King Elk Forest don't pretend

in the heat of the evening sun, bearing mockingly warm and golden upon asmoses pelage; the lost boy scowls and seeks the shelter of the forest. the bugle call of the king elk rises thru the shadows that promise him protection; shelter. the noise is eerily shrill and undeniably majestic and asmoses prowls into the underbrush; salivating at the musk of elk and the nostalgically sweet tang of berries upon the breeze. the forest is inviting; encouraging the malnourished, mistrustful boy into it's loving embrace. the forest makes him promises that it cannot keep.

overhead, caws of crows startle him and wounded lips part with a sharp sting and he lets out a low whine. the four marks ruin his mouth on the left side of his face and left untended to it is only a miracle that infection hasn't set it. or maybe it has and asmoses couldn't even tell the difference. regardless; he knows that they will leave ugly scars upon his flesh whenever they do heal.

saliva dribbles from the ruined corner of his mouth as his pace increases; wobbly and stumbling like a drunk from the pub as he hurries towards where the elk's call raises once more driven by primal hunger that makes him nearly delirious even though some rational part of his mind exists and forlornly tells him that he stands no chance and will go hungry. as he has for days now.