Iktome Plains sorry i have no problem shit

fast-forwarded to oct. 12ish. i took some light creative liberty in regards to how the plains fared. tagging @Andraste but all welcome! :-)

days and nights pass like the steady ache and heartbeat beneath a bruise to scarab. time spent between eating to regain his strength and searching for a fresh water source when he had the strength to grit his teeth against the pain and poke around. each day he moves a bit further. the rest of that time is spent sleeping. his throat is still raw, each breath uncomfortable like the draw of sandpaper along his throat. he studies the scrapes and cuts from the sharp walls of rocks he'd been thrown into and licks them as clean as he can but he's no healer. for all he knew: he could've been making it worse.

but at least the rumble in his stomach went away; and whatever reservations he might've initially harbored ( if any at all ) at seeking nourishment from the corpse of his own ilk is long since gone. it's just another unfortunate soul that fell upon ill luck — he didn't even know the wolf — but it was fortunate for scarab who was too weak and too hungry to care. food was food.

scarab's been in and out of awareness but as his senses start to become clearer and begin to sharpen he considers that perhaps it's time to move on from the grove. he cannot go far, true. there is still the issue of his untreated wounds. still. the fact that despite that he's been dining like a king for the past few days — snapping his teeth at the greedy scavengers that threaten to fly too close — he isn't sure the danger of flooding has entirely passed and he pushes himself to go inland, further away from the beaches.

he head's north ( though uncertain of the actual direction ) where swampy grovelands turn into swampy plains. he sidesteps the clumps of soggy grasses as he moves through it slowly, his petrified sandpiper clutched protectively betwixt his jaws.

thread titles lyrics: tony montana — agust d