Morningside Cuesta naked and alone we came into exile

@Grezig again if you'd like - set after Kierkegaard's death.

Trauma had fastened to him like a leech in the water.
 
The boy lay on the ground with his body stretched out and his eyes searching the distant skies for anything that would force the images from his mind. He could not help but to see the crippled body of his father; the jutting bones that had snapped and protruded from his limbs. The boy closed his eyes sharply and gritted his teeth together in a clenched jaw. None of it made sense to him.
 
Why had his eyes been open?
 
Illidan had collapsed against the earth without the strength to move elsewhere. His frame was weary from his running, and he did not imagine that he could move his limbs well enough to carry him away from where he was. It didn’t matter anyway; nothing did. Illidan felt a cool breeze rush through his coat and for a moment he thought he could scent the stench of death that had lingered in the air. He felt himself gag and he buried his nose against his paw.