#calamine the clone

[fairfowl]

Lie There and Breathe

A Horde Clone OC story

(Tw: gore, injury) (part two here, part three here, part four here)

The Etherian relief workers found him lying prone on the hard ground beside the cliff where Horde Prime had made his last mad play. Jagged rocks lay all around the clone's body, his abdomen and shoulders riddled with long thorns that could only have come from Perfuma's vines.

His arms were pinned under his torso, the white of his tabard and tunic stained phosphorescent green. But what had truly frightened the workers was the state of the clone's face.

The clone lay with his head resting in a pool of neon blood, half his left ear was missing entirely as the flesh of his cheek and brow hung from the bone, separated across the socket of his eye by a gash that had gouged a trail into his very skull.

Ethera had abandoned the more violent practices of war nearly a century ago, and while there had been countless conflicts since then the average citizen was unused to the brutality that Prime had brought.

Through all the years of fighting between the rebellion and the Etherian Horde both sides had utilized non-lethal methods whenever possible as a matter of both basic morality and resource consumption. Anything less would have been viewed as a war crime.

But the Galactic Horde was held to no such standard. Their way was victory by any means necessary, and the streamlined process of creating clones meant that they never had to worry about running out of cannon fodder.

When Horde Prime arrived and Hordak disappeared, war on Etheria had changed drastically.

The princesses could not be blamed for fighting back.

But as relief workers picked their way across the battlefield, pulling living soldiers from both sides into the hastily constructed healers' tents there was an aura of revulsion and regret to them. The days of mindless bloodshed should have been over, but the newly verdant landscape was still soaked with red and green blood.

The workers wrapped the clone's face with a cloth, and dragged his unconscious form into the tent.

........

The clone awoke to searing pain and blindness.

Agony left him breathless, and he tried to curl into himself only to find that he lacked the strength to move his limbs. Although his head was thickly wrapped in bandages his senses were inundated by unfamiliar sounds and smells. Beside him someone breathed heavily, each intake rattling wetly.

Immediately he sought out the hivemind, disoriented and pained.

He found only empty silence.

Panicked the clone tried again, reaching out and physically grasping at the air with a trembling hand as he searched in vain for the warm minds of his Brothers, connected by the light of Horde Prime.

Horde Prime

Horde Prime was dead.

And so was the hivemind.

His breath sped up as the clone's lonely mind raced, reaching back to his last moment of consciousness.

He remembered his injury, and laying prone beneath the cliff as through the echoes of the hivemind he witnessed the end of Prime’s Glorious Vessel. Killed at the hands of the traitorous defect.

The clone remembered Horde Prime’s short glorious return in the body of the traitor, and he remembered the triumphant final speech in the voice that had seemed to echo from the top of the cliff and through the hivemind. He remembered letting his eyes slip shut as he prepared to die as Prime willed.

And he remembered how the voice had suddenly stopped.

The cold emptiness that had gripped him then came again as he lay blind and lost. He knew as surely as he knew anything that the hivemind had died along with Prime, and that he was alone. As if he were a cloud of space dust after a supernova, a corpse teeming with rot after death.

The clone shuddered, fighting the panic that threatened to engulf him. Through everything else that inundated his mind something new and profound shined from his core.

A desire to stay alive.

And the first thing that the clone knew about staying alive was that if he was to do so then he couldn't continue to panic.

Brothers who panicked on the field died, those who remained calm and kept their faith in Prime lived to fight another day.

Prime was dead, and so all he could do was try to remain calm.

Beyond the horror within his own head the clone found that he could not block out the pervasive sound of wheezing from beside him. From further away the noise was yet more chaotic. Bustling and clattering were overshadowed by moans and gasps of pain and the smells of blood and fear hung heavy in the air.

The clone turned his head slowly, listening for anything familiar, but heard no comforting mechanical beeps, or low reassuring prayers.

Indeed the only prayers that he heard were being gasped desperately from some distance.

He focused of the wheezing beside him.

The sound was steady even as each breath seemed to rattle wetly. The clone matched each wheeze to his own breaths and focused his entire self on it, blocking out the chaos of the unknown location where he and the breather lay.

........

The clone did not know how much time had passed.

He had eventually lost consciousness, and when he awoke he spent a moment seeking out the rasping breathing of one who lay beside him. He had been relieved to hear the breather immediately, the rest of the surrounding area had quieted substantially while he slept, but the steady rattling continued on as though nothing had changed.

The clone clung to it.

He was still heavily bandaged, and agony throbbed through his very being. The clone now knew that his pain was centralized to one side of his head. His left eye socket felt like a black hole, hungrily sucking every joule of energy from his body.

He was too exhausted to even seek out comfort, and the all encompassing agony made it impossible to concentrate on anything but The Breather beside him.

He lay there, helpless and exhausted and did the only thing that he could do.

He listened.

And he heard.

The clone counted the breaths of his companion constantly, eventually allowing surrounding noises to trickle in but never giving up his concentration on The Breather.

He deduced, as he lay there, that he was surrounded by the injured. Many of the cries, gasps, and prayers, were the voices of his brothers. Terror and pain gripped those voices, and he spared a moment of grief for those brothers. The panic that they were experiencing was dangerous, and the clone refused to let himself fall into it's trap.

He needed to remain calm because he wanted to survive.

He wanted to survive and hear the rattling breaths beside him.

The Breather slept on, constant and steady despite the wheezing.

There were likely Etherians surrounding him as well. Some of the pained voices were unfamiliar, and those who bustled around were certainly not members of The Horde. Their alien voices were filled with emotion, and their hurried steps too disorganized to be anything but alien.

It made sense. Prime was dead.

What didn't make sense was that these Etherians were keeping him and his brothers alive. Perhaps they planned to have the surviving clones serve them as the people of conquered planets had had the choice to peacefully serve Horde Prime.

But why not cull the damaged ones?

The clone knew, as surely as he knew that Prime was dead, that he was too damaged to avoid culling. The vine that had whipped across his face had obviously left a path of carnage in its wake. He did not know the state of his eyes, but the pain radiating from his left socket was telling, as was the uncomfortable wetness that soaked the bandages surrounding his head.

But he didn't want to die. The desire to live still burned strongly with him, new and profound. The clone tied his survival to remaining calm, which in turn had thus far turned him to rely upon The Breather beside him.

As long as he could hear his companion, then he could remain calm. As long as he remained calm then he had a chance of survival.

Beside him The Breather slept on, and the clone listened.

After some time of this the chaos of their surroundings picked back up, less frantic than it had been before but still busy. A host of voices and various organic smells rose to meet him; some were medicinal some were not. For his part the clone continued to take it all in from his stationary supine position. 

He deduced that he was laying on a sort of rough canvas cot some unknown distance from the ground. Unfamiliar clothing and a thin sheet covered him. Around him there was little airflow, but there was also no echo that would have indicated that they were indoors. If anything he heard wind, and the sound of cloth flapping but did not feel a breeze, perhaps they were in a tent.  

On his aching left side The Breather slept on but to his right he heard only wind and cloth, curiously he reached out a hand and met more sturdy cloth. He must have been lying along the wall of some kind of hospital tent.

Cautiously he continued to explore his surroundings with his fingers, reaching out blindly for anything within his reach. The wall, the cot, the strange loose clothes that covered him.

After a moment's hesitation the clone reached out into open air, searching for The Breather. The rasping continued on as it had since he’d first regained consciousness.

