Writing Prompt #9 - "Left to Die"
"This week's" prompt: "Write a Gabe [Foxx] Special! Meaning, write an impactful scene between two or more characters where words are not spoken. Optionally, also no described thoughts – i.e., using only body language and cues."
Obviously there's a very sizable gap between this prompt's upload and the previous one. I was hard at work with another, much more involved short story project that I needed to focus my full attention on, and also had some general life stuff going on. I'm going to try to write and upload these more regularly going forward!
I'm struggling a bit with SoFurry Beta at the moment, so my plan for right now is to keep uploading here and then importing them over there to keep the galleries consistent. I will at some point switch over completely.
The island lay about half a league away, no more than a sandbar in the aquamarine sea that stretched endlessly in all directions. Even at this distance, Lambert could see the green fronds of palm trees stretching up from the shore, as well as the V-shapes of gulls gracefully swooping through the air above them.
That was good. Flora and fauna meant water, and water meant survival. This area was little-traveled and uncharted—at least, this spit of land had never appeared on any of the maps he'd come across in his years as ship's navigator—but neither had the wolf known it to be affected by the maelstroms that routinely buffeted the New World colonies. The chance he might be rescued by passing ships might be close to nill, but there were far worse places to be marooned.
The sharp prod of a bayonet-studded rifle to Lambert's back forced him from the ship's side of the gangplank to the half hanging over the water. Very nearly tripping and careening over the hull, his paws scrabbled on the unvarnished wood – he picked up several splinters in the process, but did manage to keep his footing. The laughter of the crew behind him punctuated the still, ever-present ambience of the gentle currents swirling just below.
Ignoring the shards digging further into the pads of his paws, the wolf carefully turned around to look at them one last time. All of the men—his bosom mates, with whom he'd shared countless drinks, weathered countless storms, and faced countless dangers—were now looking at him with contempt and disgust, sneering and scowling and spitting and making obscene gestures. All of them… save for one.
He locked eyes with his beloved. The fox, as dapper and handsome and gorgeous in his captain's attire as ever, wore a mournful expression on his face, his pale yellow eyes glimmering as though with tears. Lambert attempted a reassuring smile. After all, he understood why Ambrose was doing this. While their own dalliance remained a secret between the two of them—a fact for which he was infinitely grateful—rumors of his own proclivities had gone from low murmurings to open hostility in recent days. It was disrupting the camaraderie that separated success from failure, life from death. This was the only way.
The wolf was unafraid. He would yet live. A life of solitude, but one comforted by the memories of candlelit meals and the nights of passion that always followed. With love in his heart, he could endure, even thrive.
That was why, when Lambert saw the fox pull his gold-plated pistol from his coat, he let out a scream of shock and anguish even before he felt the bullet explode a hole in his chest.