August 1st; Afternoon; Edge of pack territory; Overcast Clouds; 57.11 ° F, 13.95 ° C
Between the summer heat and the wildfire smoke, the air was hard to breathe on the worst of days. Today was one of those. In addition to the tinge of ash and smoke on the barely-there breeze, humidity around the Falls rose. It lingered above the waterfall and hovered between the sequoias, thick and despicable. In the underbrush, it gathered in the tiniest of dew drops. Once gathered, the condensation would eventually fall to the warm forest floor.
Adelard's saving grace had been the clouds. Without the sun beating down on his dark coat, the travel home was slightly faster than he had expected. While scouting about in search of prey and game trails, he followed Towser out into the wilds... only to get ambushed by a dark, surly rogue. Adelard escaped with his hide, a few bites but little blood spilled. Towser, being a bit younger and inexperienced, had needed help. The stranger had gotten away, leaving the young Lyall on the ground some number of miles away.
The Gerau collapsed in the shallows of the river he had been following. He and Towser had been southbound, but never made it to the Darkwater Rapids or Secret Falls. They had probably gone further to the east than they had originally intended. Beyond the realm of Relic Lore entirely.
Unable to lift his bloodied neck from the riverbank, he laid his head to the side, closing his eyes. The cool current soothed the bruises beneath his pelt and the aches in his joints. It relieved him of the body heat that felt trapped in the black saddle mark along his back. After some time, he heaved himself up onto his forelimbs, head heavy and ears saturated with water. It fell from him in trickles and little streams from his underbelly, elbows, and tail. "Ri-Riven!" he barked out, still half-stunned from the attack. "Help!" Other words failed to come to him. Even remembering the tensions between him, Chan, and the rest of the pack was too far of a reach. "Help," was all he could utter, even as his voice struggled to maintain its volume. The third and fourth calls were mere whispers, "Help- Help him."
ADELARD | heat stroke, bring the fire black smoke, I take it higher |