words 426 ALL WELCOME — rewritten, dated after Lach's thread with Karpos. It had been days since Lachesis had been able to fall asleep. Since arriving back at Pitch Pine Trail the yearling had been consumed by dark thoughts, and each time he attempted to rest his eyes he was plagued by nightmares. Not only was his head filled with unwanted thoughts, but the lanky zombie was unable to keep still. He needed to keep moving to distract himself from the reality of the situation. Shade was going to die and it was his fault. He had not been able to save the wounded Alpha after finding him and his mate, Spectre, at the lagoon over the Heights. Perhaps if he had left a day sooner, or ran faster, the dark leader would have survived his wounds… Multiple scenarios played continuously in his mind, constantly reminding him of how he had failed as a healer. Although he wanted to spend as much time with the Trail Alpha before his passing, Nineteen’s chest bubbled with guilt whenever he approached Shade’s den. After swallowing his remorse, the yearling had visited a few times – though only briefly – to give the leader some more Ergot along with some herbs for the pain. While his wounds were too severe to survive, Shade was still fighting to extend his remaining days. Prior to their journey back to the fen, XIX had been unsure of whether the coffee-coloured leader would make it over the mountains that divided Relic Lore. After his incredible venture over the Heights Lachesis had hoped some miracle would have protected Shade from the clutches of death, but there was no recovering from the wound on his neck. With heavy eyelids the zombie trekked forward, his thin body working its way around the trees that made up the fen. His meeting with Karpos had lightened his mood, though it hadn’t been enough to pull the youth away from grief that haunted his heart. XIX had managed to clean some of the mess off his once brilliantly-white coat while at the brook, but he did not have enough energy to clean the rest. Parts of his coat, more so along his cheeks and brows, were stained with a mixture of dried blood and mud from his (feeble) attempts at saving the dark Alpha. While he was weary and felt as though he could pass out at any given moment, XIX pushed himself forward. Walking was the only distraction he had; while it didn’t do much, it was enough to keep the healer temporarily focused on something other than the dying Alpha. |
stick with those who stick with you