Otter Creek honigsüß

fore. dating to after this <3

The stricken still felt weak after a (presumed) meal a sunrise ago, yet took it it upon ruined paws to leave the vale a travel onward. Searching for what, he did not know. His lips quivered at the thought of being lonely and forgotten among the gazing spires, the lips not unlike that of a boy waiting for his wayward father to return from the duty of war on a eerie, bleak summer night . . .

and only as luck would allow, he was stopped by the ever enlarged webs and paths of the creek, unbeknowst to him a ghostly man traversed them, with ease he had not yet retained, toting a pika from his descent of sawtooth spires. The stricken on the other matter, was shaken. The water was still as his mind flow, but it failed to ail his senses. Water. He feared it like no other material, once a speck of nothing in its wide workings of the expanse of the Teekon. 

❝ . . . der Scheißkerl,❞ he wheezed, as his head was light with fear . . .