The sickness never ends

Who was he, anyway? He was sure the thought came before the voice did, cutting through the sudden sharp ringing that sounded between his own ears. The voice came next and he gave a long moment of pause before responding. "I am no one. Not anymore," he answered plainly. His voice spoke of the kind of despair that this sickness had created within him. He was nobody, he had no purpose, he didn't matter. Eventually he would die, just like his mother and father did. He would become one with this very mountain he stood on, no longer flesh and bone but returning to the soil beneath his paws. That day seemed like it was growing closer and closer with every passing day; perhaps it would be an end from this immense suffering he had endured, and he wasn't even a yearling yet. "And who are you? I cannot see you," he breathed hard, blinking and trying to regain any hint of eyesight, but everything was blurred and unfocused.