Sleepy Fox Hollow splitting threads of thunder over me

dated for the 5th of june @Arcturus

the flame in his veins is starting to eat away at the wraith, leaving him drained, empty. for a time he worries that he cannot go on, that his journey might end before reaching its conclusion. the thought is almost enough to send him into despair.
but as he descends into the hollow, he knows that this is where he'd been meant to go. this deathly quiet little meadow, tucked into the mountains like the soft reprieve of a flower hidden among a bed of thorns. this is where he'd finally learned to let go of the last of his optimism, his desire to trust the world around him. this is where it had settled in that there is no kindness without cost, that strangers would sooner take than give to those who seem defenseless. he remembers, vaguely, the man who'd tried to do him harm for the crime of being wounded and scared too close to the borders of his pack. he'd been so young, then. and now he's a man grown — yet somehow still the same boy, hurt and scared, who'd made the mistake of assuming anyone would care about any of that.
he picks through the meadow, idly counting the different fox-trails, and wonders if he can ever undo the damage that has been done to him.