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Weight pressed in, dark and intimate, swaddling him on all sides. It crushed against his chest. His lungs fought to expand, to breathe. Hot, feverish huffs leaked from his jaws, each rasping breath catching raw against his throat. He felt strangely cold, even though the scratchy fabric against his fur was damp with heat. A blanket? He hadn't realised he had one on him. He shifted, lifting an arm to pull it off him, but sharp pain lanced lighting-bright through his body. A whimper tore from his throat. Under the covers, his muscles spasmed, sending a weak tremor through his frail body.
His ears prick at a soft shuffle near the entrance. Someone entered. His mother, perhaps. A vague, blurry silhouette swam into view, smeared at the edges by memory and fever. He couldn't see her face. He never can. It was lost to time, leaving only the hollow ache of recognition.
She loomed over him, shadow bending close and he felt the press of a spoon against his lips. Her voice rumbled in the guttural language of home.
“Eat, echo.”
Grease coated his tongue, rich and fatty, flecked with bits of meat shorn so thin he didn't need to chew. His stomach clenched in protest, hunger and nausea warring inside him. His throat seized shut like a vice, sending him into a fit of sputtering coughs. He twisted his head away, gagging. Gruel and bile spilled from his chin, staining the fur on his chest.
The voice exploded into a shrill cry, piercing his skull. "Eat! Do you want her to take you aw—”
Before she could finish, the spoon clattered to the ground. The bowl followed, tumbling slowly as if through molasses before splattering. Her form bled into the cold fog that had seeped into the edges of his vision, swallowing her whole. And then she was gone.
"Amurre!" he cried out, reaching out despite the stabbing pain in his arm. The fog coiled around his fingers, damp and clinging, carrying the sour tang of gruel turned rancid. From all around came the hollow rattle of bones, brittle wind chimes echoing in the fog. He shuddered as the cold seeped beneath his fevered skin.
A shadow shifted within the fog, circling him slowly as the rattling of bones swelled louder. From its depths, a pair of eyes blazed—one red, one blue—bright as the twin moons. A face emerged from the fog, wolfish and gaunt, a spectral matron wreathed in a tattered hood. Her mouth moved, jaws parting around whispers he could not understand. They echoed around him, thin and hissing, a sigh that shushed in the air, like reeds in the wind.
He shook his head helplessly as the fog crept in. It snaked thickly through his fur, turning the tips to frost, claiming him. Billowing, endless, the fog shrouded the matron's face, until only her eyes remained, twin moons fading into the veil. And then, they too were gone, leaving nothing but white.
He blinked into a blaze of sterile lamps, searing white-hot overhead. His mouth felt like sandpaper and his head pounded to the uneven, staccato rhythm of his heart. Masked figures loomed into view, blocking out the harsh light. Faceless and alien, they peered down at him, disinterested and dispassionate.
Squinting blearily, he opened his mouth to ask where he was—but metal cut across his jaws, clamping them shut. A muzzle. His chest tightened. A whimper whistled loose from his nose, high and helpless. He tried to get up, but straps bit into his wrists, torso and ankles, binding him tight. Panic surged into terror and he struggled against the restraints.
The masked figures exploded into a whirlwind of sudden movement. A flurry of gloved hands and steel flashed across his vision. Something sharp breeched his skin. Fire surged molten through his veins, flooding every limb. His world exploded in agony.
He thrashed, convulsing and writhing desperately against the restraints. Ragged howls burst from his throat but died against the muzzle, leaking only as muffled, broken cries. "Amu! Amu!" he screamed again and again, voice hitching into sobs. But she did not come.
Another needle. Another jab. Invasion upon invasion set pain sparking raw along his nerves, multiplying, swelling into a crescendo until there was nothing left but pain, pain, pain.
Pain.
PAIN.
Pressure bloated underneath his skin, roiling tight in his gut. Nausea rose violent and sour, forcing bile burning through his throat. He choked, retching and spitting against the muzzle. His head was on fire. The pounding in his skull swelled, relentless, booming with each frantic heartbeat. Pressure built, coiling tighter and hotter, like a geyser trapped beneath bone. It clawed for release, straining and heaving against his skull until it felt as thought his head would split apart.
And it did.
Bone burst through his skin, erupting from his skull with a sickening crack. His breaths fractured into shallow gasps. Blood spilled hot over his brow, slicking into his eyes, burning as they mingled with his tears. His vision swam red and he retched again, metal and acid burning in the back of his throat.
Suddenly he was falling, endlessly, darkness coiling its tendrils around him, dragging him deeper into the abyss. He opened his jaws to scream—yet the void devoured the sound, swallowing him into silence.