One man's trash

Erystotle could mak eno complaints about how he’d been kept by Pyrrhic and the pack as the days went on. The horned boy had been the fault for all that was wrong in their lives, and where he would have preferred they just end his life and the curse that rested on his head he was still here. While he hadn’t been mistreated Erys had stopped looking after himself. His horns were nearing their full length, but instead of being a crisp shiny white they were yellowed and dull. His fur looked much the same, and the vibrance of his pelt was nowhere near as impressive as it had once been. His eyes held large purple bags beneath the sunken tarnished silver irises. His tail hung limply at his hips and he followed after Pyrrhic without question. He was docile, and even without the rope would have obeyed every command.

The delicate wolf was jerked forward by Pyrrhic’s jolt and he scrambled to catch his footing as he was led further forward. Erys barely looked up at the wolf that was taking him. He couldn’t make eye contact, for his curse would surely take root again and destroy this wolf’s life just as thoroughly as it had for his once savior. Erys knew he would be denied any kind of happy ending, especially in the face of the unknown.