Sun Mote Copse dead as dead can be

… like shit…

There was a ringing in his brain. He’d been asleep, maybe still was. The moment he felt semi-awake, the muscle tics started again. His shoulders twitched of their own accord. He grimaced, his face in a snarl, from the pain. The muscles in his back bunched up, refusing to un-clench. 

You sound…

He opened his eyes with a grunt, shockingly sapphire eyes roaming the treeline, looking for the voice. For all he knew, the voice was just a hallucination. So far, he’d only heard his own voice in his head, but he was aware enough to understand that sometimes he got… confused.

A sandy-colored young wolf stood nearby. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, groaning from the pain and the energy it took. He shook his head. YOU SOUND LIKE SHIT.

His ears went back along his skull as the girl’s full message finally came to him. Whether it sounded louder than it needed to because she’d been speaking too loudly or because his ears and brain just weren’t normal anymore was lost on him.

He kept his head down, breathing heavily, “Do I?” he asked, voice gruff from disuse. “That… seems about right.”

Pain from nerve damage lanced down his left front leg, tracing one of the paths of the lightning scars that traced his back and shoulders and ran slightly down both front legs. He grimaced, grunted, shook himself. Lifted his head to look at the girl. “Where—

Sin.

Punishment.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to feel the mud beneath his paws. To stay in the moment. He took a breath. Opened his eyes, searching. Where had she gone…? He found her, still there. The sandy girl. “Where am I?”