The clone felt his arm shake as he reached towards the lifeline that he'd been clinging too since he’d first regained consciousness.

And he found them.

A long arm, a muscular shoulder, the familiar texture and musculature. A fellow clone. A Brother.

Something that had been wrapped up tight in the clone's chest slowly unfurled, and tears welled up in his covered eyes as he traced his companion's arm downward to grasp his hand.

Relief and fear bloomed within him as he cried. Beside him his brother breathed on.

..................................................................................

Congratulations on finishing this somewhat maudlin little fic, I've wanted to write it for a while.

Since the two characters currently known as The Clone (our protagonist) and The Breather (the unconscious one) aren't very developed in this first part I thought I'd tell you a little about them

The Clone (pictured on top (someday I may draw his scars more closely to how I imagine them)) will eventually go on to be known as Chamomile. After spending some time in the healing tent he will learn that he still has perfect sight in the right eye, and partial sight in his left. Observing the Etherian healers as they work will inspire him to study healing under their tutelage specializing in wound care.

This will be a fairly new concept to the Horde Clones as under Prime most clones who had received a major wound that needed extensive care or caused major scarring would likely have been culled or sent to the front lines.

His companion The Breather (pictured below) will later be called Calamine. He is currently suffering from pneumonia due to a chest injury that resulted in a collapsed lung as well as substantial internal bleeding, he'll wake up eventually but for now the boy needs rest. He is a kindred spirit to Chamomile and the two cling to one another as they recover.

Calamine had previously worked within The Horde to create amniotic fluid, and will eventually become a cook.

The extremely awesome and very inspiring clone creator piccrew was made by @strawberryoverlordart

[duckball]

America Meet Holly and Analyse!

Okay, it’s another Sunday night. I spent my morning swimming, my afternoon working, I’m chowing down on a nice Turkey sandwich and ready to be bored to death during this episode of Big Brother.

Oh great, the HoH competition, I forgot about this. It’s an endurance comp, they’re hanging by this wire contraption.

Jessica is down after 3 minutes and 56 seconds. She pulls a chip from the first aid box and gets a smiley face.

Nicole is down after 5 minutes 52 seconds, she also pulls a smiley face from the box.

Sam is down at 13 minutes, also pulls a smiley face from the box.

Christie is down at 15 minutes, she pulls Poison Ivy.

Nick is down at 17 minutes, he pulls a smiley face.

Jack is barely hanging on, and he falls at 27 minutes, and he gets a smiley face chip.

America, this girl who played Soccer is Analyse, they call her Sis, we don’t see her on the show very often.

Tommy is down at 39 minutes. Tommy pulls the other Poison Ivy chip.

Kathryn’s main goal seems to be lasting longer then Jackson.

Every so often the “calamine lotion” is flung at the remaining House Guests.

Jackson falls at 1 hour and 29 minutes.

It’s down to Analyse, Kat, and Holly.

Kat drops at 1 hour and 30 minutes.

Analyse is trying to make a deal with Holly.

This is the most screen time either of these gals has had all season.

Analyse falls and Holly wins HoH.

Analyse is pissed at Jackson for pumping Holly up, stopping her from making a deal.

Holly wanted to prove her worth with this HoH.

Jackson sees this as wonderful for him.

Nick knows he’s in trouble and at their mercy.

Cliff is sucking up to the trash side with some beer he had left over from his HoH.

Analyse is fuming about Jackson.

HoH room reveal, have we seen these this season, or have I blocked this all out from sheer boredom?

Kathryn is into conspiracy theories, including the moon landing, Tupac, and even the Avril Clone theory.

Christie and Tommy report to the DR for their Poison Ivy punishment. They’re not allowed outside or to shower for 4 days and they must wear a ridiculous costume.

Sam goes to suck up and try to stay off the block.

The six shooters are totally starting to go after themselves which well, go for it. Let’s break up this ridiculous alliance.

Nomination Ceremony time!

Holly nominates Nick and Sam.

She thinks the key to survival is trust and teamwork. Sam is caught in the crossfire.

Check in on Wednesday night when Brandon will have the Veto blog.

[redsimplyrouge]

Is this the first photo of the iPhone X in the wild? _____________________________________________ ________________ Apple announced the iPhone X weeks ago, which means we have most of the details we could possibly want about the new phone. But with over a moth left before launch, there’s still a lot of notch longing that’s going unfulfilled. So while a photo of the iPhone X in the wild doesn’t actually tell us anything new, it does work like a rumor calamine lotion to tide us over until November 3rd. The photo comes from Insight, a Korean news outlet that received it in an anonymous tip from a reader. According to the source, someone was playing with a phone on a subway in Seoul. We’re either looking at a pre-release iPhone X, or proof that the copycat industry works crazy fast these days. “”I saw someone using the iPhone X on the subway train on the evening of the evening of the 28th,” Mr A told Insight. “I felt the display was very clean and close.” The site said that “According to a photo from Mr. A, the man next to the subway made a note of the schedule on his iPhone calendar and kept in touch with his acquaintances with his child using messages.” The photos show something that sure looks like the iPhone X Apple already revealed, and it’s running something that looks like iOS. Making an iPhone X lookalike wouldn’t be hard for Chinese clone companies from a hardware standpoint, but making a convincing iOS mockup that runs smoothly would be much harder. Apple has famously legendary security, but things are understandably more lax in the gap between announcement and full release. Devices are likely in the hands of developers and cell carriers by now, and it’s not inconceivable that someone would be using one on the subway. _____________________________________________________________ What do you think? _____________________________________________________________ #apple #iphone #ipad #timcook #concept #iphonex #android #iphone8 #iphone7 #iphone6 #Cupertino #macbook #Foxconn #a11bionic #iOS #applewatch #carplay #stevejobs #facebook #appstore #itunes #applemusic #faceid #macmini #appletv #design #rumors #fashion #geek #korean

[fairfowl]

Lie There and Breathe pt 3: His Friend

A horde clone oc story (part one here, part two here)

Tw: gore, ableism, eye trauma, pneumonia

At first the light was unbearable. 

The clone immediately tried to squeeze his right eye tightly shut but the act of tensing his face sent spikes of pain that nearly toppled him over onto the cot. Everything felt too vulnerable, too exposed, and the black hole of his left eye was pain compounded upon pain. The deep ache that reverberated through his skull was layered by fire that seemed to consume the torn flesh at the surface. His head spun. 

Master Mendus’s hands held him firmly upright while the apprentice Dawn used a sharp smelling liquid to wash the coagulated blood and other fluids from his face, starting from his jawline and moving upward to clear his right eye which seemed to be intact, if glued shut. 

She cleared the entire uninjured part of his face, but conspicuously left a large portion of the left side of his face untouched.

As she worked all the clone knew was sharp unyielding light, the continued rasping of his brother on the cot nearby, and pain drilling deep into his skull. As his sight cleared a figure coalesced through the brightness, silhouetted against a backdrop of pure white. For a moment the clone thought that he was witnessing Prime reborn.

And then he blinked.

When the clone refocused he saw not the glorious figure of Horde Prime but a skinny long-faced Etherian girl, with a six-pointed rack of antlers and a serious expression.

He saw Dawn.

