Drama King
01-15-2018, 07:18 PM
With his head on his paws and a sour expression fixed firmly on his face, Taufr stared balefully across the territory. To say he was displeased would be an understatement. He would, and this wasn't too much of an exaggeration, rather be dead than where he was currently. It was one thing to suck up your pride, go home and beg for forgiveness (and aid), and another to allow strangers to not only witness a moment of weakness, but pity you and give you aid. He was suffering here and it wasn't because of his injuries. Absentmindedly he scratched at the dirt with the claws of his left forepaw. He needed to be still and to rest. Doctor's orders. Taufr scratched at the dirt some more, gouging out long furrows and then, because he had nothing better to do, filling them in. He did it again and again, each second spent doing this an eternity in and of itself. Well, this was bullshit. Stubbornly he rose and was on the verge of stretching when the tension around the wound on his neck stopped him. Right. Fine. Well, he was limber enough already. With his head held high Taufr hobbled out of the den he was staying in (it certainly wasn't his den) and took a few unsteady steps towards a nearby stream. He wasn't sure how many days had passed since he'd been brought to Abaven, much of his time had been spent sleeping off the fever, but much to his consternation he was suddenly overcome by weakness. Grudgingly he sat down and then, as the world continued to tilt around him, he gave up completely and lay down on his belly. |