He felt as though he were a slugabed -- worthless, wasting resources. Perhaps, he had escaped death narrowly that day, and now the Reaper was holding him here for payback. Bloody bastard.

Rolling from his uninjured side to his stomach, Maksim huffed a low whine, eyes darting around the den. He had been holed up within the dark space since his unexpectedly grim encounter with a starving bobcat, with far too much fight for such little weight. Boredom took to settling fast into the Baranski's bones, and, by the second night, he was already pawing away at the dirt beneath him, nosing it as he relished the scent of fresh earth ... but even that was starting to grow stale. He missed his patrol, missed the wind ruffling his coat, missed the sun on his body. Just how long had he been cooped up in here? It felt like an eternity.

Lachesis had left for a moment, to seek flora for the ache in Maksim's muscles. He was thankful for his healer's constant care, beyond proud that he could call the greatest medic in Relic Lore his. Hoisting himself to his paws, he hobbled free from the hole in the ground -- no doubt against the warnings the deer-legged medic had given numerous times. Testing his injured leg, tapping the ground with his paw, the tawny giant snorted. It still had a sharp twang of pain race up the tendons, but the wounds had scabbed over nicely.

It would not hurt to simply stretch his limbs now, would it?

Lifting his heavy head to the skies, he inhaled the cold air. Yes, that certainly tickled the back of his throat and brought moisture to his significantly brightened eyes. He filled his lungs with frozen wind and rumbled a low, soft chuckle. It was good to be alive, he realised, and that thought alone brought a smile to his features. Damn the Reaper; he would follow the spirit when hell itself froze over.

"Kisla?" He lowered his gaze, glancing in the direction the gentle hush had come from. Maksim smiled warmly once more as he gazed at his mate, his wife. He gave a slow wag of his tail and closed the distance between them with small, almost timid steps -- best not push it, though he could not help but want to hurry to her side. Kisla's voice was a siren's song to his ears, her figure shrouded by fog still as enticing as it had ever been. Her very scent released moths and butterflies in his stomach, even after all the time they had been together. Every time the king saw his queen, he was renewed with fresh adoration, admiration, and love. Without waiting a moment longer, he leaned into her, tucking her beneath his chin as he purred a rumble at her presence, at her touch.

For a moment, he was content to reel in the silence around them, the sound of snow clods dropping from branches at the wind mimicking the drum of his heart. Thump, thump. "It's getting cold, love," he breathed into her ear, nosing the soft tuft of fur lovingly. "I hope the chill doesn't keep you awake." It certainly does for me.

He paused, glancing around at the snow dusted landscape, before closing his eyes and thanking the stars for her warmth. She radiated love. "Are you well? ... And the others?" He swallowed thickly as his voice dropped to a whisper, "the children?" To say he felt as though he had let them down would be an understatement -- he had wholly tossed aside his responsibilities in a foolish act of pride preservation. He was to provide for his family in the harsh months ... how could he do that now, sporting a variety of injuries that he unnecessarily acquired. "And Karpos, is he-- ... ah. Forgive me, I should not interrogate you so, love." He frowned. How very impolite of him.