Ouroboros Spine no one wakes up one day

i have a lot of muse and want to further explore this new installment of wintersbane raako's life. tags for reference. c:

ouroboros spine had become something of a refuge for him though most of his time over the course of the next couple of days have been spent flitting in and out of consciousness. when he is aware he notes the presence of @Reiko and @Easy — though if they spoke their names to him during those moments where he is awake and lucid he struggles to hold them. trying to recall how he got in this state — wounded and sore — ...or anything past those moments of awareness with the two women that tended to him dutifully is useless. it's all black. a blank canvas. all he knows now: is that he's here and injured and being tended to by two kind strangers.

there is some kind of poultice plastered to the wounds on his face and neck and it smells a little bit earthen and a little bit foul. he peers around the makeshift shelter one of them ( or perhaps both ) built around him, searching for them. he assumes they went out in search of more medicines to treat him with ...or to hunt, perhaps. but laying around like a lump on a log makes him feel restless and slowly he stretches, pushing himself to his paws. he's shaky, reminding himself of a pup getting to it's paws for the first time, but he manages and swallows, painfully as the action pulls at the wounds on his neck, taking a slow and deep breath through his nose.

he's weak from the wounds, from the lack of nourishment he needed ( spending so much time unconscious ) and he's thirsty. water, he decides will be his first order of business and he takes a few hesitant steps, testing the weight of his body on limbs that still feel a bit unsteady before heading in the direction of what he thinks — hopes, rather — is a fresh water source.