dying in L.A.

Thump, thump, thump. Silence. It wasn't his heart, beating so loud it nearly deafened him. The very ground beneath him trembled with whatever weight was behind those steps. He felt each strike against the ground through his bones. When had he laid down? Everything was fuzzy. Cracking open one toxic green eye exerted too much energy, but he felt his chest tighten at the notion that it might be one of the clan members. Wavering in and out of focus, a titanic form. Dark as coal, accented with pale streaks. Or perhaps it was a spirit, and the pale parts were where the body faded away. Was he dead? "Stay with us." that sonorous voice reverberated through his chest. He fought to get his feet back under himself, jerking awkwardly in one direction. His lame leg was completely useless, and his other joints screamed. He stayed on the ground. Maybe this one wouldn't kill him. Or he'd make it quick.

Instinct said to flee, but he was.. so tired. There wasn't the strength left in his body to get up and run. He blinked his eye open and shut a few times, trying to bring clarity to the figure. Nothing. "Help is on the way." A howl boomed through his skull, shaking his brains against their fragile casing. Had he the ability, he would have groaned at the sensation. All he could do was close his eyes again. Help. He liked the sound of that. Help would be nice. No one had ever helped him before. Not when his crippled leg turned septic, and his dead master had been unwilling to do more than pour cold water over it.

Breath fanned over his cheek. Lashes fluttered as he sought to crack his eye open again. Not both, that would be too hard. One was okay. Another dark furred wolf, marked in pale hues. Two ghosts? “Is he awake?” a voice like a thousand silver bells rang through his ears. Was he awake? This was an awfully nice dream, if not. Except for all the pain. And the loudness. And brightness. Those parts weren't very nice. The next words didn't register in his brain, they were too quiet. Not meant for him. None of it was, probably. Ghosts didn't talk to living wolves very often.

He closed his eye again. The chill from the dirt was seeping into his bones. If there had been energy in his muscles he might have shivered against it. Instead he let it dull the aches in his joints. It felt better that way. A heavy sigh heaved itself from his lungs, stretching his diaphragm in a satisfying way but igniting the pain in his ribs from when he must have toppled to the ground earlier.