Haunted Wood Trails of Fire

There's words, mumbles maybe?

Clay squints at the two of their paws, gaze growing heavy with every passing second and pulse of his brain. All he can notice is the length of the weapons— rather large ones, overgrown and adorn with cracks.

There's dirt underneath.

Perhaps more.

Perhaps it's his head. He can't think straight. All he takes in is Valours voice; a single sentence. Something about his den. Valour's den.

Going to Valour's den?

He can't help but smile, delirious from blood loss, from the coldness in his bones, the pain in his body. "You haven't even courted me," It's more of a question than a statement. "...but i'll make an exception to excuse your unpleasant behavior just this once,"

At this the slated boy elegantly, or rather—he thinks elegantly, flops over onto his side. Way too tired. "Carry me. Both of you."