Hushed Willows Trigger warning:Tonight, we're Fighting for our Lives

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: A bit graphic and disclaimer don't read if fearful of PTSD symptoms

Reyson had been exhausted, but it had been long before he had finally succumbed to sleep, a deep sleep. Deeper than he had slept in months and with it came it's own set of troubles. First it was the restless dreams that played behind lids of gold, then it was the overwhelming fear. Fear that he hated. Fear that he hadn't felt in years. It was with the sharp pinprick of such terror that he woke up wild eyed, and panting.

There was nothing around him and yet he saw it all. The darkness closing in on them. The wolves that came for him and his family. Renaud's broken mutilated body, Rook and Amity. There was nothing he could do, except fight.

And then he ran. Large body beat through the bushes, he wasn't mindful of anyone around. He was fighting a war that no one else could see. Were he sane at the moment, he'd have known it was lack of sleep and the constant paranoia that had preyed on his mind while in Akashingo, but as it were he was too far gone to notice.

He raced without a care for his safety. Every branch that stabbed his pelt, was an enemy. Every time his paws hit sharp objects, it was a bone. The howls played against his ears, sundered by growls and bellows. The air misty, rainy, cold. It had been hell that day, and it was hell again. And he was trapped inside the maelstrom of absolute fucking filth. Blood working it's way up his ankles, his golden fur was stained with it. Not that a wolf that come upon him could see, but he could. He could see it. Feel the warmth as it seeped into his body. As it ran like rain down his eyes and across his muzzles. As his throat worked and no sound came. This was what devils did.

He ran so far and so fast, and finally his body gave out. IN his minds eye, he was dying. The final blow had come, though in reality, it was simply he was exhausted. Blood colored his face and pelt, from the branches he had whipped across and his paws were cracked and bleeding. Large body hit the ground, and he allowed his head to fall foward and he cradled it there paws across his ears and eyes, waiting for death.

Tags for reference so that @Germanicus and @Fennec know where he is and @Meadow. You are more than welcome to reply to if you so wish. I hope I did it right. My PTSD is a little different than a soldiers.