes, like Claire, were decorated with pointed claws and his long, thick tail dragged behind him.
"This is the one?" The lizard's voice, low and steady made the turtle's ear drums tingle. He sat on the dead grass, reaching for Raphael's wound, lifting the bloody cloth gently. The red clad ninja bit his lip out of pain, growling slightly, "Calm yourself, turtle." He continued to pull at the cloth slowly, "We are here to help." When the lizard pulled the rag free, he put it on the ground and turned to the other mutant, nodding as if to convey some sort of secret message.
The next hour or so consisted of the mutant otter grinding leaves and taking the paste and putting it directly into the wound rubbing it in with small circles. After some time, the paste seemed to numb the pain and preventing Raphael from feeling anything that may have been coming from his leg. After his leg completely numbed, the other mutant produced a needle and what seemed like waxy string from a small pouch on hid hip. He then proceeded to sew the gash in Raphael's leg, making neat, straight stitches in his flesh, using his teeth to break the string with each stitch.
When the otter finished, he gave a small bow to the lizard and then left the tent to rinse his hands. The mutant lizard watched the other man leave before fixing his gaze on the turtle, "Welcome to our camp, stranger. My name is Gibson. I come to the understanding that Claire found you in the forest and wished to have you brought here." He glanced at the tigress, his tongue flicking out from his lips, tasting the air, "You are welcome to stay here until you are healed, then you must move on."
"What?" Claire interjected rather suddenly, "Why does he have to leave?" she leaned her weight onto her hands resting on her knees, leaning towards Gibson, "He'd be much safer here with us." She explained, "The Suites might get him. And with him being a reptile, who knows what might happen?"
The male made a "hmm" sound in the back of his throat, taking a few moments of consideration, "Very well, Claire, he may stay but you are in charge of him." His tongue flicked again, "I'll have no patience with this boy if he has a sour spirit, especially in this drought when the herd is this venerable." With that Gibson stood to his full height, ducking out of the exit.