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"description": "[i]Originally Submitted to FurAffinity.net on December 8th, 2011 09:20 PM. Before it was transferred to Inkbunny it had 508 views and \n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t35\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t favorites.[/i]\n\nAnd yet another teamwork of me and my husband. I made the picture and he wrote the story. While I was working on the picture he was thinking about the background of it and I think this short story really suits this picture. \n\nKuroken is a cooperative character between me and my husband. His stories brought him to live and my pictures just keep him alive.\n\nAnd now... listen to the song below and read the story while having this picture in your mind. :3\n\nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_qtmj8ZG6bQ\n\nThank you!\n\nStory & Character (c) by [icon]Katerchen[/icon]\nArtwork & Character-Design (c) by me\n\n\n\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\nThe snow was cold to his bare paws and crackled quietly with every trembling step, that he took. \n\nHe was dieing, or at least he should have been judging by the blood trail that he had left along his way fleeing from the encampment. Death did not mean much to him, he should have been a dead man days ago, he even wished for it. But neiter the gods nor his captors would grant him his wish or even allow him to take care of it himself. He begged for the privilege of seppuku, of restoring his honor by slicing open his own belly, but they would not allow it.\n\nHe was in severe pain, slightly mitigated by the numbing cold that slowly crawled up his extremities. The cut on his chest was from the battle itself, it had not properly healed since then. He had returned the favor of the cut to it's originator tenfold. He had been proud of it given other circumstances. But it wasn't the chest wound that hurt him the most, it was his empty eye-socket that burned like hellfire. But he was probably better off having lost that eye to that eversmiling torturer anyway.\n\nIt was the eye with which he had witnessed the death of his daymio, that he was sworn to protect. The enemies had dishonored his liege by hanging the man like a common thug. He was already in captivity then, laying on the ground face down between the corpses of his fallen comrades. It was only out of the corner of exactly that eye, that he had seen his lord gasping for air again and again until the hanging body finally stopped struggling.\nIf losing an eye was all, that it took for his memory of this moment of his greatest shame to fade, then he was glad to give it up.\n\nHis lungs filled with a rasping sound, he was sick too. Sick, famished, tortured and yet his body kept walking. He was a walking dead in dark forest with screams far in the distance behind him.\n\nThose were different screams. Screams of soldiers in rage and horses in panic. Those were not the screams of women and children that he had heard days ago, when the City was sacked. Screams of agony, anguish and desperation. The screams of the defenseless, as they were slaughtered or even worse. It should not have been like that. War was supposed to be honorful and decent, a test of strength for those who are strong. He really had believed in that once.\n\nHe took another step and staggered. He almost fell and he knew that if he fell flat on the ground, that he would never get up again. What a soothing thought that was. What a huge temptation to take the easy way out of this, but he would not, he could not. \n\nHe had to make those wrongs right again, he had to - he could not finish the thought as he staggered again. \nThis time he could not stay up, but fell to his knees into the snow. \n\nThis was the turning point. He knew that. The gods were watching. It was up to him and to decide if this was a story of a talented young man, that believed in a dreamworld and died, a sad but beautiful story. Or the story of a corpse of shattered beliefs, rising bleedingly from the cold snow only fueled by his burning hatred and cold thirst for revenge.\n\nThe gods were watching...\n\nMinutes passed in which only the mist coming from his breath gave any hint of him still being alive. Then he growled in a deep and threatening tone and with his whole body trembling in pain and exhaustion ... he stood up.\n\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\n\n\nThe end?",
"description_bbcode_parsed": "Originally Submitted to FurAffinity.net on December 8th, 2011 09:20 PM. Before it was transferred to Inkbunny it had 508 views and
\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t35\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t favorites.
And yet another teamwork of me and my husband. I made the picture and he wrote the story. While I was working on the picture he was thinking about the background of it and I think this short story really suits this picture.
Kuroken is a cooperative character between me and my husband. His stories brought him to live and my pictures just keep him alive.
And now... listen to the song below and read the story while having this picture in your mind. :3
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_qtmj8ZG6bQ
Thank you!
Story & Character (c) by [icon]Katerchen[/icon]
Artwork & Character-Design (c) by me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The snow was cold to his bare paws and crackled quietly with every trembling step, that he took.
He was dieing, or at least he should have been judging by the blood trail that he had left along his way fleeing from the encampment. Death did not mean much to him, he should have been a dead man days ago, he even wished for it. But neiter the gods nor his captors would grant him his wish or even allow him to take care of it himself. He begged for the privilege of seppuku, of restoring his honor by slicing open his own belly, but they would not allow it.
He was in severe pain, slightly mitigated by the numbing cold that slowly crawled up his extremities. The cut on his chest was from the battle itself, it had not properly healed since then. He had returned the favor of the cut to it's originator tenfold. He had been proud of it given other circumstances. But it wasn't the chest wound that hurt him the most, it was his empty eye-socket that burned like hellfire. But he was probably better off having lost that eye to that eversmiling torturer anyway.
It was the eye with which he had witnessed the death of his daymio, that he was sworn to protect. The enemies had dishonored his liege by hanging the man like a common thug. He was already in captivity then, laying on the ground face down between the corpses of his fallen comrades. It was only out of the corner of exactly that eye, that he had seen his lord gasping for air again and again until the hanging body finally stopped struggling.
If losing an eye was all, that it took for his memory of this moment of his greatest shame to fade, then he was glad to give it up.
His lungs filled with a rasping sound, he was sick too. Sick, famished, tortured and yet his body kept walking. He was a walking dead in dark forest with screams far in the distance behind him.
Those were different screams. Screams of soldiers in rage and horses in panic. Those were not the screams of women and children that he had heard days ago, when the City was sacked. Screams of agony, anguish and desperation. The screams of the defenseless, as they were slaughtered or even worse. It should not have been like that. War was supposed to be honorful and decent, a test of strength for those who are strong. He really had believed in that once.
He took another step and staggered. He almost fell and he knew that if he fell flat on the ground, that he would never get up again. What a soothing thought that was. What a huge temptation to take the easy way out of this, but he would not, he could not.
He had to make those wrongs right again, he had to - he could not finish the thought as he staggered again.
This time he could not stay up, but fell to his knees into the snow.
This was the turning point. He knew that. The gods were watching. It was up to him and to decide if this was a story of a talented young man, that believed in a dreamworld and died, a sad but beautiful story. Or the story of a corpse of shattered beliefs, rising bleedingly from the cold snow only fueled by his burning hatred and cold thirst for revenge.
The gods were watching...
Minutes passed in which only the mist coming from his breath gave any hint of him still being alive. Then he growled in a deep and threatening tone and with his whole body trembling in pain and exhaustion ... he stood up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The end?",
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