The clone let out a long breath. Anxiety over his own helplessness had plagued him since he had first awakened and he was relieved to find that he had not been permanently blinded. At least one eye still functioned, although his vision was a bit blurry and the world wavered dizzily before him. There was a bubbling lightness in his chest that the clone could not contain, and he could not help the small smile that tugged at his lips. 

There was light.

He turned away from Dawn, towards the sound of breathing, and was delighted to see his companion sleeping peacefully. His body rested on a simple cot, the head of which was propped up so that he was in a half-sitting position. The Breather looked drawn and tired but not direly ill, bandages wrapped thickly around his chest. There were also wrappings around his right hand, which was laid across the bandages on his chest, and his right leg from the knee down. Other exposed skin was bruised or scraped as though his body had met stone with some force. Beyond that he looked like any of Horde Prime’s Little Brothers

His smile widened.

Here was his companion, mostly whole and recovering. While he himself might be mutilated and weak he was no longer entirely blind and between the two of them it looked as though they both had the capacity to be mobile again. As long as they sustained no further injuries they might stand a chance yet.

He wondered again why the Etherians might be keeping them alive, and suspected that his purpose in the future might be labor. Horde Prime in his infinite wisdom had created the clones in his own image, and they were hardy creatures, capable of feats of strength as well as extreme delicacy. Any conqueror might find them useful, although they would be less effective without the hivemind and the benevolent guidance of Prime.

“Is this your friend?” Dawn asked, drawing his attention back with a snap.

The clone’s smile dropped, and he felt his ears twitch before stilling in pain. All of the functional clones were identical and in the absence of the hivemind he simply could not tell if he had ever met his companion prior to the fall of Prime. A bolt of shame ran through him although he did not understand what he was feeling or why. 

“No.” He responded simply, glancing down at the dirt floor.

“It’s just…” She trailed off, turning to rummage through her supplies, readying new bandages with which to dress his wounds. “I saw you reaching for him before you fell.”

The clone could feel his face heat up as he blushed, and he wished more than anything that he could lay back down and curl into a ball until everything went away. 

“Iwantedtomakesurehewasokay” He sped through the words nervously, lacing his fingers together for want of anything else to do. The elation within his chest had turned to uncomfortable squirming. Beside him The Breather rasped on, but the sound had ceased to be a comfort. Instead it was a reminder that while the clone had become entirely dependent upon his companion’s presence the other clone had been unconscious the entire time. The Breather did not know him. They were together by mere coincidence and nothing but their similar misfortune held them together. 

“He…” The clone started again, resisting the panic that once again rose like a tide within him. “I thought I could keep him safe. I did not want to be alone.” 

He glanced back up at Dawn and saw that she had stilled, her back was turned to him and he could see brown strands of hair slipping free from the long brown braid that hung between her shoulder blades. Master Mendus’s hands had tightened on his arms and the clone could feel himself taking quick shallow breaths. 

“Good boy.” The wry voice from behind his back said. Master Mendus’s hands gentled and the clone could feel a steady hand begin to rub circles along his back. He closed his eye and concentrated on the sensation. As long as he had something to focus on he could regain control, and Mendus’s hands were warm. 

“You wanted to look after him even though you were already in danger yourself.” the Etherian healer continued. “That makes him your friend. He’s lucky to have you” 

Although his eye remained closed the clone could feel Dawn’s hands on his face again, tilting his head upwards. 

“I’m gonna wash out your wounds now.” She said. “It will hurt but I need you to hold still.”

He braced himself, tensing up despite the pain, but let her work. The apprentice sprayed another cool liquid onto his wounded face, this one was scentless but it still stung the cuts. The disconcerting sensation of liquid running deep into pits in his flesh and along the swollen borders distracted him from everything else. He wondered if there was even an eye in that socket, the clone could not tell. 

The Etherian girl worked meticulously, gently wiping clean the canyon carved through flesh. 

"Someone stitched him up." Dawn said, her low voice steady as she worked, clearing away the sticky mess to reveal the damage done. "It looks like they did a rush job but it's not infected."

The clone could feel Mendus shift as though he were craning around to look. The healer sighed as he saw the clone's face, and the clone felt a twist of nervousness. The clone tried not to react, he kept his head lifted with his eyes closed, obedient and still. 

"This is good work, we might be able to save that eye." Master Mendus hummed, massaging the clone's shoulders again as he thought. "You can see where the tissue pulled away from the bone on his cheek and brow, but you're right, it doesn't look infected. The swelling is from the trauma." 

Dawn said nothing, but began to spread something onto the battered flesh. It felt like a paste and smelled herbal. 

"There were places where the tissue was too pulverized to stitch." The healer continued. The affect of his voice had changed as though he was speaking to the clone as well as his apprentice. The clone did not know how to respond, but leaned back into the Etherian's hands. Sitting up was beginning to make him feel dizzy and drained. 

"We're going to have to do the best we can with that, but it will likely leave an impressive scar." Dawn’s hands left his face, and the clone nodded. Relief was tempered by trepidation.

He was happy to hear that his injury was not infected—although he knew that Horde Prime in his cleverness had created his clones to be resistant to most infections—and that he had not lost his left eye, for the clone truly could not differentiate between the sensations coming from that side of his face. Now that his bandages had been removed it mostly felt like a painful mush. 

But he feared to think of what he must look like now. The confirmation that he would be scarred was not a surprise, but the clone still worried. Disfigurement had meant death under Horde Prime, decommissioning so as not to disturb the perfection of the Horde. Now he would never again match his brothers, his appearance would be aberrant and disgusting to all who saw him.

It did not seem that the Etherians valued perfection as much as Prime had. If they did he would not have survived for as long as he had, but he worried how the disfigurement would effect their treatment of him now. 

He wondered what his brothers would think.

He turned his thoughts to The Breather. Would he be disgusted by him? Would he reject a brother who was so maimed?

"We might need to even out the ear a little," Dawn continued, oblivious to the clone's fears as she continued to tend to his wounds. "It's a little jagged and I think the tissue is starting to lose circulation here." 

She ran a gloved finger over a stinging line about halfway up his ear, and the clone was startled to realize that that line was where his ear stopped. He fought a gag as his stomach turned. Some of his reaction must have shown on his face as Dawn drew away. 

“It shouldn’t really affect your hearing.” Her gentle voice softened further. The clone opened his eye to watch her as she rummaged around on the tray that held an array of tools, jars, and bottles. Eventually she pulled up a few more gauze pads and some tape. 

They were almost finished for now then.

Thank Prime.

The clone allowed himself to drift as she wrapped him back up, bandaging his ear separately so that it was no longer pinned to the side of his head. The bandages around his face were also less bulky, and covered less of the uninjured portions of his face. His right eye peeked out from the bright white cloth, and everything felt a little bit lighter. Less wet, less mushy. 

By the time they'd taped the bandages in place, laid him back against his cot—which had been propped up like The Breather's was—and forced a few sips of water into him from a ceramic cup, the clone was exhausted. 

It was at that point when the clone finally saw Master Mendus. 

The Master Healer of Mystacor was a short, sturdily built creature, with pointed horns on his head, and cloven hooves that peeked unshoed from below the hems of his linen trousers. He wore white robes, had a kind face, and had a large scar across his chin that split his lips diagonally. 

The clone felt his gaze drawn to the healer and his apprentice while they cleaned up and bustled around the tent. All but two cots were occupied and the tent was large, the clone estimated that there were at least thirty people lying injured there. Slightly less than half of them were fellow clones. As he watched more people wearing teal colored robes that matched Dawn’s moved a limp Etherian to a gurney, and rolled him out of the tent.

