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The tree’s leaves rustled in the gentle breeze that drifted through the spruce forest, tall trunks of wood looming over. The moon casted a gentle light below, creating shadows amidst the illuminated environment. stars hung in the night sky, shining brightly and patterning constellations in the black of the night.
The small fire crackled, its warmth seeping through Grian's clothes and hitting against his skin. it painted the environment around him in warmer hues, orange and yellow colors. His iron armor was set against one of the trees, along with one of his satchels that had a little bit of food. His sweater was painted a brighter red from the flames, and he fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves as he felt fingertips running along his right wing, carefully picking at white feathers that were either too loose or needed to be brushed back into place.
That was one thing Grian wasn’t quite able to get around to doing anymore; with him and Pete always having been on the run through red territory, especially now, preening would take too long and was unimportant in regards to what else was at stake. Well, his life being at stake, specifically (or Pete's, if he wasn’t able to save himself).
He shuddered a bit as Pete skimmed over a more sensitive part of his wing, making the red jerk his hand away, anxiously.
“Sorry- did that hurt or anything?” Grian heard his deep voice speak up quietly behind him, a tone of worry evident in his voice.
“No, it’s alright. my wings are just really sensitive, is all,” Grian reassured him, golden-brown hair swaying to the side as he turned over his shoulder to shoot a small smile in his direction. “You can keep going, unless you already did my left wing.”
“No, I haven’t started with that yet,” Pete replied, hesitantly reaching back over to his right wing, fixing up the last few feathers. His sage-green hair fell over deep-red eyes that kept flickering to the dried blood that had stained the bandages wrapped around his left wing. “Do you…do you want me to take the bandages off or…?”
“As long as you have extra then I don’t mind,” Grian turned back to look at him again, his eyes faintly glowing gold; maybe it was because of the environment, or maybe it was because of anxiousness. “Your teammate—oh Void, I forgot his name-”
“Fruitberries?” Pete questioned, mind heading back to a few days ago. He was surprised Grian managed to mention him without much stress coming from him; the mental image of the cat-hybrid nearly slamming a knife through his head wasn’t something that was ever going to go away.
“Yeah. He gave you healing potions, right?”
“And regeneration potions. Although I don't want to use them on your wings just yet." Pete gently pulled at the bandages, the fabric slowly falling off, letting Grian's left wing able to spread to its full size. At least, as far as the avian-hybrid could force it without sharp pains shooting through his limb. “Has it gotten worse? Better?”
“It’s-“ Grian grimaced for a few moments as he felt Pete's touch against where the bandage was. Pete retracted his hand for a few moments, worried he injured him more or not; with the difference in their player code, the red was much more careful around the yellow in fear he would hurt him.
“It's better, it just stings when you touch it.”
“The wound, you mean?”
“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt too much, though.”
“I'll make it quick, then.” Carefully, Pete preened through the feathers, starting at the edges this time.
His left wing was much more battered than his right, probably due to the nonsensical attempts at healing it. As powerful as potions were, they wouldn’t be able to do much for a wing that was injured this badly at the moment. Some feathers were cut, others covered in speckles of dirt and dust that Pete had to brush off.
But as his hands neared towards the wound in Grian's limb, he felt dread pooling into his stomach at the sight of it; to put it lightly, it didn’t look pretty.
Feathers along the cut had fallen off, revealing a large gash that by now had its creamy color tainted from dried blood. He could see how uncomfortable it was for Grian to just be holding his wing in place for pete to examine it, with it tilted at an unnatural angle compared to his other.
Grian felt Pete’s hands tremble faintly against his wing, a bit longer than he would like. He turned around, opening his mouth to ask him if he was alright, but his eyes widened as he saw the taller’s expression: red eyes wide, face paling, as his gaze focused on the gash in his wing, the grip on his wings beginning to tighten, ever so slightly.
“Pete?” He asked, voice gentle, a bit nervous he would trigger some fight-or-flight instinct if he had acted too brashly. Carefully, he tugged his wing away, wincing at the pain shooting through his wound. But thankfully, Pete snapped out of his daze soon enough, eventually realizing how tightly he was grasping onto his feathers.
“Oh my void- I’m so sorry- I don’t know what came over me,” Pete stammered, eyes flickering from Grian’s wing to his face. “I didn't do anything, did I?”
“Just stared at my wing the entire time,” Grian’s wings lowered, causing him to wince slightly at the uncomfortable position his injured one was in. “You kept eyeing it throughout the day; does it look that bad?”
Pete's face burned at that, and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Didn’t- didn’t notice i was, sorry-”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He glanced up, to see Grian turning his body around to face him, fingers clenching into his sleeves, then unclenching. The avian-hybrid eyed him, concerned. although not necessarily towards his injury, but towards him.
“Does it look worse than a few days ago?”
“...No, it’s gotten better-”
“Then what’s bothering you about it?” He pushed gently. The crackling of the fire’s flames grew louder in Pete's ears the longer the both of them sat there, quietly, Grian waiting for some sort of response. But the taller didn't know how to respond at all.
Pete's mind flew back to merely a week ago, when Fruitberries had persuaded him to help in an attack on a village for supplies. Hesitantly, he complied; as much as he hated any sort of violence—especially when it just wasn’t necessary in his eyes—he would be leaving three of his friends by themselves who’d certainly be outnumbered. not like they couldn’t handle themselves, but he didn’t want to purposely leave them in a dangerous situation that he didn’t want to join just because of his own ideals.
Which snowballed into Pete nearly cutting Grian's wing off because he couldn’t decide whether to leave him alive—with an even bigger risk of him dying later anyways—or to just kill him and get it over with. His moral compass rang true, stronger than red instincts. Yet that didn’t erase the guilt he felt after the fact, with both sides of the situation. Him lying to his group about what happened, and still hurting who was then just an innocent Player who was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, and who was now a close friend who he was trying to get back home, still made Pete guilty.
He could practically hear the disgusting squelch of the blade of his iron axe colliding with Grian’s wing, the avian-hybrid screaming so loud in his ears it made his heart hurt so much just recalling it.
Before thinking, he blurted out; “It’s my fault.”
“...What do you mean?” Grian questioned, cluelessly, arching a brow at him.
“Grian, I nearly got you killed,” he admitted, hands tightly gripping around the fabric of his pants. “And now your wing’s all fucked up because of me.”
Grian's eyes softened. “Pete, it’s not your fault-“
“But I could’ve just left you alone, and- and I didn’t-“
“Because that’s not in your nature,” Grian said, voice firm yet still holding a twinge of comfort in his tone. “You saw me as a threat. and, to be fair, I was the one who struck you first.” He added, trying to keep the air around them somewhat lighthearted, but he frowned a bit when he noticed his friend’s guilty expression.
“Pete, I'm fine, okay? It’ll heal on its own in time.” He reassured him softly, the red feeling his hands reach over to his own, squeezing them gently.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he spoke quietly, voice wavering as he felt a lump in his throat. “I just-“
Within moments, Grian pulled him into a hug, keeping it loose in case Pete needed to push him away. He didn’t, his arms carefully wrapping around his back, being mindful of his wings; “I know, I understand.”
“I'm sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, I don't blame you.”
The both of them stayed like that for a short while; Pete kept spilling whispered apologies, resting his chin against the top of the shorter’s head, feeling his curly locks brush against his skin, Grian responding with comforting assurances. Deep down, Grian could hear his instincts screaming at him to get away, that he was in danger. But he trusted his gut, and he trusted Pete. In his heart, he knew that he would be okay.
The stars sparkled just a little brighter in the sky.