Flycatcher Downs Sometimes being too courageous is a problem

About time I got caught up with this flower-loving dork. No need to match length, majority of it is just rambling~

The boy was, to put it simply, on a mission of sorts. He didn't know where he was going, or how long it would take him to get there, but he felt he would know where he needed to be once he'd arrived. For the time being, he allowed his legs to guide him over the terrain, his mind working to commit the views and directions to memory even in his pained state. It was a good habit, one that would never leave him, but also one he could not turn off. He did not recall the sights he was seeing, as they were new to him, but he would remember them if he happened to pass through the area again—which he most likely would. He would not turn back and set his icy gaze on the land behind him for awhile, though, as he felt he was currently being guided forward. Alastor believed that, for whatever reason, it was Athena who was guiding him. The Greek wolf was confident that the goddess had seen him in his current state, and had decided to assist him. So far, he'd yet to see anything, or cross paths with any others, but he trusted what he felt within himself.

In truth, there was no one leading or assisting him in his journey. The feeling was simply his drive to find a place he could settle at, and the presence he felt a mere illusion created by his mind to counteract his loneliness. Perhaps he would have realized that, too, had he not been absent of any interactions for so long. Alastor was not a wolf made to be alone, and yet somehow he'd ended up that way. Alone and injured, but alive. He was alive, and would remind himself of that on a regular basis. While his injured paw currently caused him to walk with an uneven gait, time would heal it and all would be well. Almost well, anyways. If he did not find a place to call home, he would still be alone, and so he pressed forward. He used his front paw to move over the thin grass, despite the pain that shot through his arm each time it touched the ground. It would be worth it in the end, or at least he hoped it would. After awhile, however, he needed to stop and rest.

As Alastor neared a flatter and rockier terrain, he slowed and then came to a stop, knowing he needed a break. Carefully, he sat down, being mindful of his left paw the entire time. He'd tried holding it up and using only three legs after it'd been injured, but that had led to him falling flat on his face. It was difficult and slowed him down, and so he'd opted for using it, ignoring the screams of protest coming from his body. It made his gait uneven, and tortured him with each step, but he knew it would eventually heal. Slower, most likely, due to his continued usage of it, but it would heal all the same. Carefully, he adjusted himself so he could slide down into a lying position, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he did so. Alastor kept his body leaning to the right, wanting to keep as much weight off of his left side as possible. It was hard to imagine that, not too long ago, he'd been a healthy and happy yearling. Now, however, he was another year older and hit with a wave of agony every time he took a step. It saddened him, at times, when he'd look back on his days in the Bypass, but it seemed to hit him harder whenever he'd realized that he was still without his friends. Several moon cycles had come and gone, but there he was—still wandering around, unsure of where to go. Releasing a sigh, as he often did after getting trapped by his own thoughts, the boy let his head drop down to his right arm and allowed for the minutes to trickle by. He waited for his strength to return, so he could continue his trek to wherever he was going. Little did he know, though, was that if he continued on his current path, he would never reach a place worth joining.