Lake Rodney death and burial were locked up in my chest [m - gore]

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Amputation and gore!

AW, but maybe someone from RHC?

He rested among the trees, not knowing for how long, not until he felt the nagging bleat of hunger in the pit of his belly and the dryness in his throat. It was like he had consumed a part of the mountain on his way down. Lazarus could not remember it - the fall, the fight, the why - he barely remembered himself in all of this, but was made painfully aware of his body at the very least. He was caked in blood. His face, his throat, though he no longer leaked like a sieve he still felt the rawness of the event. How he had managed to go this far was a miracle - he knew his legs were broken, at least one of them was shattered and held together only by the flesh - and maybe it was the adrenaline that kept him moving.

The pain brought him to heel time and again.

He managed a few feet every couple of hours. But then he would gasp, or trip, and fall again, and hit the dirt with his muddied mess of a body. One of these times, thought the mindless beast, I will not get up again. He refused to be brought down for long, though. He dragged his broken leg, used the cracked and fractured other limbs in its stead, and pulled himself along. The beast gasped for breath and tasted the copper flavor of blood upon his tongue; he was breathing laboriously, and knew more than his limbs had been damaged in his tumble from the mountain.

It didn't matter. All he needed now was rest, or water, or food, and he'd had plenty of the first by this point. The forest dwarfed him for now - and as Lazarus pulled himself from the shadows of it, he caught sight of an open expanse of water, and picked up his pace. There were mountains here, and while he saw them he paid them no mind - they were not his mountain - and his body screamed, feed me, feed me, feed me! To which he must obey.