[Rosso is not usually a runner — even when he'd transformed into a half-shade and started clipping through the goddamn floor, he wasn't a runner — but today is entirely different. Today, he wakes up in pain, because he goes through so few transformations it fucking hurts every time he does. Today, he wakes up well before the crack of dawn itchy because his fur is shedding off, bleeding heavily because something is trying to pierce through the flesh of his back, clawing at his face because there are hairline cracks on his skin that burn. Suddenly when he opens his eye, his vision is a kaleidoscope, like staring through a faceted piece of glass. Too many images, too much to process.
All of that isn't why he's run off. The reason Rosso takes off — delirious with pain, unable to properly see while the blood runs down his face into the extra set of eyes on his cheeks — is because he can feel the telltale prickle of his old magic at the back of his neck. And he knows, better than anyone ever could, that the second he loses control, the treehouse will go up in flames. And he can't. He can't, he cannot let that happen.
Rosso doesn't know fear. Not really. But for the first time in years, he thinks he's feeling it claw its way down his spine and take root in his heart, a sticky spiderweb that he can't clear away.
He doesn't bother getting dressed by the time he heads down to the lake, which means he's still in his pyjamas — a baggy, cropped T-shirt and spandex shorts, and when Rosso is coherent again he'll thank past-him for never getting fancy pyjamas because he's bled through the white of the shirt. He feels the fire coming long before it actually makes its way to the surface, and by the time he makes it to the water's edge, the reeds are alight and the only thing stopping the crimson flame from spreading is the muddy bank. They'll burn out in time, but for now, smoke rises and whirls in the air, and Rosso is burying himself in a foot of water, sitting down in it with his hands shoved into the mud and his legs bent and clawed feet out behind him.
Ordinarily, he'd hear Adrian calling for him. Today, his werewolf hearing is gone, his sense of smell dulled, and the only thing he can hear is his pulse rushing in his ears. The surface of the water is boiling; Rosso is sweating, breathing like he's just run a marathon, and no matter how much he wills himself to calm down, the panic doesn't ebb.
...
At the treehouse, Alisha heads for the door, screaming at Adrian to follow her. She can sense exactly where he is.]
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All of that isn't why he's run off. The reason Rosso takes off — delirious with pain, unable to properly see while the blood runs down his face into the extra set of eyes on his cheeks — is because he can feel the telltale prickle of his old magic at the back of his neck. And he knows, better than anyone ever could, that the second he loses control, the treehouse will go up in flames. And he can't. He can't, he cannot let that happen.
Rosso doesn't know fear. Not really. But for the first time in years, he thinks he's feeling it claw its way down his spine and take root in his heart, a sticky spiderweb that he can't clear away.
He doesn't bother getting dressed by the time he heads down to the lake, which means he's still in his pyjamas — a baggy, cropped T-shirt and spandex shorts, and when Rosso is coherent again he'll thank past-him for never getting fancy pyjamas because he's bled through the white of the shirt. He feels the fire coming long before it actually makes its way to the surface, and by the time he makes it to the water's edge, the reeds are alight and the only thing stopping the crimson flame from spreading is the muddy bank. They'll burn out in time, but for now, smoke rises and whirls in the air, and Rosso is burying himself in a foot of water, sitting down in it with his hands shoved into the mud and his legs bent and clawed feet out behind him.
Ordinarily, he'd hear Adrian calling for him. Today, his werewolf hearing is gone, his sense of smell dulled, and the only thing he can hear is his pulse rushing in his ears. The surface of the water is boiling; Rosso is sweating, breathing like he's just run a marathon, and no matter how much he wills himself to calm down, the panic doesn't ebb.
...
At the treehouse, Alisha heads for the door, screaming at Adrian to follow her. She can sense exactly where he is.]