Phobos Stories

A few days went by and Phobos got worse and worse physically. He had found some shelter in a dirty hole under a tree where he hid, but he got weaker and couldn’t stand up anymore, let alone hunt. He hadn’t eaten in a while and was slowly wasting away. His head now felt as if it was melting and he couldn’t think straight anymore. Every now and again he had a seizure and lost consciousness, only to wake up in his own sweat again. The voices returned and talked to him, tried to convince him that he was already dead, but when he looked around, he seemed to be alone.

On the day that he realized he would probably die in this dirty hole, someone came by. The Saliko sniffed the air and, with his extraordinarily distinct sense of smell, he immediately noticed the stench of sickness and fear and followed it to the shelter of the piebald. The Saliko was no healer but had enough experience in the field to know what to do to avoid the worst. He didn’t talk to Phobos and it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. The dark green hob with the full mane was sitting next to the Piebald and pressed a cool, wet piece of moss on his head to cool him down. The injured Saliko had many problems that had to be treated, but the most dangerous one for the moment was a severe infection and inflammation of his brain, which the other hob had noticed. Another was a traumatic brain injury, caused by the hit he took to his head. When the hob raised Phobos’ eyelids to check his pupils reaction for any lasting brain damage, he noticed one of the pupils being a lot larger than the other, a clear sign for trauma.

The other hob had treated Phobos as good as possible for a few days now and kept bringing him food. The white one was still delirious, yet able to eat on his own when he had meat in front of himself. Huacapuran used this perfect moment to test his new food source on the Mayur, who ate the meat of doubtful origins without question. And finally he was well enough to straighten himself and look at the hob who had taken care of him for so long.

«Huaca.»

«Oh good, you’re awake. How do you feel?»

«Like I got run over by a herd of Kesals. When did you find me?»

«About a moon ago. You’ve been in pretty bad shape.»

«What happened?»

«No one’s really sure about that. You got injured and turned mad, pushing everyone away until you left the tribe.»

«’Everyone’? What do you mean?»

«Well, all our siblings, Ivy, her daughter, as well as Dexter and Atlacoya. No one was able to get close to you and it seemed as if you didn’t recognize them. You were screaming bloody murder.»

«I…I don’t recognize those names.»

«Interesting.»

«What?»

«Well, you knew my name, didn’t you?»

«I guess so.»

He looked at the hob lying next to him. He saw his usual, full maned and black marked pelt, as well as the yellow eyes looking at him. There was nothing wrong with Huaca. But Phobos had flashbacks of devils glaring at him, feasting on his fear and he shivered again, scared of the thought.

«I don’t think…that I’m alright still.»

«Take your time, I’m sure you’ll get well soon. Your fever’s gone down already, so you should feel better already.»

Phobos tried to get up and managed to stand. And the other hob was right, his head felt a lot less hot, making him more comfortable than ever in the past couple quarter-moons. He left the den, Huacapuran shortly behind him, watching him cautiously. Phobos raised his head into the air and took a deep breath. The cool night air was refreshing and the slight breeze ruffling up his fur let him feel alive again, though he still wasn’t sure if this was all just a horrible dream and he was dead all along. Nothing seemed right. The area was unfamiliar and even his body felt out of sorts, as if he was a stow away, out of control of his own body. Phobos walked for quite a while, trying to train his tired limbs again. When he reached a lively clearing, Huaca touched him on the shoulder with his tail to hold him back. Phobos looked at the older hob and saw him shake his head disapprovingly.

«You should rest a bit longer before you talk to the others. Let’s go back.»

The young piebald didn’t understand the reasoning behind this, but despite feeling so mistrustful and lonely in the world, he somehow knew he could trust Huacapuran blindly besides all that.

This went on for another quarter-moon. Huaca never told anyone he had found Phobos shortly outside Ivys territory as he wanted to take care of the traumatized hob by himself for a while longer, interested in what was going on in the Piebalds broken mind.

Whenever Phobos slept, he heard the shamrock hobs words in his head. He dreamt he heard his voice, leading him, comforting him and whispering things into his mind that he couldn’t remember when he awoke. Huaca was the only of the voices in his head speaking to him with purpose and sanity. All other voices constantly striving for his attention were still talking nonsense, insulting him, making him scared. They were following him everywhere and he couldn't bear it. But as time went on, they became a part of him. And in an attempt to fight the constant darkness and loneliness, he began answering the voices in his head...