Shadow Mountain i walked in dark streets to punish myself

set for tomorrow afternoon

wincing, merrick laved his tender paws gingerly, a solemn expression upon his face. he had run until he could no more, to the mountain called shadow, and fallen asleep at the base of a great oak. did he still think of himself as whole? as merrick? could he be that still? no no surely — how could he continue to bear the name given by those who had thrown him away?
a great sob rose in his throat; all at once he was weeping brokenly in the dappled sunlight, paws beginning to ooze blood once more as the boy stumbled to right himself and push blindly through the trees, onward, onward, onward.