He looked away. 

The clone focused again on The Breather. Although his brother appeared to be relatively healthy, he had not been awake since the clone had regained consciousness. There was no visible head injury, but the raspy breathing and the bandages around his chest were concerning. Feeling grim, the clone wondered if his new friend was slowly asphyxiating beside him. Dawn and Master Mendus had not seemed concerned but they were busy, and they had been focusing on him. He felt a stab of guilt, he should have asked them to look at The Breather. 

He was fine. 

They were both fine.

He lay back, against the cot and stared at the canvas ceiling. Once again the clone focused on the Breather’s constant wheezing. Bit by bit he put himself back together, breathing in time with his companion as he pushed his fears to some forgotten corner of the back of his head. Some worries had been laid to rest by learning of his condition and by speaking to two of his captors, but more had cropped up in their place, while others still lingered. 

He feared what was to become of them. He feared the sight of his own face. Now he even feared the waking of his companion, the clone did not know how he would react if he was rejected by the one who had been his lifeline. 

But he put those fears away, and held onto the sound of his friend’s breaths, and to his desire to keep them both alive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading this! I’m excited to finally have dialogue and to properly introduce Mendus and Dawn. This is still a story about the clone and The Breather but the two healers were necessary and they’ll continue to help our guys get their bearings 

sooo, what was Dawn doing to his face? 

well

Dawn removed the bandages with saline to keep them from sticking, washed the uninjured parts of the clone's face with rubbing alcohol (except for the eyelid, that's a nono), and then got the rest with saline to avoid further damaging the tissue. She then covered the wounds in an oil based ointment similar to bacitracin (I refuse to believe that Etheria doesn't have antibiotics).

Taking off the bandages allowed her to examine and clean the wound, and for the time being that will be pretty much all they can do. If the wound stays wet for too long the skin will start to degrade and the wounds won't heal, so all that blood and drainage from before was Not Good. 

They're starting simple and probably won't need to get too complicated for the moment. Which is good because I'm trying to imply that resources are tight and they have neither enough medical professionals nor supplies to properly care for every patient. 

basically what I’m saying is that all things considered Chamomile is in good shape, he doesn't need anything fancy yet although I tried to imply that he might need at least one more surgery down the line.

[fairfowl]

Lie There and Breathe pt 4: Awake

A horde clone oc story (part one here, part two here, part three here)

tw: gore, ableism, eye trauma, pneumonia, suicidal implications, mentioned disordered eating, horde typical cult mentality (it's only a little sad I'm just being cautious)

Time seemed to stretch out like the empty space between stars. The chaos of the healing tent continued to ebb and flow but the clone did not move from his cot.

While he was much more comfortable now that his head was no longer swathed in gore-soaked bandages, he was still more drained than he could ever remember being. He felt dizzy and tired, and his covered left eye throbbed unceasingly. Sometimes it hurt so much that the clone found himself wishing that it had been simply ripped out rather than left in it's socket to ache.

In the long hours he saw other patients come and go, wheeled in and out on gurneys by teal robed apprentices. The sickest and most injured were removed, while patients with grisly hastily-treated wounds were brought in. The clone assumed that the new ones were being pulled straight off of the battlefield or from emergency camps. It must have been some time since the battle had ended but the clone knew that all cleanups took time.

He was relieved to find that clones and Etherians were both being brought in, and that his brothers seemed to be treated fairly so far.

The clone wondered what his brothers were doing, spread throughout Etheria, cut off from the hivemind. He wondered how many thousands were now wandering the planet, maybe they were seeking each other out in the same way that he had sought The Breather. 

Far into space ships filled with countless brothers must have been traveling without direction, lost and purposeless. The clone hoped that they were responding to the crisis better than he was, he hoped that they were able to communicate effectively even without the comforting network of the hivemind, that they felt a similar need to survive and preserve the lives of their brothers. 

He hoped that if they felt the same will to live as him they were less helpless to act upon it.

The clone rolled over with a sigh, facing towards the canvas wall of the tent when he could no longer bear to look upon the injured and their healers.  

Everything had become overwhelming. 

The voices of the injured, the sound of the wind on the walls of the tent, even the continuous rasping of The Breather seemed cacophonous and the noises rang sharply inside his aching head. His left eye throbbed in its socket and the ever looming tide of panic once more rose within him.

Since the fall of Prime the clone had been hanging onto his composure as though it were a lifeline, knowing that if he gave in to fear then he risked losing what little control that he had over his own fate, but now the truth set in. He had no control. He was stuck, too weak to even sit up from the cot where he lay. 

He had no way of knowing how long it had been since he’d awoken in the tent, but the clone did know that aside from the water earlier he’d had no sustenance. Oral ingestion was not the clones’ usual method of sustaining themselves, but it was utilized on ground campaigns with some frequency and the clone had eaten before although he was not fond of the sensation. Now as his body felt as though it were crying out he wondered if he could even tolerate solid food if it was offered. 

For all that Prime had gifted them with sharp canines and strong molars their systems needed time to acclimate to solids, and even on ground campaigns it was standard practice to process food before consumption. Very few of them had ever ingested anything that they would have needed to chew.

Maybe he, The Breather, and all of their brothers were going to starve to death here on Etheria.

Maybe that's what Prime would have wanted.

The clone tried to curl in on himself but his limbs would not cooperate. He was dimly aware of his breaths growing shorter and his shoulders starting to shake, but it was if the sensations belonged to someone else. It was as if he was feeling an echo through the hivemind.

But the hivemind was dead.

All of them were dead.

He was crying again, short choked sobs rocked his frame as tears once again wet the bandages on his face. This time he could see, and the tears were not of relief.

The clone could see carnage and pain and chaos, he could see his brothers torn apart, but he could not feel them. He was weak and disfigured and alone, and he could hardly breathe from crying.

