Haunted Wood You let your feet run wild.

There was no telling how long he had been out, but when he came-to again he was in some kind of pit. On one side was an overhang of soil held in place by the curling fingers of a tree's roots, fixed in a fist, but where he lay now was exposed to the elements. He was a lump of tarred silver fur, his coat layered with dried blood and grit, dusted with falling ash. It was the smell in the air that truly roused him; something ruinous, bitter, like a smudge stick made of pine.

He coughed through the thickness in the air and expelled a wad of dried blood which had matted on his tongue. When Revui tried to lift himself to his feet he found he could not - the roar of a hungry belly gave him a way to estimate the days since he had been dropped here, and so did the crescendo of pain from his broken leg.

When the captive fell back to a prone position on his belly he sat there waiting, listening. Pretending he was still asleep so as not to arouse the interest of the volatile strangers around him. The young man needed water; with a slight shift of his head he peered around the area that had been alloted for him and saw a pile of green plants thrown messily beside himself, but no avenue to relieve his thirst. A breath snorts lightly from his snout, and he sinks in to himself, laying coiled like a dragon against the dirt while his head begins to pound.

Slowly it dawns upon Revui that he has made a mistake.