Haunted Wood I used to be somebody.

Referencing the ash cloud from Sleeping Dragon's fallout.

It is hard to tell how long he has been asleep. Hours, maybe. Days. When he does his mind is clear of the haze brought on by his medicine. His eyes open, glassy, with a distant expression that makes him look inanimate, like a statue. He is sprawled out on his chest with his broken limb propped up behind him, his good hind leg tucked underneath, and two forelimbs forming walls between which his head sits, poised against the ground.

His back is stiff; his entire body is, really, and he is hungry, but Revui cannot recall the last time someone has been around to tend his wounds or feed him—he would take anything at this point. Scraps are hard to come by, though. They've become more and more scarce within the pit; maybe it is a tactic of the beasts living in the forest to starve him until he breaks, and maybe.. Maybe it is working. But his eyes open, he looks groggily at the rigid shadows slanting along the pit's edge, and he sees... Snow?

It doesn't feel cold enough for snow yet, especially down in the valley. Up on the mountain it might have been—his mind drifts to memories of Moonspear, mixes them up with thoughts of Nova Peak before banishing sentimentality—but there should not be snow here, it is too early. Revui lifts his head and licks at the air; after a few attempts at this he catches a flake on his tongue but it does not melt, and it is not the crisp, clean taste of ice. It is bitter, and he spits the ash out in haste, glaring at the layer of ruin which descends upon his resting place.