Lion Head Mesa Covered in gold, forgetting my skin

The movement he had made sent his mind spiraling, spinning as though he had been strapped to a theme park ride. The urge to vomit rose up in the back of his throat but the dark wolf did not have anything in his stomach – he coughed dryly and rested his head against the floor. Each breath that left his thin figure was a painful one. Crowfeather searched the immediate area, knowing the voice that filled the space.

When his eyes settled on Germanicus, the dark shape eased against the earth.

The weight of his tongue did not allow Crowfeather to speak, though he tried with a dry gasp to speak the older man’s name. The shadow could not comprehend why he hurt, why he could not move his legs, or support his own weight. The seer looked to Germanicus pleadingly, begging the soldier to tell him what had happened and where they were.

Weariness overcame the dark wolf and his breathing slowed.