Twisted Slough i wish you'd die in the mire

Cormorant had tried to disappear within his own fur, injured leg having pulled in further to him, even though it came not without its own tinge of reawoken agony. He had fully flinched when Magpie neared, every part of him wanting to scrabble and scream into a corner if it meant the monster would just let him rest. Already, the belittling chipped away at him, and he was too exhausted and hurting to try anything else. He just fell slack, head on his paws, tilted towards his injured side - newly reminded of the lesser pains of his neck.

His eyes were still wet, his stomach tied in knots. All he could do was fall silent, remain still; the lids of his eyes already heavy. He thought to try and lick away some of the blood, to try and soothe the pain in some way, but he couldn't manage it, dread paralyzing him - and it was only worse as another form molded to his.

Cormorant thought to murmur a plea, but what would he ask? What wouldn't give Magpie just another dose of leverage? Instead, a little hitch of his breath and then the bubbling of another cry or whine or something - all he could do was tuck his snout along one foreleg, and drape the other overtop. He didn't know if he could truly sleep, a strange numbness dripping through him in quiet ripples; but like this, he could pretend. He could pretend it was a generous soul keeping him company, harboring him, until his eyes were open again, until he was turned to reality, and his new crushed existence.