Playing the Victim

Pain ravaged his body. Rakshra hadn't helped treat his wounds, said she didn't know how -- it was obvious she wanted nothing to do with him. What kind of wolf didn't know how to treat wounds? He had grown indifferent to her presence upon her declaration that she was ignorant as to how to help him. He'd curled up into himself, and upon awaking she was gone.

All of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins upon being attacked had run out. His entire body was sore. He felt broken, tired, and in more pain than he had been for a long time. A groan escaped the brute's lips as his tired paws struggling to lift his massive body up. It felt as though the wounds on his side and neck were still fresh, and upon moving it seemed as though he'd reopened the slight scabs that had begun to form over the wounds. This was the kind of life he had lived. Pain and misery followed him everywhere he went, like a lingering rain cloud. It never seemed to let up.

The grey-furred beast would move from the cave he'd spent the evening in, hesitant to meet the sunlight. Luckily the sky was littered with grey, the sun's rays barely peeking through the dense clouds. Silence reigned, and for this he was thankful. Careful steps would be taken as the brute carried himself onward, searching for someone, anything. Perhaps a source of water to ease his stinging wounds?

His muzzle raised to the sky, nose twitching to catch the scene of water in the wind. He was luckily, for there seemed to be a water source nearby. He wasn't sure how long it took him to reach the lake, but upon reaching the shores, he nearly collapsed on the earth. Thirstily the beast would lap up water, thankful for the cool water rushing down his throat.