Otatso Wetlands sandhill

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Suicidal ideation

Tybault, on the other hand, caught each new thought like floating embers in bare palms; unprepared for himself, for his own intensity and how it could burst to flame there against his skin in a second. His thoughts had always been less a part of him than some feral fire-fanged thing blazing errant and without a care, a force of destruction he'd always stifled.

There was no stifling it now. He felt unmoored, all cinders drifting and ash in the wind and still burning, always burning. Tybault studied the coywolf as if he'd never seen another person before, as if he half-thought he might be dreaming. Maybe he did. He couldn't be sure what he was thinking just then.

A gold ring...? He repeated, not really registering the words for a moment. All his words came slowly, distracted. Uh, no. Can't say I have.

It was weird. Just having a conversation like this when he felt like screaming, he felt like hitting something, he felt like throwing himself off a goddamn cliff. And there he was. Just talking.