Shadewood in sickness & in health ii

He watched his shadow depart, stepping away after a few gentled words — he almost thought to follow, and then wondered, why? Cormorant's head listed to the side a moment, eyes tracking as Magpie halted, some thought going through his mind. He was more interested in the trees around them, examining the bark, the leaves high above them, the meager snow that had slid between branches.

Colors. Coarse. His eyes hurt. His head hurt. He shut them, ears pressing to his skull. It only made it all worse, and a silent whimper threatened to slip through his lips. He was distracted, his eyes opening, ears swiveling to the sound of the other. Magpie, cramped in roots, looking like a scrap of charred cotton trapped in its thistle. He blinked, he hesitated, stood there, head still tilted... a long pause.

He understood, but he did not like. Cormorant trudged forward, his pace a crawl. He stopped then, just as he stood over their makeshift bed. A pause. He shook his head, then almost tilted aside, catching himself. He carefully leaned back on his good hindleg, before his front legs, shoulders quivering harsher than they should have for such an easy motion, drew his paws through grass and loose dirt. He clawed at the ground, shoving the grass, litter, and dirt behind and past him. He didn't even spare a look at the shadow of the Shadewoods, just dragging his paws until he was satisfied. Every motion was worse than the last, and his breath whistled harsher through his nose before he coughed.

When he peeked his eyes back open, not realizing they had fallen so nearly shut he could hardly see, he just half-slid, half-rolled, laying across the churned ground. Cormorant didn't care as he brushed the other's fur, just tilted toward the warmth, ghostly blues already hidden once again. His entire frame shuddered, the shivering refusing to relent, but how desperately he needed them to just go.