the sort of thing that miggs would say

*Lecter* · July 30, 2013, 07:41 PM

lecter

ooc text.

He had gone after her, his wayward daughter, his willful spawn. But Clarice he did not find, nor her mother. Lecter had come down from the mountain in a haze of nightshade and opium; his steps, staggering and unfocused, had led him away from that which he knew to be his home, into a vast wilderness in which the shaman lost himself quite quickly.

The madman had wandered, days fading into nights, bleeding back into sunlight with the yawn of the sun. Names floundered through the slippery recesses of his mind, but he recognized few, and thus put them away from his consciousness. "Sos," he moaned, though any creature within earshot would have heard only the strangled, hoarse cough of a sick animal. ""Sos, why have you forsaken me? why have you led me here?" The former shaman stumbled, his muscles close to atrophy with malnutrition, and slammed heavily into the loam alongside the lap of a lake.

Muttering to himself, the wolf dragged his thin body into its shallows, gratefully lapping with greedy casts of his tongue at the clear surface. It chilled his belly, ending the fervent snarls of his shriveled stomach, and he lay there quietly. Unseeing, his icewater eyes watched black flecks of blood loosen themselves from his forelegs and drift into the current. He was pathetic, a ragged, fleabitten pelt thrown 'round a gaggle of brittle bones, but his mind was beginning to sharpen. However, the physical condition of the madman did little to respond to his growing awareness, and effectively ended all rational thought, forcing Lecter to succumb.

Exhaustion borne of too-long wandering, coupled with starvation, stole over him; he roused himself only long enough to hitch his skinny frame out of the water, and fell into unconsciousness upon the bank of the waterway in this strange new world.