The clone did not wail, he did not scream or curse, but he wept. He wept and could not stop.

~~~

He did not know how long he lay there, lost within himself, a slave to his own fear, but by the time that a hand met his back and jostled the clone out of his misery it seemed that it had been an eternity. The clone stilled.

His tears had dried up but he felt yet more exhausted than before. The clone found that he was furious with himself. He had given in. He had lost control. Something soured deep within his chest at the thought that he had curled up and cried, and in his negligence failed to keep watch over his friend beside him. His self-appointed task was the one thing that he had been able to do since his injury and now his attention had lapsed. How could he be so selfish?

He ignored the hand on his shoulder for a moment longer to listen for The Breather. He listened and listened, but the steady rasp failed to make itself known. 

The space beside him yielded only silence.

As quickly as he could the clone rolled himself over, the ensuing pain from his sudden movement lost in a spike of terror that overrode all else.

As he turned the clone was met by the concerned face of The Breather; awake and reaching towards the clone across the void. The familiar face was drawn but alert, his green eyes open as he propped himself up on his elbow. 

"Oh!" The clone half choked as he tried to speak. He felt his heart stutter along with his voice as terror turned to shock. The Breather said nothing but his eyes were wide, surprised by the clone's sudden movement. They both held their breath as they took each other in.

"You're awake." 

His friend nodded, continuing to stare silently at the clone from his own cot. 

"Yes," The Breather eventually croaked, his eyes never leaving the other clone's. "Was I unconscious for long?" 

The clone sniffed and quickly wiped his face, wincing as his clumsy hand made contact with the pulverized flesh beneath his bandages. He took a long breath and tried not to look pathetic.

"I don't know." The clone answered honestly. As he pulled himself together he felt once again like a dutiful agent of Horde Prime; one who was communicating pertinent mission details to a fellow soldier. The feeling was comforting but fleeting. 

His friend was wheezing again.

"I have been awake intermittently for at least a day and a half" He continued, not letting his eye leave The Breather's face. "In that time you have slept beside me without waking." 

For a moment The Breather seemed to draw into himself, his eyes grew distant. The clone waited, his friend had been silent for so long that it seemed no struggle to wait now. Even if he never spoke again the clone felt that he would be content to know that The Breather was alive and awake. 

Eventually the other clone bowed his head, before pulling himself into a curled position on the cot. He was still in the propped half-sitting position but he lay facing the clone, he looked as drained as the clone felt. 

"The hivemind is gone." He said eventually, a dull finality to his tone. "If we are cut off from the hivemind, why are we still alive?"

"I don't know." The clone answered honestly.

"It's so quiet!" His friend whispered, looking anguished as his hands rubbed roughly against his ears. The clone felt his own twitch in response and found himself pushing aside a shock of pain as his cut left ear pulled against its stitches. 

“It is, it is.” The clone agreed. He kept his tone even, afraid to startle his friend. “But we are alive.”

“Why are we alive?”

“I don’t know.” It was strange to listen to his friend after he had been silent for so long, and stranger still to hear his own thoughts reflected back to him. Those thoughts did not hum through the hivemind, but were carried by the rasping voice of his new friend. “But we are. We are alive and if we want to remain so then we must be calm and not alarm the Etherians.”

“The Etherians!” His friend scoffed. “Why should we care what the Etherians think? Why should we care if they kill us, if Prime is not here why should we remain?”

A wave of frustration overtook the clone as he watched his companion lose his composure. He did not know if the fury stemmed from the behavior of his friend or his own thoughts and he didn’t find that he cared enough to dwell on it. If this emotional outburst continued it would surely draw attention to both of them, and after worrying so much about keeping The Breather alive it was unthinkable to imagine him throwing both of their lives away for nothing. 

Prime was dead.

Why should he care what Prime wanted? Prime couldn’t control him from beyond the grave, couldn’t help or guide him. Horde Prime was useless to him now. 

“We are still here.” The clone said gravely, feeling his brow crease sternly although the expression was obscured by the white bandages that bound his head. “Even if Prime is gone we are still here. I have decided to keep myself alive, and if I can I’d like to keep you alive as well.” 

“Why?”

“Because I want to.” And it was as simple as that. 

His friend looked as though he was going to continue to argue but as he inhaled the breath seemed to get stuck in his throat, pulling the other clone into a fit of sharp forceful coughs. His shoulders shook as he wrapped his arms around his bandaged chest clutching at some unseen wound.

Startled, the clone reached out, running his fingers across his companion’s heaving shoulder. He hadn't expected this. This intensity of emotion. 

Really he hadn't expected anything. He'd been living moment to moment when not wallowing in despair, and the idea of what would happen once The Breather awoke had barely crossed his mind. He'd wondered if his companion would be disgusted by him, but he hadn't stopped to consider anything else. Now his new friend was before him, awake, upset, and in the midst of a coughing fit that seemed as though it was going to go on forever, and the clone had no idea what to do.

It hurt—the not knowing, the helplessness—in a way that he had never felt before. The sharp ache in his chest was entirely new. His whole life had always followed a set path, he had always followed orders and obeyed the word of Horde Prime, and where had it gotten him?

His companion's coughing eventually weakened, quieting to painful sounding gasps. The clone watched on, unable to do more than stroke his arm in long slow movements. He hoped that it was calming. He hoped that it meant something. 

A moment of inspiration struck him as the gasps turned to wheezing. The clone reached for the half-full cup of water that he had abandoned on the small folding table that Dawn had left behind after re-wrapping his bandages. He didn't give himself time to hesitate before grabbing the cup and offering it to his companion. He pressed the cool ceramic against his shoulder and waited until his friend’s attention turned. 

"Wet your throat." The clone said, when his friend finally looked at him. "Slowly. It will help.”

He was still dizzy, still exhausted, but the clone needed to comfort the other however he could. Although he could not feel the echoes of his companion’s terror through the hivemind he could see it on his face and hear it in his voice, and like a phantom pain it hurt to watch. 

With slow hesitant movements his friend reached for the cup, and he guided it into his hands, mindful of the bandaged fingers. Reaching his arm as far as he could stretch the clone supported the vessel, providing stability to his companion’s shaky hands. And his friend drank, slowly. 

As he sipped on the water his breathing slowed. While his breaths were still short and pained, the terror in his eyes cleared bit by bit. The clone watched as his friend took in their surroundings, his bright green eyes flitting from palace to place, from the patients on their cots to the healers in their white and teal robes. His gaze lingered on the sunlight glittering through the curtained door of the healing tent, and the clone glanced after him, only looking away as his head throbbed from the light. His bad eye was pulsing with his heartbeat and though the clone did his best to ignore it the ever constant discomfort followed him. 

Eventually his friend lowered the cup and looked at him gravely.

“You said that you wanted to keep me alive. Why?” 

“Because you were here.” The clone said. 

It had all seemed so simple before, but now his clumsy words could not give justice to his motives. The feelings were so bright and pure, his desire to survive hummed through his core the way that the Words of Horde Prime should have. It was like distilled light, like hunger. Simple and organic and so suddenly obvious, despite the fact that mere days ago he would have gladly sacrificed himself for Prime and watched his brothers die in droves. 

“I couldn’t be alone, and you were here.”

His friend’s hands tightened on the ceramic cup, and he looked down. He didn’t understand.The clone felt his heart sink.

But then something in his friend’s posture shifted. He seemed softer, somehow.

“Thank you.” He said. While his friend still wouldn’t look at him, the clone felt his heart lighten at his friend’s words. He hadn’t done anything for acknowledgement—praise was more alien to him than the Etherian Healers that surrounded them—but it was a relief to hear something positive. 

His arm was getting sore, stretched out to support the cup, and he nudged it upwards, encouraging his companion to take another sip. His friend obliged, carefully. The clone suspected that the ease with which he took the water was due to the fact that he had eaten and drank orally before, he wondered if the other clone was a ground soldier like he was. 

