Wild Berry Meadow Bursting with Joy... Juice

He had bled. He had been patched up. And then he had changed his location to rest privately—unbeknownst to him that the healer had been linked to the guardian of the forest, and still, there had been an inkling of suspicion in him that he would not be safe if he remained.

And so Akavir drifted further from the incident, finding himself a hollow near a field where for days he slept—a fever coming and going, his body processing the injury to his flank and the myriad of others given to him by the black rogue.

And when he finally woke, he was stiff. A quiet groan escaped him as he forced himself upward, his tongue feeling like sandpaper in his mouth. Pain flared up his hip and along his backside, but with a quick glance of his eyes, he could see he would heal, eventually. For now, the stiffness would remain.

When he came to a large field, champagne eyes fell upon a tawny she-wolf, circling her find and enjoying a mouthful of berries. He craved water—wanted to bathe in it. But he was in no position to be picky, and so the Mayfair bent his muzzle down, sampling a berry and considering the flavor as it burst in his mouth, the first bit of liquid he had in days. While doing so, a wary gaze was kept upon the other wolf, ready to leave should any threat occur.