sweet dreams are made of these

Eligos had made his way back to the battlefield again - it seemed he practically lived there these days, estranged from his pack as he was, but it was doing him a lot of good after the long nights of madness. Working his body tired him enough that he had to sleep, though sometimes he would dream dreams he couldn't escape, dreams that he was carrying his niece's body home, dreams of her blood in his mouth. Almost worse though were the dreams of waking up in a puppy pile with his brothers and sisters, his parents curled around them. Warm, fed, content. He missed his home and his family with a vicious longing. Sometimes, the fights would exhaust him to the point that he didn't dream. Those were the good nights.

He could already tell that tonight wasn't going to be a good night, not if he tried to sleep now with energy still sparking around in him like a livewire in his mind. So he'd come here, and now lifted his muzzle and called out for an opponent.