you won't remember this

*Altavro* · 04-10-2014, 11:44 AM

Altavro Of The Nomads

In a display of stubbornness that should have gotten his ears boxed, Altavro had waited until there was no other choice. The early autumn air felt unbearably cold against his heated skin, and with every few steps, the golden male shivered violently as he plodded along. The fever made it nearly impossible to think - all he wanted was to be warm - any kind of heat would do, really. Maybe a warm, tame fire to curl beside or another wolf or anything but oh gods he was cold. And Altavro knew that that was bad. Still, he had refused to admit that he needed help at first. He was a Nomad, which ought to have meant that he could take care of himself. But his damn foolish self had gone exploring where he shouldn't have been, and he had gotten himself cut up where he couldn't keep the wounds clean, and they had gotten infected, as he had suspected they might. Now his body was at war with its invaders, and Altavro was definitely suffering. The world seemed to be spinning, but even if he staggered a little bit (or a lot, wow), the wolf soldiered on, heading for the only wolf that he knew could heal him - Erani. Or any of her healers, he supposed, but there was a multitude of Nomads that had reached varying stages of their training in that pack and he kne that that was what he needed. Even with his brain fuzzy and strange images flickering across his vision, Altavro knew what he needed.

The wounds in question looked nasty; pus-filled and red and too warm for it too be a good sign, and gods above did they hurt. Every once in a while, his vision swam as something came in contact with his sides or back, and Altavro whimpered a little, a soft expression of his pain that one rarely heard from the grumpy male. For the moment, he was nothing more than fever and pain and a desperate desire to not die - no grumpiness, no anger, just his most basic instincts driving him to survive. Again, the male shivered as the scents of Valhalla danced beneath his nose, twining with what almost seemed to be his mother's scent. Altavro looked confused by that, blue eyes scanning the horizon for the familiar golden form of the female that had raised him. But there was nothing - no one there. She wasn't there. So why could he smell her?

His front legs slowly buckled and Altavro dropped onto his stomach, pulling his tail in tight around his frame in a vain attempt to warm himself up. A whine escaped him, but he couldn't really remember what he'd come here for. It had been something important, but his mind was too fuzzy to really figure out what it was. Maybe his mother would come warm him up. That would be nice. It was unseasonably cold. Gods, this was miserable.

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