Dragged across the finish line

A snarl echoed sharply through the darkness as Veigar sulked along, nearly tripping as he smashed one of his paws off the side of a rock, unexpectedly jutting up from a flat section of the plains. He was selfishly grateful that this was where Medusa had chosen to lay claim - he avoided  the northwestern tar pits at all costs, knowing exactly how dangerous those lands could be for him. Here, though, he didn't anticipate much injury, especially as he grew more accustomed to navigating freely without sight, so when his paw came in contact with a rock that didn't budge he felt his temper flare. It was no surprise that the luminescent markings on his coat brightened in unison, nearly blinding in the darkness, though not long after they faded down to a dull glow.

Silence once again reigned as he continued on, head so low to the ground that his nose nearly grazed the grasses that remained here, quickly sinking back into his own thoughts. Since the raid and the subsequent meeting, he hadn't felt much of anything. At first he'd been angry, then he'd felt a little sorry for himself... but now that those all-consuming emotions had faded he simply felt numb. He needed to do something, to be better, but he didn't know where to even start.