the bard's last note

The very soil trembled as the titanic wolf settled onto his rump. The heat of his body was still palpable, he hadn't dared to leave too much distance between them. Probably a smart move, when the captive was anything more than a carcass running on fear and threats of violence. Somewhat redundant for Pluto, who was exactly that. The wolf introduced himself from somewhere over his shoulder, a name with roots that harkened back to the gilded male's homeland in a way that made his heart squeeze painfully. He tried to be reassuring, commenting on how this wasn't guaranteed to be a terrible fate. His words were barely registering in the beleaguered mind of the battered runaway, as he peeled himself slowly from the ground. Aching ribs pulling painfully under his withered musculature, bruised limbs arranging into some approximation of sitting. Stiff, frozen digits carefully scooped the small bag of his belongings into the space closest to his underbelly and awkwardly rearranging the cloak about his shoulders. He prayed that if he hid the bag from view, it wouldn't be stolen.

One violet eye turned towards the horizon, and he couldn't help scoffing a little as he quickly looked away and down to his sodden paws. The very act of disdain was painful now, reminding him why he had never wasted much energy on it in the past. Tonight was a collective of many moments of poor judgement and actions. "They are not the first, they will not be the last." he said simply, voice raspy now.

The giant, Basilisk, rose to his paws. Evidently they were finished here. There were promises of rising through the ranks if his skills were useful. The gilded runaway knew he was well learned, a testament to the wealth of an ancient lineage with vast reserves of information and connections. There was every chance he would find himself teaching the wolves of these new lands in no time. Yet.. the lingering anxiety of possible failure loomed. Even in a mind wracked with maladies aplenty, on the verge of shutting down entirely, there was room for fear. He accepted the outstretched limb, a veritable tree trunk of muscle and bone, gingerly pulled himself back onto unsteady, skinny limbs.

At the offer of seeing a lead healer, he shook his head mutely. The doctor would not be able to offer any aid that Pluto wouldn't be able to manage on his own. Ribs were tricky, they couldn't be set or pinned. Only bound up and treated with great care until the bone healed itself. He kept his head low, gripped his bag with the side of his maw that was opposite his captor. Trying as best as he could to keep it out of sight, out of curious hands. "After some rest, I will be able to find out which ones are broken." soft vocals, that familiar timidity settling over him with the same familiarity as his cloak. It kept him alive. "The eye is beyond saving." his movements were short, his limbs unsteady, breathing in short gasps to avoid straining his chest. Pluto was shivering again, fine fur of his underbelly coated in dark sand and clinging moisture that stole whatever heat he could manifest.

"Thank you for your concern, sir." he gritted his teeth against the chattering that was starting to set in against his will. Dropped his half blind gaze respectfully, awkwardly shook his cloak to adjust the way it fell over his flanks. He was too tired to do much else but stand and await orders, swaying lightly every now and again as he battled with the weariness that bogged down his very soul.

"speaking" -- "in another language"