Stone Circle We cannot be equal

Posting this now so I don’t forget tomorrow. Requesting just @Laurel for now, AW later.

Winter was unkind—his first spent entirely alone, save for the occasional, brief meeting of others. A great toll was taken on his body, his mind; muscle-wasted and staring blankly forward, he continued to wander, moving from one territory to the next. Every now and again he would sweep through the glade, his presence there common enough that the foxes knew his scent; some were bold enough to challenge him, seeing the lonesome beast as easy pickings in these trying times. Each encounter became more problematic than the last, their numbers increasing and their bodies hardly worn, whereas he was but a single wolf, broken down. The last encounter he barely escaped, fleeing the scene with various lacerations and bite wounds spread over the surface of his body.

And in time, some of those wounds healed, whereas others that were driven deeper seemed to fester, untreated. Infection gnawed at him just as viciously as the famine, forcing him to see things that weren’t there, things he didn’t want to see; shadows took shape and mocked him, some tempting him whilst others only taunted. He could not tell fact from fiction, nor left from right—he thought himself to be lost to the wildness until he swore he smelled familiarity.

By the time Alexander was in the outskirts of the pack lands, his feet were dragging and head hanging. Each step was slower than the last, more drawn out as he dragged his unwilling limbs through the snow. It wasn’t long before he was stopped and slumped over, thoroughly exhausted; he hardly managed to get out a mere bark or two before sinking to the ground fully, resting what he could as his sides heaved, desperately trying to catch his breath.