Moral to the Story

The walled-in cliffs of slate had guided his path as he staggered away from where he had left the body, his own aching and battered from the earlier scrap. The time that beast ‘claimed’ him as his own had lasted far too long, long enough that Ganymede had finally been pushed to his limits and beyond them. He could only take being handled, beaten, and….touched…by that disgusting creature for so long. Now his grey and pink tinted fur had been dyed red, dipped, and streaked with blood from the fight ending with the slaver in a pool of blood. There was a giddiness settled in his stomach, the kind built up from a battle and the fear of what could have happened. Ganymede kicked a few stones out of his way as he approached a softly moving stream, the water thick and sluggish with the cold of northern lands, fog swirling around his legs as he stepped into that biting creek.

'Good, will soothe the bruises, will numb everything.’ And if he was honest, he would stay in this water till it did just that. He needed the cold that seeped into his fur to focus on, something to take his mind off of the world around him for a moment. There was a hiss from between his teeth as it touched his stomach and he stretched his long forelegs out ahead of him and shifted his hips to settle into a lounging pose. Ganymede could not help the grin that stretched his lips as he stared down at the water, able to see the golden and tan pelt that hung over his shoulders.

"Oh, if only you could see me now. What would you all think of me and what I've done." The soft musing had him chuckling before he settled his chin onto his crossed paws to rest for a bit longer. The pain from the bruising began to numb from the waters at least.


Walk, "Talk", Think