this is bad, like real bad old man

His face felt sticky, fur wet. He couldn't tell if it was blood or whatever had been inside those glass containers, didn't matter really as he could barely feel it. Nothing but the burning of his legs as he ran, scaling the cliffside paths, his heart thudding so hard in his chest he felt like he might puke. And he very well might, cause head bonks were no joke.  He stumbled, losing his footing for a moment, but forced himself forwards, searching aimlessly without much of a destination in mind at all.

"Víðarr!" His voice echoed off the mountain sides, claws hooking into the loose stone.