Cotton has probably been on his own for two weeks now, and isn't in the best shape.
Set somewhere in the far northwest of Larkcall Lowlands — Cloudy — -9 ° F, -23 ° C
If he closed his eyes and held his breath, he knew that the last time he saw another wolf was at least sixteen sleeps ago. But if he thought really hard about that time when he fell into that pit hidden under the snow, the pit that started the beginning of the end for him, that number went up to over twenty. Except everything that happened when he had fallen into the pit was blurry, because he had lost track of the days and nights while he was stuck down there. He knew he was stuck down there for more than one whole night, because he had slept so many different times and napped a lot. But the naps blurred into sleeps, and vice versa, and he didn't like thinking about the numbers.
The numbers made him dizzy. Really, really dizzy. And it didn't help that his lungs always burned when he finished trying to count and add up all the different dancing numbers swarming behind his eyes. So in the end he resorted to telling himself that all that really mattered was that he was alone for a long time, and to focus on the details that didn't involve basic math. Which was so much easier. And it didn't make him feel like passing out if he thought about it too long! That was the best part of just going over memories instead of counting for him.
Because the last wolf he had saw was Askan, when the sky had screamed and flashed like it was going to collapse onto them at any moment. The ground had also shook beneath his paws, but it wasn't like he was scared or anything. He was Cottongrass, the bravest wolf that was never once afraid in his whole entire life! Even if Askan seemed to think otherwise. If he thought more about the memory of Askan, he could remember that the older wolf had said something about their pack. And that they would stay only for a little while, and that Cottongrass couldn't follow them back home.
He hadn't followed Askan back home, even if he really wanted to because he couldn't shake the suspicion that the sky was going to try and kill him. It had tried to before, when he was younger and he had only just left home. The sky had growled, the air felt weird, and suddenly a tree not far from him had exploded. But he was getting sidetracked. Really, really sidetracked when he was trying to remember important things so he wouldn't do something drastic from the solitude he felt.
But he couldn't help how the seemingly endless hills and plains of white reminded of home, but instead of feeling frustrated and tired he just felt alone. And he couldn't decide which emotion felt worse inside of his chest. So he forced himself to waddle along faster, heading in the same random direction he had been following for the past few days.
After Askan and after the sky had threw its fit, he had tried to find Victoria and Avery. With the keyword being how he tried to. But when the rugged foothills had given way to what looked like endless tundra, everything had went so wrong. He had lost sight of the treeline which was the only marker he had, he had fallen into a pit hidden under the snow and hurt his paw. And when he had waited, waited, and waited for help - nobody ever came for him. In the end he had no choice but to climb his own way out of the hole in the ground.
His steps stumbled to a halt, because he was just so tired. His paw ached, he was cold, he was hungry, he was lost, and he was lonely. The only thing that accompanied him was the sound of his own breathing as he wallowed and pitied himself under the cloudy sky. Because it was official - Cottongrass was cursed with bad luck, and there was nothing he could do about it but accept it. There was no denying or joking about it anymore. His tail hung limp between his hind legs and he pinned his ears back against his skull, letting out one long-suffering whine as he accepted his bleak future.