Hoshor Plains out of the ground i rise to grace

something was going on.
peregrine felt helpless, staring down at the worn paths in the snow. there were ghosts of people he once knew, and others he could not put a name to. ice melts on the tip of his tongue as it flicks out from between his lips to taste.
he felt more alone in this moment than he ever had in his life.
and he wasn't sure why, but he followed it, the sets of prints; he twists between the banks and the hills, squinting beneath the low light of the moon. he did not notice the hoof tracks. he was much too overwhelmed with the unidentifiable surge of peculiar bitterness.

and he did not realize he had been kicked in the temple by a cloven axe, not even when his vision shattered into blistering spirals of red and black and he fell to the ground in an unconscious heap.