Haunted Wood yn blath que me darienn

it's been ...well, within the bowels of the place that he hears the nightwalkers refer to as the pit — a ravine with steep walls and an uprooted tree that offers some shelter. it is a space he shares with one other — a woman whose story he isn't feeling overly inclined to learn, admittedly. instead, he spends his time humming tunes and trying words to string together into some sad, tragic ballad of this story of deception as he tends poorly to his own wounds.

he looks at his injured hind leg with flamboyant dismay. he is no healer and aside from licking it in the hopes of staving off infection ( is it even working, he wonders? ) is a desperate attempt at best. though he eyes the tops of the steep walls, the silhouttes and shadows of the wolves tasked with patrolling it seen by mis-matched eyes as dandelion lets out a hefty sigh and checks his wounds. they don't smell of infection and while the pain hasn't necessarily lessened it hasn't seemed to have grown worse either.

a good sign, the balladeer takes it.

someone — who is hardly important to the now pitiful balladeer — tosses a slab of meat into the pit, landing in the dirty snow just by his paws. it's ...relatively fresh; or at the very least not rotten and he considers turning his nose up at it to spite the nightwalkers but as his stomach rumbles — though the balladeer is petty enough to think that his action was because he doesn't particularly want the other captive to have it ( survival of the pettiest strongest darling ) — he snatches it up and pulls it close, a paw pressing against it guardedly as he nibbles at it.

as much as he wants nothing more than to devour it he knows better than to eat too fast and who knew when he'd be fed again. he intends to make this one last him longer than a few minutes; a feat he has yet to actually accomplish because when push came to shove immediate satisfaction almost always won out over his poorly contained patience.