Blackfoot Forest do you feel ashamed?

stærk claws at the ledge with trembling limbs, water streaming from his blood-matted fur as he drags himself upward. his body shakes with the effort, teeth gritted against the cold and the pain. he doesn’t stop—not when his muscles scream in protest, not when his breath comes in ragged, wet gasps. survival drives him forward, blind and unrelenting.

behind him, the woman lingers, frozen in her own stupor.

each pull, each inch forward, is a battle, but he crawls on, his claws scraping against stone and dirt as he nears the entrance.

he collapses just inside, his chest heaving, panting as though the air itself burns. for a moment, he is still, motionless but for the rise and fall of his battered frame.

with a groan of effort, he forces himself toward the narrow wedge beneath the fallen tree. the opening is tight, but he presses forward, clawing and squeezing. mind running rampant. he must escape. he will escape. she will try to kill him again. he won’t die by the hands of a fucking whore.

he bursts free. stærk lies sprawled in the snow, wheezing and trembling. he is too exhausted to notice the vultures swooping in.

fade <3 will tag in death thread