be as you've always been
Epitaph A dark form slipped unseen and unheard through the lands, making a beeline for familiar territory. Flitting through shadows and keeping within the undergrowth, his time away had made him more keen to being hidden. He had been away, but for how long? The days had blurred together, in his return to captivity. It felt like years, but he couldn't stomach the thought that he'd been gone for that long. He prayed it had been months, maybe even weeks, and his suffering had simply slowed the passage of time. The near dead weight of a useless limb slowed his movement from a dead sprint to a pace more alike a persistent trot. Nonetheless, he was moving, and putting distance between his abandoned captors and himself. Once he reached Abaven, he would be safe again. Right? He could return to Miss Shaye, and be with her and the girls again. They would be happy, and he would never have to remember the feel of teeth tearing into his flesh, or a hard stone floor against his belly at night. The familiar sounds of the birds that inhabited the Rustling Thicket were a sirens song, calling him ever closer to home. The snow that had blanketed the terrain as he'd moved didn't lessen as he grew closer to the heart of the eastern lands, which he knew was unusual. Beyond noticing the cool powder beneath his paws, he didn't spare it much thought. He was so close to salvation, and he wanted to be with those sweet girls he'd grown to love. He wanted to return to his den with Miss Shaye, and help tend to the pack he'd grown to love in the short while he'd been there. If he died the moment he fell asleep in their den that night, it would still have been worth it. The blood weeping from the pads of his paws, and the small, reopened wounds scattered across his body all rendered him a gruesome sight no doubt. The steady trickle of warm blood down his left foreleg had been nagging at him since he'd awoken, but he didn't have time to clean it up. He had neither the supplies, nor the time. He needed safety, from the wolves that were likely tracking him at this very moment. They had not been pleased to find their woman soundly asleep with her new whelps, without their captive midwife in sight. He was certain of that. When the tall foliage reared up before him, tears welled in his verdant eyes. He had made it. He was home again. Safely within the confines of the thicket, he let himself finally collapse from exhaustion. Dark limbs folded beneath him, and his breath escaped in a ragged, choked sob of relief. A few moments to gather his bearings, collect his thoughts. He was here, and everything was going to be okay. It had to be. He was so tired, both physically and mentally. Fear came as easy as breathing to the obsidian man, but he had clung to the memory of learning to love. Delicate cranium tipped back, he let loose a mournful, soft howl for Miss Shaye. His hoarse vocals turned the song to something breathy and harsh, hardly a call at all.
|