divine intervention

he’s drawn, inevitably, to the riverbank. in the end, it doesn’t matter how long he’s spent sheltering amidst the tall grasses, exercising caution no matter how fervently his hunger protests; he’s unable to deny the dry, cracked expanse of his throat and mouth. the boy is a flash of dark across the valley, a whisper of shadow as he drops to the earth and unfurls his tongue, lapping up mouthfuls of cool water at such speed it makes his stomach ache. his ears swivel in every direction, dark eyes darting to his peripherals in search of approaching predators. he’s weak and small, young; he’d make an excellent snack. when he’s finally had his fill, Medley lifts his chin and laps droplets from his chin, muscles tense with the urge to run.

and it seems his worries aren’t unfounded; as he turns to dart back into the grass, a shadow falls over him and a strange scent fills the air, thick enough to choke on. a coyote stands before him, teeth bared in a snarl. it’s yellow eyes are narrowed, and it takes a single, menacing step forward. Medley responds with an answering growl of his own, though his heart rockets against his chest. after everything, he’ll be damned if he lets his life end like this. it’s been a fire in the pit of his stomach, surging through his veins in lieu of blood when his heart’s too sluggish to beat: survival. the simplistic, single-minded desire to live.