Nightingale Palisade the abyss

@Zerxes 7/4/16; Dawn; Partly Cloudy; 74 ° F, 24 ° C

It hurt to breathe. Every breath seared his lungs like flames. It hurt. It hurt so much. His legs were trembling, barely any strength left in them. And his wounds ached. All he wanted to do was succumb to the pain, but he couldn't. He had to keep moving, and running, and hiding. If he didn't... if he didn't... He wasn't stopping, so what would happen if he stopped didn't matter.

Wildly his eyes darted side to side, searching the shadows for wolves that weren't there. Were they after him? A deep, painful gulp of air revealed nothing. Nobody. He didn't even recognize this place! Terror gripped him, and his whole body shook. For a moment he was still, held in place by fear. How long had he been running for? To his worn body it felt like forever. From the look of everything, maybe it had been. ...would they find him here?

That was the thought that spurred him into action, into movement, once more. On paws that were beyond sore, he darted onward. In the sparse sunlight, the trees' shadows seemed to reach after him, as if they were the claws of monsters. To him, every rustle was a danger, every sound was his end looming closer. These fearful kept him going, kept him from thinking.

But one cannot run forever, even if they wish to. With a harsh thud, he fell. A wheezing whine escaped him at the impact. It hurt.... it hurt! Couldn't it just stop? He attempted to get back onto his paws, and for a moment he was successful. But then his trembling legs gave way once again. Another whine escaped him, louder, but he stopped in midway. No one would be coming to help him after all. Not after he had done. Again he stood. Again he fell. It hurt more and more each time, wounds that had scabbed over reopening, staining his coat with a fresher shade of red. He so wanted to stop.

But... he couldn't stop. He couldn't. Because if he stopped... If he stopped, he would think. He didn't want to think, not after...

The world was full of pain, of shadows, and another short whimper left him. Why did this have to happen? He hadn't meant to. He hadn't meant to do anything. And now he had stopped to think. Why, why, why?! Motionless he lay, quiet whimpers and pleas for help escaping him. Pointless whimpers and pleas. There was no one that would come for him now. At the very least, he knew that.

@Tod

Zerxes didn't have good days and bad days. He had moods. They could last for days or seconds. It was hard to tell with him. This morning, his mood was on an upswing. However, he had been in quite a piss poor one these last few days. Ever since being chased off that sniveling, weak little coward who had dared to insult him, Z had taken his pound of flesh off any similarly small, weak things that wandered in his path. A clear path of bodies was left in his wake like a swath through tall grass.

Nothing had prompted this good mood. He had simply woken from a particularly restful sleep and found he liked the way the sun was already bringing warm oranges and reds in the sky above the overhanging trees. His journey had taken a detour, cutting back north, and Z intended to see how his little brother was faring in his mission.

However, his red ears swiveled, perking with interest at pained whines. Intrigue struck him rather than that dastardly delight he often took in finishing off pitiful things.

Z continued forward, mounting a shallow ridge so that he may peer down at the one creating such a racket. Weakness. The wolf was ripe with it. And self-loathing, if that expression on his face was anything to judge by. On a quiet sigh, Z shook his head. He'd made use of lesser wolves before. He was bleeding everywhere; Zerxes had no experience or talent for healing. But a wolf had to eat.

Without announcing himself just yet, Z tracked back the way he'd come. It wasn't far to the site of his most recent kill. In fact, when he came upon it, it was still untouched. Oh, not for lack of scavengers around. The male could scent them strong enough, but none had feasted upon the dismembered rabbit he'd strewn about a small clearing. He wondered if scavengers could taste the lingering violence in the air. It brought a smile to his face to think even they feared his retribution. If his mood were still poor, he would have tracked down the vermin and left them in similar pieces in another place. Then again, if he were in such a mood, he'd have no need to have traveled back this way, disposing of the ailing wolf then and there.

Plucking up a torn hind leg, arguably the largest piece left behind, Zerxes meandered his way back to the ravine where the wolf lay. From his perch on the ridge, Z plopped himself down lazily and tossed the meat down below, watching with some amusement as it landed on the stranger's head before flopping between his paws. "You need your strength, friend," Z advised, his smile all charm without the venom he was easily capable of lancing his speech with. "Nothing ever got accomplished by laying in the dirt."