Ouroboros Spine out where the wild things are

shreeeee-!

The pounding of his paws against the dirt. The distant mountain steadily getting closer.

Kassuq was cold, he was dirty, his wounds had become fresh, sensitive scars. But home was looming high above his head, and he had to get there. The owl, ever present, swooped down over his head and up the mountainside. He stumbled over his own feet, nearly going down with how abhorrent his balance was without his tail as a counterweight.

But it didn’t matter, because he was home. He went stumbling over the border, sure as anything that he would be welcomed, and collapsed into a thin boned heap.