Earlier—While he lay blind on the cot— he had heard the sounds of other brothers choking and coughing, likely a response to their need for hydration and nutrients coming in conflict with a lack of amniotic fluid within the healers’ tent. The clone supposed that it was lucky that he and his friend were more practiced at swallowing than some. His first few times had taken some perseverance. 

His friend finished the water, and passed the cup back to him, and the clone pondered over what they would need to do next. 

So far his strategy had been to lay as quietly as possible and not draw attention to themselves, but that plan could only be viable for so long. The clone could tell already that he needed nutrients, as well as further medical care. From what he had observed from Dawn and Mendus the bandages that stretched across his face covered carnage that was far from healed.

At some point while he had been unconscious someone had tended to his friend, but the clone had no idea what kind of injuries hid beneath The Breather’s bandages. Something was hurt inside of him, that much the clone could tell. His breaths wheezed with each inhale and they were short as though the very act of breathing pained his friend. There were also bandages wrapped around the other clone’s foot and hand.

He placed the cup back onto Dawn’s table.

Dawn.

She and Mendus had been kind to him despite the fact that he was their captive, they had changed his bandages and treated his wounds. If he wanted to have his injuries seen to, and to ensure the health of his friend, then they would be helpful allies. He was hopeful that they would at least. 

Laying back he let out a long breath. His arm dangled over the side of the cot as he closed his eye and let his head rest against the cot. He would need to make contact with Dawn again, she would be their best chance at moving forward. If he managed to get more information about their fates from her then the clone would be able to plan properly. He wondered what they were going to do now. 

He had always been a soldier, maybe he would conquer in the name of Etheria. While the clone had no loyalty to them if it meant his continued survival he thought he could do it. The very thought felt like a sin, as though he were being disloyal to Horde Prime, but Horde Prime was dead. If he planned on being loyal to the dead then he might as well have died along with him.

Maybe he would be afforded some leniency if he volunteered his service. The clone was not sure how useful he would be now—his left eye was almost certainly permanently damaged if not entirely ruined—but once he regained his strength his limbs would be as strong as ever. If the clone proved that he was useful he might be able to protect his companion in some way. Perhaps they would receive better nutrition  or shelter than those who resisted. 

“I wish I could tell what you were thinking.” His friend murmured. “Without the hivemind I might as well try to feel the mind of a stone.” 

“I was just… just wondering.” The clone replied, unsure of how to voice his thoughts. 

“Wondering?”

“Wondering how to keep us safe.” It felt silly. Just days ago he would have been understood entirely. Silently. It was the sort of thing that they had known about one another intuitively; and they had all been so similar, so devoted to Horde Prime, that they were as many extensions of one person. One Little Brother. 

Now he was one. Himself. The clone wasn’t sure if he liked that, but he decided that now wasn’t the time to be upset about such things. It wasn’t as though any of them had any choice. Now if he was to make himself understood then he would have to explain his thoughts. 

A hand reached over to brush against his fingers, instinctively he caught it and held. 

For a moment they lay in silence their hands clasped together in the voice between their cots, contemplative but trapped within their own minds. 

“I am going to keep us safe.” He vowed, his one good eye staring intently at the canvas ceiling of the tent. “I don’t know how yet, but I will. We will find a way to survive this.”

“Okay.”

*****

I cry when I'm hungry too lol

“companion’s” etymology breaks down into “one with whom you break bread” I like that a lot

I’m adding the “disordered eating” tag because the way that the clones have learned to consume nutrients is inherently disordered. They had no choices and have only experienced eating as we know it (orally) due to necessity, although I do believe that sipping water was practiced amongst the Horde if only due to its practicality. This story is not about Hordak, but I do headcanon that in his case this cultural disorder segued into a more traditional eating disorder

[fairfowl]

Lie There and Breathe pt 5: At the Same Time, to the Same Place

A horde clone oc story

tw: mild violence, discussions of injury, loss of agency

They were being moved.

An apprentice had approached them and informed them of this fact before hurrying off, tapping patients on their shoulders and marking those who could not answer with a bright red strip of tape. Each patient he approached was added to a list. The clone watched as the young Etherian rushed from cot to cot.

He had a dark brown smear across the sleeve of his teal robe. Eventually the apprentice rushed out the door taking his list with him.

After that things happened quickly. 

Unfamiliar Etherians had approached his cot and a tall furred person then asked the clone if he could stand. When he found that he could not, the tall Etherian directed the others to pick him up and put him on a gurney. The clone did not have the time nor the strength to stop him, but as unfamiliar hands pulled him from his cot he cried out, first in pain and then in horror as he realized that his friend was being left behind. 

"No!" He shouted, pushing himself up into a sitting position on the gurney. A forest of hands grabbed at him, trying to push his shoulders back down. The clone screamed and bucked against them with all his strength. There were hands on every part of him grabbing and pushing as he struggled. 

Over the noise of their harsh voices he heard his friend calling out as well, and the sound bolstered him in his struggle.

"I won't leave him! No!" He could hear the blood pounding in his veins as he fought, claws and fangs ripping at anything that they could touch, but he saw nothing. The only thing he knew was that he would not be taken without his friend. More hands pushed him downward, pressing his claws against the gurney. He bared his teeth, panting.

"Stop it!" He forced himself to still as he realized that his struggle was hopeless. The clone took a shuddering breath as he tried to push down the panic that burned his lungs. After a few moments the hands loosened on his limbs, but they did not release him. Distantly he heard his friend crying.

"I won't go without him." He said, his voice shaking. "I don't want to be separated. Don't try to take me."

It was a warning as much as a plea. Although the clone could not sit up on his own, and had no strength left in his limbs he was prepared to fight them with everything he had. His claws were still sharp, as were his teeth.

"You listen here," The tall Etherian leaned in, pushing his hot breath against the clone's bruised face. Frustration was clear in the Etherian's eyes, and the clone felt his heart stutter, but he did not look away. He would not back down. 

"It is my job to get you out of here, and safely to the mobile hospital in Dryl and I will get you there whether you like it or not."

The clone bared his teeth but continued to lay still. He heard his friend crying more clearly now, and listening to the sound of his weeping felt like dragging his claws through an open wound.

"You're buddy over there is coming too, so don't fucking fight me."

For a moment the clone and the Etherian stared at each other as the clone took in what he had said. The sound of weeping had turned to nearly silent gasping sobs. 

"I want to go with him." The clone said finally, watching the others who had accompanied the tall Etherian out of the corner of his eye. "At the same time. To the same place."

"Yes" The Etherian replied, throwing his head and arms back dramatically. "That's what I said!" 

The gesture made the already huge Etherian look larger-than-life, the thick fur from the top of his head fell over his shoulders like a waterfall and his two sharp horns nearly scraped the canvas ceiling of the tent. For the most part the clone realized that the Etherians were shorter than him and his clone brothers, but this one was at least as tall as Horde Prime himself. 

"No." The clone said, "No it's not." 

He took a steadying breath and listened again for his friend's quieting sobs.

"You didn't say anything. We were told that we were being moved and then you all came up and grabbed me. I didn't have any idea where you were taking me, or if he was going too." He bared his teeth and watched, gratified, as a few of the smaller Etherians stepped back. 

“Well I am taking both of you.” The tall etherian grumbled. “But if you don’t calm down you’re going to Dryl in a straitjacket. I won’t have you hunting my transport team understood?”

