Larksong Grotto death blossom

“Just hold still,” Easy told him. Meek and mild as a lamb, “Awrrright,” the wolf slurred. The world was swimming again; it seemed that when he sat still for too long, a strange and heavy haze weighed down on him. There was something important, he thought — something nagging at the edge of his mind and the tip of his tongue — but he was helpless to pull it from the depths of his mind. His legs shook as he stood there, sickened by the sour smell of bile and the lightheadedness he still felt. Damn it, he just wanted to sleep — the fuck won’t she let me sleep? Vaguely he wished she’d go away, forgetting utterly that only a few minutes before he’d begged her to stay. He did remember that biting was bad — and he pinned back his tall ears as he kept his expression loose and neutral. No biting. No biting.