Lost Creek Hollow the light was weak and carnivorous

Baal can tell that she doesn’t believe him; it’s not something he has to see to suspect. He can practically feel it as if it were a palpable presence in the space between them. At first, her question is warbled and he cannot make out the words as she speaks them. He has to concentrate, has to focus his attention towards deciphering her words which might as well have been in a different language. Eventually, Baal is able to piece together ‘have’ and ‘eaten’ and concludes that she had been asking him if he’s eaten. “Yes,” He snorts bitterly and makes a weak gesture to the pile of sick at his paws. Chunks from a half frozen carcass hardly constituted a hearty meal but it’s kept him going for this long. Stupid, stupid, stupid he chides himself over and over. You knew better. You know you’ve never been strong enough. You should not have left Cupun. If he hadn’t he would not be in this predicament. It was an easy connection to make, easy to trail his mistakes back to that fight: the genesis of all of this.

Baal is vaguely aware that she draws nearer, but focuses primarily upon his breathing and not dry heaving anymore. He has to calm down, he has to regain control. He shivers as if he is with fever but it is merely a symptom of the anxiety that wreaks havoc on his mind as he wallows in so much regret and his state knowing that it’s all his fault. He’d unknowingly signed a life long contract in his blood with his choice during the famine. He’s bound to the nightmare he’s become for life, possibly for eternity. He doubts even death will grant him the reprieve he seeks. Even that seems too easy if only because he’s too willing to live.

It takes Baal a long moment to realize she’s speaking to him again and he focuses his thoughts towards the words she offers him. Help. She wants to help him, she’s asking if she can help him. No, not if she can but if he will let her, he realizes. He wants to tell her that there is nothing she or anyone else can do to help him because he’s not ill. Not physically, at least. Yet, a desperate part of Baal was to eagerly believe that it’s as simply as a few herbs, as a few good, fresh meals. He wants to believe that her determination to help him will be enough. He knows it’s not, that it will never be.

Baal’s silence is his permission. He’s tired and even a temporarily heal will be enough to get him to the next step: to try to find a pack to take him in. For now, he knows he has to focus on one thing at a time, to try to cut down all the noise in his mind and zero his energy in on the present which is more important than anything else at the moment.