Greatwater Lake Scrawny Motherfucker with a Cool Hairstyle

His paws are getting itchy. Look, Aleister's doing pretty well, considering he left all he's ever known behind- which he's well aware, thank you, was his own decision, and he fucking stands by it, alright, it's not an excuse, just a fact- he's doing pretty great, actually. He's not died yet, which is a feat in itself, he's been able to feed himself well-enough that he doesn't feel starvation will set its claws into him anytime soon, and he hasn't had a full mental-collapse so. Aleister is doing pretty well. It's just- his paws are really itchy.
 
Really. Itchy. 

He's not quite certain when exactly it began, the hours have been blurring together for him, dripping into each other as he crosses the flat plain. His vision is his greatest asset, and it's been a phenomenal guide, but the land is so devoid of any semblance of a personality that the young man is beginning to believe perhaps he's ventured into some place where time loops and he'll never find his way out of these damn plains. Anyway, his paws are really itchy and he has no marker for exactly where it began. It could be allergies, or just them acclimating to new terrain, he doesn't really know. But it's bugging the hell out of him.

The pallid boy has taking to nipping at his paws in between every few steps, trying to gain some minute bit of relief from the unrelenting little fires that have been lit upon his delicate paw pads, and it's getting fucking tedious. He's pulling his head up from another hasty bite when a shimmer in the distance catches his eye. His head snaps towards the view immediately, spine prickling with anticipation. Water. Without so much as a second of hesitation, he's sprinting towards it, breath huffing with his effort to make it to something not fucking dirt and grass. 

He's thoroughly winded by the time he reaches the bank, and his eyes are stinging from the bite of the breeze that's assaulted his face, but his paws aren't itching anymore and he's not sure he's ever been so grateful for water in his life. He meets his own gaze in the ripples, examining his dirty face with care for a moment, the expanse of sky above him. He can't remember the last time his fur got so messy. An unthinkable joy blossoms in his chest, and he feels hs throat vibrate softly. He's becoming.

@Clarence