I know, I know. It's short. Sorry for the short look into Buck's past. I actually have a better idea planned out in my head than what it came out. Working on it. Italics mean that it's in the past, okay?
Jag tucked his front legs under his bandaged chest. The giant green leaves wrapped around his wounds were smooth and slimy on the underside. Buck had said that the slime prevented infection so he was going to take his word for it. Night had set in and the only light was the soft echoing orange from the lava and the small fire between him and Buck. Now, he was waiting for the weasel to start telling about his past.
Buck was sitting quietly, absent mindedly fiddling with his knife. His deep blue eye closed as he sighed. No, he really didn't want to talk about his past. The insanity that his mind had fallen into almost didn't let him remember. But he did remember it, every night in his dreams.
"I've been down here for two years," he finally spoke. "At least, that's how long I think it's been. I've lost track of time."
Jag nodded. He could easily lose track of time in a place like this too.
"I was still living with my parents when I got lost down here," he waved his knife to the wild jungle and plant life. "I had a dad, mom, sister, and a brother on the way."
"What happened to them? Why come down here when you have a real family?" Jag asked, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.
"It's a long story," Buck huffed, stabbing the ground with his knife. "I'll tell you the short version. It began one day…"
A young Buck dashed into a cave, carrying a small weasel on his back. Skidding to a halt he dumped the female into a heap on the sandy floor. Snowflakes blew in from outside, peppering his and his sister's fur. Her fur was a sandy color with dark stripes, mimicking the two's father. Buck's fur, however, more closely resembled his mother's.
"Buck! I thought you said we were going to see the sabers!" the female howled in disappointment and crossed her arms.
"Yeah, before the storm came in," Buck shook himself to be rid of the clinging flakes of snow.
"Elisabeth? Buck? Is that you?" A husky accented male voice came from deeper in the cave.
"Yeah, da," Elisabeth answered as she stood and brushed sand from her fur. "Is ma here?"
"Nah, she's still out," their father appeared from the dark of the cave, cleaning a shell used as a water dish. "I guess I bett'r go get her."
"Nah da, Buck will go do it," Elisabeth poked her older brother in the stomach.
He cuffed his sister across her ear before replying, "Yeah, I'll go get 'er."
"She's down by the stream, collecting shells," his father called after him as he skittered back out into the oncoming blizzard.
Buck shook his head in amusement. His mother was always collecting shells. Even though she was pregnant now and should be resting. The stream that ran by their den came into sight but his mother did not. He stood up straight, looking downstream and upstream. The other weasel was nowhere in sight.
"Mom?" he called out hesitantly. There was no reply and he became worried. Getting down on all fours he began to scour the area. He found weasel paw prints along with the massive prints of a saber. This was not good. There should've been blood if what he was thinking was true, though.
Racing back to the cave he was startled to be met with the same loneliness found at the stream. His sister and father was nowhere in sight. Paw prints littered the ground, the most recent being that of a saber's. There was a bad feeling in the pit of his gut.
"Liz? Dad?" he called out, hoping for some answer, some noise. He was met with silence.
Fear and anger flooded through him. He took off into the snowstorm, following the fast disappearing saber tracks. This was all his fault. This should have never happened. He had lead the sabers straight to his family.
"…I followed those tracks for hours until I came to the dens where the pride lived," Buck glared at the ground where his knife was stuck. "I was right. I had lead them right to my family."
"But why blame it on yourself?" Jag raised his brows. "The sabers could have chosen any den to raid."
"Oh no, this one was my fault," Buck growled, pulling his knife from the ground. "I had a history with these sabers. The lead female and I had run into each other a few times. She wound up with a scar over her eye among a few other things."
"Revenge, then?" he asked.
"Yeah, revenge," Buck sighed, laying his knife down and unclenching his fists. "I came face to face with the pride but never saw hide or hair of her. Her mate, a rather large brute, smacked his paw across my face. I heard something snap and realized that I couldn't move my jaw. That's why I've got the under bite. It healed wrong. I ran. Ran into a cave and kept running. Before I knew it I was falling into a river that runs through this world. I've been here ever since."
"You know, losing your family wasn't entirely your fault," Jag titled his head.
"No, it was," Buck buried his head into his arms. "I should've been able to stop it."
Okay, I know I said the real plot would pick up here but it didn't. Sorry. It will the next chapter! Promise! :)