don't corner me

Clay · (This post was last modified: April 21, 2025, 05:54 AM by Clayfall.)

— he couldn't stand the bitter thing he'd become.

his wings had burned, and his halo had shattered.

he didn't know how long he'd been running, only that he hadn't stopped in hours. the days moved in one blur, heady, black, and cold. he stopped to drink, to eat what he could find; a hare, berries. then he ran again. he hardly slept.

his movements are sluggish as he parts the spring foliage, flowering and resplendent in new growth; paws shuffling against the dewy grass of morn. the trickle of a stream melts against his ears that hardly bare the strength to remain standing; eventually they fold against his charcoal head, ignorant to anything but the sound of his own breathing.

the sound of his heart beating. he was still alive. and he nearly collapses at the waters edge, dunking his snout first and then fully submerging his head into the icy waters. he drinks in heavy gasps and gulps, relishing in the cool swathe of taiga water down his throat. his mouth taste of blood; iron, warm, where saliva pools in the corners of paling lips.

he contemplates for a second not tearing his head free of the waters.