Breathe

He was still in disbelief that he was home. It was... unbelievable. Surreal. He couldn't fathom it. He woke up, expecting the hard, cold ground in the slave camp, expecting the cries of pain that never left. But instead - warmth. And silence. And peace. And he didn't quite know how to react to it. The cacophony of that camp was something he had grown used to, after the first few weeks. He went from flinching, and cringing, to barely noticing it, except for when he quietly predicted to himself that another patient would come in. He'd originally been dragged out to witness the fights, in the first few days, but after gagging and throwing up over the guards set to watch him, he'd been banished to his den - something that he was quite grateful for. But he could still hear it all happening.

The lack of noise, the peace, the quiet is what caused him to wake up earlier than expected, turning the much needed rest into a restless nap that eventually drove him from the den and into the thicket. He was exhausted, yet awake; he couldn't seem to settle, and when lulled by the peace, his mind snapped that something was wrong. It was going to take some getting used to. The quiet walk he was on now he suspected would help: the chittering of the birds, or the rodents, of all the animals and the whisper of the grasses swaying together soothed his need for noise.

So wrapped up in it, he didn't even notice the wolf he was approaching, until he nearly faceplanted the wolf's thigh. Yelping indignantly, he jumped back, eyes wide with surprise - one, that a wolf was there. two, that he hadn't noticed a wolf was there, even though such things would get him in trouble back at the camp - though his mind turned specifically to the times everyone else had gotten hurt way, way worse and he had to treat them. Were things already changing so quickly? That much he was grateful for. "Sorry!" he gasped out, backing away slightly as he stared with wide eyes at the wolf. "You're a Destruction," he blurted out without thinking, before clamping his mouth shut. The distinctive line was there, but there was only one - what if he was wrong? Ah, well, too late now.

"Speech" "You"