Larksong Grotto Ankärr

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life-giving gulps of cold liquid burned through skorpa. he was alive! he breathed. regnvand spoke and he rolled a bleary eye toward her, muzzle cutting toward the water's surface once more. when his belly was stretched with slaked thirst, he fell back on hurting haunches and hung his bruised head to glance at the gnawing of his belly, infected punctures now.

a grunt of pain lifted his head; he scoured the nearby foliage and forced himself into a hobble, a gathering of those things whose name he did not know but whose properties he did understand. for now rainwater woman went ignored, only the man's rasping grunts sounding to echo here and there.

at last he lay back against a sheltered tree and spat the mess down upon his wound, wincing until tendons in neck stood out with a strangled sound. "jeg vil leve. jeg vil leve." a talismanic mutter. a horrendous prayer.

there was some muckchewed greenery left; he let the rest drip carefully onto the cold earth. "til dine håndflader," skorpa mumbled, too weak to do more than lift his own paw and indicate its softer side.

half-lidded, exile slumped back against the tree-bole as fever swirled again in his skin.

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