Cedar Sweep Blood of a fool

He limped down the slope into the safety of the tree thickets like the forlorn mess he was. His encounter with the pale woman and her pup had left his throat burning, the blood that once flowed in rivulets down his neck now dried in rosetted clumps amongst the creamy ivory hairs that coated his underbelly. With eyes still glazed over in blind panic, the boy limped further into the brush, tiny black dots beginning to swim before his eyes at the physical exertion the short journey had presented him with. With a wobbly whimper, he called pitifully for anyone who, even remotely, knew how to heal.