Ouroboros Spine trouble come knockin'

lorroakan's chest heaves with shaky, panicked breaths. the sting on his face burns, where the reaper's teeth had pierced flesh and torn. his legs feel wobbly as he steps back, as if readying to flee. and he should run. every instinct he has is telling him to sprint away and never look back, maybe even leave these cruel lands altogether. but then the black mass is toppling over his own feet, snarling and thrashing at nothing but the cold air, and...

and he feels bad. emotion wells in his chest that surpasses the fear; is it sympathy? concern? pity? he didn't know. emotions were always so fickle and so intense, and he'd always been terrible at trying to decipher them. but he doesn't want to leave this man, so obviously struck with torture of the mind, or perhaps it was some type of madness. a madness that was eating away like a disease.

his father had always said lorroakan feel's too much. that he pities creatures he shouldn't, and that not every living thing deserves sympathy and a helping hand. he used to make his son feel horrible, for simply having a kind heart.

his father was wrong. even if this man had attacked him, and even if the black wolf still scared the living hell out of lorroakan, he simply couldn't just leave. not when the overwhelming urge to help is beckoning him like a sirens song.

he swallows down his fear, perhaps feeling the bravest he might ever feel, and steps forward. closer and closer until he's slinking to the man's side, low to the ground, his ears pinned. worry written all over his expression. cautiousness. "a-are you sick? do you need help?" he rasped, his voice cracking. what would he even be able to do?

he doesn't know. he doesn't know anything, it seems like. but he could at least try to help.