Larksong Grotto death blossom

Outwardly, the wolf was stiff and unmoving, his eyes glassy and staring at nothing; but after a beat, his legs began to pedal slowly as he instinctively began to right himself. He groaned softly, having missed the entirety of Easy’s commentary during his brief period of unconsciousness, and turned away from her ministrations. “Hang on,” he said, feeling disoriented and vaguely embarrassed. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’d happened, but his memory was so damn spotty he was having trouble coming to terms with this. Right about now, he remembered that a bird made of stone had swooped down, and —

Well, it sure didn’t feel like he had any wounds. With bile forming a crust on his chin and forelegs, he looked himself over. Nothing seemed amiss apart from the thing around his n — oh. He remembered the creepy spider-vines now, the strange pale walking trees. And Easy. He remembered Easy. “Easy?” he said, testing the waters. Her expression looked utterly disgusted, and it wasn’t hard to tell why. Grimacing at his bedraggled, fouled state, “Do you know where I can find water?” If he could splash some water on his face, maybe wash the sour taste out of his mouth, he reckoned he’d feel a hell of a lot better. He felt vaguely like he owed something to this Easy girl but he didn’t remember the details.

“Thanks for helping me,” he said muzzily.

He could worry about the neck thing later.