Lost Creek Hollow a lonesome star in a bitter sky

He had lost a lot of blood; a fact that lingered somewhere in his mind as he had slowly righted himself. He didn't see it in the darkness that had surrounded them, but he felt it beneath the worn pads of his feet. And there was Harlyn, right as his side as they began a tedious venture into the woods around them. Mordecai let her guide him, wholly trusting her instincts as they slipped back into more familiar locales within the Hollow's proper claim. He did not entire pay them mind as they passed what could have easily been landmarks known by their own wolves and the grove that eventually rose up was one that he did not recognize. Truthfully, other than the sound of his own shaky breath and the sound of their footfalls, he had a lucid grasp on what was going on. Instinct drove him to find somewhere safer.

She saw the hollowed trunk and its twisted and torn up network of roots long before he did. And with that subtle, reassuring guidance he found himself directed more than led to settle in the open mass therein, doing so gladly. There was a sharp intake of breath as he settled down to the cool earth, his limbs not entirely willing to cooperate with what he thought they needed to do. Much in the same way he heard the humor in her tone but could not muster a response that befit their usual banter; his head sank between his legs as the rejoinder. Where he thought he had felt weary and indisposed before was nothing compared to the lack of strength he found now, and the gravity of the situation came to settle on his shoulders unseen and heavy.