Lost Creek Hollow the light was weak and carnivorous

Baal sucks in a greedy breath as his stomach churns violently once more and he dry heaves, vomiting nothing but spittle this time. There is nothing left in his stomach and he does not understand what is causing it. Is it the hunger? Is it the nausea that the thought brings about? Is it his anxiety over his fight with his sister? There are too many possibilities and the safest conclusion ends up being a bit of everything. He has no time and no patience to attempt to diagnose himself. He’s losing himself in the eye of the storm; disassociating that the eye of the storm is he. This is his own creation. He has chosen his path and this is his punishment for it. There is the sound of footfalls rushing towards him: heard over the pounding of his own heart as he begins to panic. Baal blinks furiously and avoids looking at her the moment he realizes that she is not his sister, taking a few deep breaths to ease the swell of anxiety. His submissive nature fights with his instinct to flee: and thus he settles for an on-edge tail tuck and splay of ears flat against his skull.

“I — I’m fine.” He lacks the grace of articulation that Hann harbored: there is no silver spoon in Baal’s mouth and he stumbles over his words: over the twist of his tongue. He can speak without stumbling over himself but it’s hard to form coherent words when he’s so busy in his mind. His lack of proper nourishment has slowed his brain function: it makes him groggy on top of making him gaunt. “This is normal.” He hears himself offer to her in assurance: but he suspects they both know the truth. It most certainly was not normal. Still Baal feebly makes the effort nevertheless.