PA 3.5: End of a Tail

Chapter III Part II

Patches counted the seconds as they passed by. He slowed any breathing, calmed his heartbeat, and told his shuddering brain that all was well.  When, finally, he was sure everyone was gone, he started peeling himself from the branch he was atop. As he moved his arm, he could feel warm blood pool into the squished appendage, making it tingle like it was coated in needles.

Patches dug his claws into the bark with his numb digits and opted to simply drop down rather than climb. The forest was not safe, and he wouldn't have a contrived asthmatic weirdo to bail him out of the next near-death experience.

It had been around thirty minutes since the dogs left, but he had no idea which direction was which anymore. He needed a plan.

"Shit!" he yelped, losing his grip on the bark as it ran cuts along where he jammed his claws into it. In short order, he fell a good five feet until his legs hit the floor, crumpling under his exhausted body's weight. He landed on his rear, crushing his tail and bending it at a weird angle, then lastly bumping his back and head against the rough ground.

"Owwww..."

He took a moment to rub the new bruise on the back of his head, then groggily got up. He felt exhausted after all the shit that had happened to him; it was comedy to anyone observing.

"Ugh... I'm hungry, thirsty, cold, bruised, bleeding, and I can't feel half of my body."

He smiled to himself, still trying to remain confident for his own sake.

"Well, I suppose it's nothing I haven't dealt with before."

He raised a paw to his muzzle, wiping away the smirk that rested on it as his mind briefly drifted to the days he had spent in that rotting corpse. Then, he got moving in the direction of the search party, minding to avoid their tracks, and hoped they were going towards the school.

The long walk gave Patches time to ponder, allowing one of his first thoughts to be of his ultimate goal. Somehow, he would have to get his paws on Bapawmet again. The chill of cold dirt against his pads soothed his aching as he continued on through the forest.

The student wondered why the skeletal god hadn't appeared from nowhere and slaughtered him at Mitt's behest. It couldn't be that they didn't have a skull- how were they going to summon them at the school gathering if that were the case?

Patches stumbled over an exposed root, cursing the gnarled state of the woods and their dead trees. The ashen smell never quite faded even as the colour returned to the canopy, and he found himself closing in on Kemonotown's outskirts.

"Come to think of it, wasn't Mitt going to let all the dogs rot anyways?" He quickly remembered their chat in Home Ec, where both siblings had told him their intentions. It was only by Patches unintentional actions in giving Ginger the grimoire that the duo had resigned their superiority complexes and decided to fix all the students of Hachiko High.

As he stewed, the occasional chirping of birds, tickling of soft grass, and cold breeze let him know he was minutes away from his destination. Sucking in the fresh air felt good, and he looked forward to the feeling of asphalt on his paw pads, but dreaded everything else.

Maybe in a kinder world, Patches' actions would have been recognized, and the bloodthirsty mutts at the school would believe he was trying to save everyone. That wouldn't happen, though; they would ignore the good he did in favour of damning him for being imperfect.

The dalmatian stopped his pacing as he finally arrived at the edge of the forest. The sounds of laughter and joyous crying hit his keen ears before the scent of week-old unwashed fur came right after. He snuck into some bushes, observing from there as he saw yet another sleight against him; there were several dogs still gathered in the yard.