He was doing better- physically at least- so he had no real reason to hide away in the den, and yet that was all he wanted to do. The big wide world that had once seemed so grand was now an ugly thing, sick and twisted, and he wanted nothing to do with it. Not anymore. It was all too much, too scary and far too painful. Just glancing out of the den's entryway was more than enough to burst his little protective bubble, to remind him that the world was an fucking awful place and they-or rather people like him- just made it all the more worse.
What gave the sky the right to be so bright? Why did the sun shine when he felt so...devastated and lost? It was all gone, everything and everyone, and if he'd been a stronger man he would have run home and sifted through the ashes and searched for survivors. But he was not strong, not anymore, perhaps he'd never been in the first place. That sounded about right.
Askan sniffed and placed his chin on his paws. Ever since he'd been visited by Hearthwood's healer his throat didn't hurt as much, but that wasn't to say he was miraculously healed. Swallowing hurt, talking hurt even more and eating? It wasn't even worth the effort, he'd decided to go without than have to deal with that hassle. So now he had a new pain to deal with, the clawing sensation seated deep in his stomach, as though Savion had found away inside of him and was tearing at his insides. Pulling them to shreds.
As dramatic as it sounded, such a fate was preferable to this. Day in and day out of such relentless misery. When was it going to get easier? When was it ever going to hurt less? He just wanted to die. Why did Reyes just let him die?
A mournful whine passed from his lips and Askan curled up in a tight ball, as though that would help. It didn't. He couldn't hide from it or even smother his problems, they were just always there. A punishment for being the last survivor. The last Selwyn.