The clone nodded, the pain from his flailing was beginning to seep in as his adrenaline wore off, and he just wanted to sleep. The persistent sobbing breaths beside him served as a reminder that he could not rest yet. As if to emphasize the clone’s conviction his companion choked on his sobs and began to cough. 

“Braham, what’s going on?” 

Dawn’s antlers, and then her head, appeared over the tall Etherian’s shoulder, her long face pinched at the brow with concern. She seemed small beside him, but her posture was that of one in control of their situation, and that comforted the clone. Dawn had been kind to him thus far, and knew of his attachment to his friend. 

“This clone went wild on us.” Braham's entire mannerism changed as he turned to face her. The clone watched the interaction warily but said nothing. “We went to get him on the transport and he scratched Wilbur’s arm and then he bit me!”

Braham’s eyes widened and he tilted his head pitifully as he waited for her to respond. Somewhere below him, the clone bared his teeth and reached for his companion, who was much closer to him now that the clone had been moved to the rolling gurney. His friend clutched desperately back at him, half-sitting up to shield the clone.

It struck the clone as he lay there, dizzy and exhausted, that this was not how he had meant for his relationship with his companion to go. He had vowed to protect the stranger who lay unconscious beside him, and although the stranger had been comforting to him simply by being present, he had not expected anything in return. Now they clutched at one another in a way that would have warranted purification in Horde Prime’s infinite wisdom, and his mind reeled at how much had changed in such a short time.

“You probably hurt him.” Dawn chided, her voice rising as she looked down at the tangled clones. She put a hand on Braham’s shoulder and turned him partially away. “The one with the bandages on his head has an orbital roof fracture, the frontal bone of his skull has a gouge in it a centimeter thick! I think he must also have a concussion but I can’t really tell because he has no pupils.” 

As she said this Dawn gestured emphatically, her ire directed at Braham and his cronies who were backing away submissively. 

“I need you to be gentle with my patient, don’t assume any of them are stable until we can get them to a proper facility and evaluate them.”

“Okay, okay Dawn, jeez!” Braham was outright whining now, and the clone felt his companion shift so that he could also watch their interaction. The clone did not know if he had ever witnessed this sort of exchange between alien species; usually when he interacted with those outside The Galactic Horde it was during combat. Even when he had witnessed Mendus and Dawn speak while they had cared for him earlier their conversation had been between a master and subordinate. 

For all that Dawn and Braham were disagreeing with one another they also appeared comfortable enough to do so without actually fighting. It was fascinating. 

His head throbbed, and the clone winced into his companions arms. He wondered what a gouge through his skull could mean for him, but did not allow himself to dwell on it. He already knew that his injury was severe, he knew that he would have been decommissioned had his injury occurred just a week ago. 

It would not help to dwell upon it. 

He supposed that as long as he was conscious it must mean that the damage to his brain could not have been too terrible, although he would certainly agree that he was probably concussed. 

“Just…” Dawn covered her face with one long-fingered hand and sighed. There were dark green and red-brown smears across her sleeves as well. “Just take them, one after the other. Make sure they stay together in-transport. If these guys keep each other calm then that’s a blessing, and we need all the blessings we can get right now.”

…..

The transport was a rough land vehicle made of riveted metal. It’s hull was painted a dusty matte black with the Horde insignia painted in red along its side. It didn’t look like any of the Horde vehicles that the clone had ever seen, but he did not get a very long time to look at it before being loaded into its hold. 

The inside was unpainted and bare, with only front seats for the vehicle’s operators. As he was propped against the wall the clone wondered if it had been made for cargo prior to it’s impromptu use as an ambulance. His companion was nestled beside him on the floor, padded only by thin blankets under and around them, and they were once again shoved into a corner as more and more patients were loaded on. The sickest and most injured were laid down the middle of the floor on stretchers while those who were conscious and able to bend their limbs were pressed against the sides with no room between them. 

It was not an elegant arrangement. 

He had budged himself to the side so that his companion could lay his bandaged leg flat, and he leaned the uninjured side of his skull against the wall in an exhausted slump. From then on it seemed as though time stopped.

The transport bumped along an unseen road, and little outside light reached the injured inside it’s cabin. The air was stale and the sound of crying, moaning, and panting breaths mixed with the roar or the engine. The clone lost himself to the sounds, his arm wrapped around his friend as they moved. 

The sound of his breathing was constant and comforting, still audible as they held each other close.

It seemed to go on forever.

At some point the clone gave into his exhaustion, and when he woke the scene was much the same. The patients’ bandages were wetter, their moans quieter, and the air staler, but their positions were unchanged as was the roar of the engine. 

He twisted his spine and moved each limb experimentally, careful not to disturb his sleeping friend. His friend’s rasping breaths seemed to have cleared somewhat and the clone found himself thanking Prime for their hearty construction. 

Thinking of Horde Prime as he sat pushed into a corner of a strange vehicle felt absurd, even pathetic. 

Surrounded by the injured as they were ferried off to locations unknown may have been the furthest from Prime’s light that he had ever been. The clean bright halls and steady unwavering camp lines that had made up his life so far felt impossibly distant, and the comforting hum of his brothers’ minds was yet silent. The only thoughts in his head were his own. 

He tightened his arm around his companion’s shoulder. The other clone could not lean his head against the clone’s bandaged side without hurting him, but they’d huddled together arm to arm, glad for the opportunity to be close. Had he ever been so physically close to anybody? Perhaps on the battlefield when he and his brothers had crowded together, an eager pack to be let slip upon a planet’s population.

This is different, he thought before closing his eye and drifting off again. 

When he awoke again the transport had stopped. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again thank you for reading, I really wanted to get the plot moving earlier but alas

anyway I have some small notes

The apprentice at the very beginning is documenting which patients are moving by their cot number. As of now only Hordak and Wrong Hordak have names so the clones present something of a problem when it comes to organizing. The Etherian healers know how many clones they have in any particular tent, but documenting which injury is connected to which clone has necessitated a (pretty disorganized) numbering system. Some clones will probably be lost in the shuffle

Braham the Minotaur wasn’t supposed to exist, he inserted himself into the story with all the elegance of a bull in a china shop

But I like that he’s here. I feel like the repeated general decency (and he is supposed to come off as decent, if rushed) of the Etherians is helpful in making the poor lost clones realize that they aren’t going to be treated cruelly 

Though he is pretty incautious and obviously frustrated. It’s easy to just want to move people quickly and quietly, especially in emergency situations, but also important to remember that your patients are probably terrified and if you manhandle them they might hit you

[fairfowl]

Lie There and Breathe pt 2: A Poor Choice of Watchmen

A horde clone oc story (part one here)

Tw: mild gore, cult indoctrination

The next time that the clone awoke it was to a feeling of coldness. The bandages that were wrapped around his head had become soaked. 

The clone reached a hand up to touch the wet cloth over his face, wondering if someone had poured water over him while he slept, but as consciousness returned to him he realized that it was more likely blood. The wetness had dampened the bandages, and then dripped down onto the thin pillow under his head. It was very unpleasant. 

The emptiness in his mind seemed to amplify the pain from his wounds, leaving the frantic signaling from his nervous system to echo around inside his skull rather than travel outward into the hivemind as intended. He missed feeling his brothers, and being felt. He missed the comforting thought of Horde Prime Feeling him and Knowing him as an extension of his own glorious self. 

It was no wonder, the clone thought, that other species were so desperate and primitive. How could one be anything but when left trapped within their own mind?

He was already tired of being alone.

The clone took a slow breath, and listened for his brother The Breather beside him. He quickly isolated the familiar rasping sound from the chaos surrounding them. The wheezing sound was quieter than it had been, and the clone reached out, hoping that his companion had not been moved further away. His talons at first met empty air.

