This was not the best land for Clarus. His coat was thick and full and his frame was heavy. The large expanse of the dunes without much--or any real--water left him tired and somewhat dreary. There was no shade to be found, and the only relief from the feeling was that the sun was setting and the air around him was cooling. A sigh heaved from his jaws before the metallic smell of blood hit him, harder than the salt that had permeated all of his senses. A quick glance at the sky said 'early evening'. Who would be bleeding here? Why? His head swam for a while--perhaps he had looked up too fast?-- though as he lowered it back down, he became aware of the slow and subtle 'drip drip drip'ping of his blood on the sand.
Oh. He was the one bleeding. Why? From where? Perhaps his wrecked and tattered ears. Ah yes. He could no longer feel them, as they had been far too damaged over his short and too-violent life, and so it made perfect sense that he'd not feel the damage done. Luckily, it was superficial damage only. Ears--like faces, heads, other areas of the body where skin and flesh are thin and pressed close to the skeleton with little muscle of anything else to protect it-- were often over-filled with veins and capillaries, which so happened to be the case with ears. Oh well. That would also explain the light-headed feeling that seemed to be pervading his senses, currently.
He drooped, dragging his somewhat massive paws through the sand before coming along to a small outcropping of...perhaps sandstone?-- and tucking himself beneath it, hoping to find some solace and relief.