Sacred Grove The Dying Day

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He was disoriented.

His limbs flailed, body contorting into a misshapen shape as his feet were ripped from beneath his body, ribs pressing with a ghastly tint against his already gaunt form. The darkness flashed briefly into light as another bolt of lightening lit the sky, the thunder that had woken him rolling through his body once more. His chest heaved, bringing his breath short and shallow as his body was racked with another sheet of rain. But it wasn't his body. And it his feet had never left the ground.

His eyes snapped open. He was once more in the meager thicket that he had made his home. Temporarily. It was always temporary. The light that cast down on the sight of a wolf withering in the thicket was gone again and he stared into the darkness. Residual flashes of lightening in the distance kept his attention enough that his eyes focused onto the distant sky through the thorny branches of his makeshift bed.

He was anything but oriented, and his ears swiveled constantly atop his head, seeking, searching for anything that might bring terror in the darkest part of his heart. He closed his eyes, bracing himself against the sight of things that nothing in reality would ever come so close to tearing a wolf apart. It was overwhelming; the darkness inside. So much so that he must open his eyes. And when he did, he only saw the night.

It was well under way, and it was still ages until dawn. It would always be ages. If things continued as they were, he would spend his last breath counting the minutes until the morning light fell over his lifeless form.

He must do something. Anything.

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The morning light broke harshly over the thicket that embraced him, glaring unforgivably through the thorny branches and beating him into awareness. His eyes opened reluctantly, returning the glare in a squint before he made to shift his weight and rise. He could have so easily turned his back on the day and moved farther into the thicket in search of what oblivion he could find; in fact, it was temping him terribly. But there was something else gnawing at him, and it was the endless hollow in his belly that kept him from tipping completely over the edge. His hunger had once more become a sharp stab as opposed to a dull ache and he knew that he must feed that demon, else he would be completely taken by his mind. Giving in to his basic needs had kept him going; he had always been one to heed his physical being. Just because his mental state was in tatters and willed him to remain in estivate, did not mean that his body was willing to let him do so.

He finally did rise, grunting in protest as he did so. The thorns that covered the branches in the thicket, clung grimly to him, rasping his coat and pricking his skin now and then as he pulled himself from the shambles of his bed.

He was in an absolute state. Ribs showed clearly in the daylight, pressing insistently against his flesh in a constant reminder that food should have been one of his top priorities. And before, it would have been. He had kept himself in peak condition, constantly on the lookout for a morsel even when he technically didn't need one. His frame was thin and wiry where it had once been generous with the muscle of those in good times instead of the kind that struggled to cling to a body. And then only clinging because of his continuous movement. Too much travel and too little food would do that to an individual. He was more capable than he felt, but quickly shifting into a physical state that hung in limbo. It was his mind that he could not recover, or so it felt. For what was the point of moving forward other than to stop consistent pain. For one could get used to the dull ache of hunger; it was the idea of his body slowly dying that kept him in fear of inaction. Somehow his mind had become more powerful than his massive body.

He sat abruptly as he came into the daylight, peering down in a moment of awareness. His coat was littered with thorns, crumpled stickers and dead leaves; the trash of the forest. Dirt left a film of filth on his coat that furthered his disarray. Wayward and dry, his coat was dull and lifeless. He must admit that it was quite good camouflage; pretending to be a branch and snapping up an unsuspecting morsel here or there. But then, as quickly as it had come, the drive to find something to eat was gone. His feet slid slowly out in front of him and his chest landed with a dull thump against the ground. He breathed deeply, sighing, as he stared out into the Sacred Grove, lying with his back to the Wildwood, sunlight glaring harshly through the trees.

(This post was last modified: Jul 05, 2014, 12:36 AM by Mateo.)

Bayliss reveled in the morning light, it's touch particularly warm and its presence like an omen of good things to come. She had covered a significant amount of ground, having come from the far north, but the abundance the spring-kiss land provided kept her strong and vibrant despite the solitary travel. She had been drawn to this area by the magnetism of something surreal, something she could not put her paw on but wanted to understand; Bayliss had never been one for letting mysteries rest unsolved. She always yearned to identify both rhyme and reason behind every occurrence, to understand fully the world around her. And so she was taking the time to explore.

On her way she had located herself a morning snack, a plump hare that undoubtedly had just weaned her first litter. She thought not of the youth laying low somewhere in the thickets, waiting and crying for their mother to comfort and teach them about the world; compassion was for wolves alone, not for morsels. The carcass hung from her jowls as she sought out a suitable place to dine, her lithe grayscale body picking its way carefully over mossy logs and under low-hanging vines. Teal eyes soaked up every stray sunbeam and fluttering insect, soaking up her surroundings fully and meticulously. Perhaps this was why she was able to pick out the camouflaged man's form amongst the thick of it all.

Bayliss stopped in her tracks, watching for a moment, assessing this stranger, his health and his demeanor. From what she could see, he was either simply one who did not care for personal hygiene, or in a bad state of things. There was also a dark air about him, almost of defeat. Certainly, he did not look ready to greet this new morning. The woman considered turning east without a word and leaving the sight behind. After all, there was no compulsory reason for her to involve herself in his day. Yet, as any wolf, adequate socialization was necessary to her mental health and thus she felt a pull to greet him and see what he may have to offer for conversation. And so, she placed the deceased rabbit at her paws, shook out her fur, and barked out a friendly hello.

ooc: hope you don't mind if I post here. c:

(This post was last modified: Jul 07, 2014, 06:15 PM by Bayliss.)