The clone strained further, partially lifting himself off the cot as he reached blindly across the void.

Eventually he found what he sought.

The soft strong skin of a fellow clone. 

It appeared that while the clone had slept someone had come and propped The Breather up in a half sitting position. The clone noticed that his companion's breaths seemed to come easier from the change and wondered at the improvement as he traced The Breather's arm from wrist to shoulder. 

He scooted as closely to the edge of the cot as he could manage, still too weak to sit up on his own, and rested a hand on his companion's arm.

"You should wake up Brother." He said softly, his voice rough from disuse. "I don't know what's happening but with two of us we will stand a better chance than one." 

The Breather slept on, each breath long and slow. For his part the clone found that he didn't mind.

"That is fine." He said aloud, feeling silly and slightly hysterical. "I will keep watch for both of us, I-" 

The clone stopped abruptly, as the tide of panic lapped at his mind once again. For all that he had been blind since first awakening the darkness seemed to become more menacing the more that he thought about it. The clone shuddered but soldiered on, continuing his one-sided conversation.

"Although I am a poor choice of watchmen at the moment." 

He needed to remain calm. If he kept his wits and didn't panic he and The Breather would still have a chance. 

If he stayed calm then they might survive. 

He did not stop to wonder when he had become they. All the clone knew that he wanted both of them to make it through this, although for the first time he did not know what the future held. It had all seemed so simple before, he would have served Prime for the length of his existence, whether he perished in battle or simply reached the end of his useful life. Now Prime was gone and the clone was still shocked by his own urge to continue living.

On an impulse, the clone stretched further across the void to hold his companion's shoulder bracingly, craving the grounding physical contact-

And promptly toppled to the ground as his cot overbalanced, the wooden frame falling on top of him with a crash.

For a moment all he knew was pain. His head rung like a struck bell, and warmth bloomed upon this wounded face, mingling with the now cold fluids that already soaked his bandages. Smaller sharp pains pulled and stung across his body. The clone was surprised to find that he had yet more injuries, he had been so distracted by the persistent pain from his eye and face that he simply hadn't noticed. Not until he moved.

Still the discovery of his collection of cuts and scrapes was immediately overshadowed by the new bruises that he had surely just gained.

The cot was heavy, pressing hard onto his back and legs, and the chaotic noise of the tent had fallen to a hush.

"Are you okay?" Someone was beside him, kneeling down to his level. The clone briefly considered yelling but decided that it wouldn't help. Instead he simply scoffed and tried to lift himself from the ground. 

After a few moments of futile struggling the clone felt two arms grab him beneath the arms, hoisting him up and righting the cot with a set of practiced movements. His head spun. 

He listened through the relative silence for The Breather and concentrated again on the repetitive rasping noise as he was set down on the cot in a seated position, his legs dangling as counterbalance while the stranger supported his shoulders.

The new person was talking to him, but he did not hear them. The clone was too focused on breathing in time with his companion, slowing his heart rate as his head continued to spin. Eventually he regained control of himself, and tuned head towards the person beside him.

"Hi" they said, their voice low and soft, as though they were speaking to a frightened animal. The clone had already guessed that the person interacting with him was Etherian but now he was sure. They smelled like grass. 

"Hello" He responded, feeling out of his depth. Was this one of his new masters? Did they know the extent of his damage? Maybe they were also someone conquered by the Etherian Princesses and the She-Ra. 

“Hey,” they greeted again, the clone did not understand why but said nothing “You took a pretty bad fall there, do you think you reopened any injuries?” 

Now the voice was hesitant, as though the speaker was afraid of him. Before the fall of Prime the clone would have thought them correct to be afraid, but now he lacked the will to lash out. Truly without Prime he was a pathetic creature. 

“I- I think my face is bleeding again…” Indeed the warmth that had bloomed against his cheek felt as though it was dripping downward, mixing with the fluids that already soaked his bandages. 

“Yeah, yeah those definitely need to be changed.” The Etherian said, a hand still holding the clone’s shoulder to steady him. “What do you think, Master?” 

“I think they should have been changed a few hours ago.” The clone startled as a wry voice chimed in from a few feet away, not far from where The Breather continued to sleep. “This one’s been shuffled off to the corner, but his head wounds will get infected if we don’t clean that up. They might be infected already.” 

“Okay, I’ll rewrap them.” The first voice replied. The clone felt a new hand grip his shoulder, larger and less gentle than the first, as the Etherian on his side hopped up and walked away, their footsteps vanishing into the noise of the tent. 

"Master…" He said slowly, concentrating on The Breather's quiet rasp as his heartbeat quickened. Fear coursed through him but he refused to relinquish control. "Are you to rule over us now that Horde Prime is dead?"

The very words felt blasphemous, but after so many hours of lying blind and helpless with no idea what was happening The Clone found that he had to know. 

"Oh! No!" The person beside him replied, his hand tightening against the clone's sore shoulder. "No no, not until you're no longer my patient at least."

The gruff voice chuckled. 

"I am a Master Healer of Mystacor, you may call me Master Mendus, or just Mendus if you’d prefer.” The clone nodded, unsure of the meaning of most of the words he’d just heard but doing his best to absorb them anyway. “Dawn, the one who helped you up, is one of my apprentices. I’ve assigned you to her care.”

As if on cue the footsteps returned, and the soft voice with them.

“I got the supplies. Master, can you hold him up while I unwrap his face?” The second Etherian—Mendus—said nothing, but the clone felt him shift, and the air moved as Dawn stood directly before him.

Slightly overwhelmed by the sudden attention of two alien beings the clone felt himself stiffen up, holding himself as straight as he could manage although still relying on Mendus’s hands to keep upright. Panic still hovered at the edges of his consciousness like a threat, but he held himself together to the best of his ability. 

If he lost control now he could be punished or taken away, and The Breather would be left alone. He would not leave his helpless brother to the mercies of their captors. 

Dawn’s gentle hands reached up to his face and the clone suppressed a flinch as he felt her slowly begin to unwrap his bandages. Throughout his entire stay within the healing tent he had seen only darkness, swathed in bandages and blood, but as they were peeled away light shone through his right eyelid, green and dim but present nonetheless. 

His heartbeat quickened, and the clone felt his claws scrape wood as he gripped the edge of his cot. 

Layer by layer the bandages unwound. They stuck over his left eye, but each time they did Dawn sprayed them with a cool liquid that wet them enough to come apart without pain. Eventually cool dry air touched his face and scalp for the first time, and the clone found that the only thing covering his eyes and wound was a gauze pad that stuck there, held by the gore beneath it.

“This might hurt.” Dawn warned, spraying more of the fluid directly onto his face. The liquid penetrated the bandage and stung as it entered the wounds on his left side, he could feel fresh blood welling up and dripping down his cheek. The clone could also feel himself beginning to shake as the gauze pad was carefully peeled away, exposing the wreck of his face to the open air.

And for the first time since Horde Prime’s defeat the clone opened his eye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for tuning in to the continued adventures of Chamomile and Calamine the clones (AKA the clone and The Breather)

This time Chamomile actually speaks although he hasn’t much to say, we also meet two new characters

Master Mendus is exactly what he says he is, a healer from Mystacor who has taken responsibility for the hospital tent where our heroes currently reside. He’s a good man...or a good fawn as it were...

Dawn is one of several of Mendus’s apprentices and is currently responsible for both Chamomile and Calamine, she’s a dutiful gentle young doe. She will be Chamomile’s first real link to the Etherians and will help him and Calamine as they go on. Despite her sweet nature she is isolated from her family and seeking out connections

[fairfowl]

i finished my next horde clone chapter last night at work, but today did not turn out to be an editing/posting day

but, we have discussion of injury and the clone ACTUALLY SPEAKS! I’m excited