Frying Pans are for...

Honestly, Ashmedai wasn't entirely sure what he was doing anymore. After taking on all those coyotes, he found himself making his way East. He had lost a decent amount of blood from his wounds. His right shoulder had bled like a bitch, but it was just several deep punctures. His left foreleg had a nice chunk of skin shredded off all the way from his elbow to his wrist. Although most of the blood had slowed to a trickle or coagulated, it still hurt like crazy.

So his body brought him East. Brought him towards the group of healers he knew most likely to pity him. It was habit, he had to assume. He'd go East and Sparrow would yell at him and patch him up.

But she wouldn't. She was gone. She had been gone for a while now, hadn't she? Ash wasn't quite sure between all the drinking. He wasn't even fully sober now, although he was getting pretty close.

Somehow the realization that Sparrow wasn't there to scold him or help him stopped Ashmedai in his tracks. He suddenly felt so old and tired. He leaned against a tree- much to his shoulder's peril.

Fuck. Actually fuck everything.