Fishblight Mire sweet, mourning lamb

an unwilling prisoner now chained to a beast. is this really how the sister fates written his story? was this the torture he was to endure until the end of times? trudging alongside the brute of a man he'd once escaped. stewing in his own misery, spitting his venom and wishing had he been more able-bodied, that he could kill the man while he sleeps. or perhaps poison him, if only he had the knowledge. it was a cruel joke; he'd ran from the kingdom that too once shackled him, only to wind back up in a gilded cage. 

the journey was terrible, but arkane's company and cruelty was far worse than any ache in his feet. worse than any hunger, sickness. a wicked, terrible man. as vile as they come. ikaros would remind the man of this often; there wasn't a moment that passed that wasn't filled with his insults and curses. arkane found great amusement in shoving dead, horrific creatures in the stormy man's face. and he would often curl up to himself at night, wishing a bolt of lightning would come and strike the man down.

but luck has never been on his side.

his nose wrinkles as the stench of the bog assaults it. "what in the hells—this is fucking horrendous!" comes his cry. it echo's around the bog, sending blackbird to rouse from their perches. he scowls and bristles, huffs and puffs. "you cannot expect me to—to sleep here!" 

oh, but arkane did. and he would, because he has no fucking choice. 

"please do. just smother me while you're at it. death would be greater than this." came his sour mumble.

he does not like that bedroom stare of arkane's. it makes his skin crawl something horrendous. spikey tail lashes with disdain as he paces back and forth. "absolutely not. i would rather starve." but there's a loud grumble from his stomach that demands otherwise.