Swiftcurrent Creek divinity's mirror

continually did the thrum of nauseating madness sound in lestan's head, driving him out to the very borders of swiftcurrent. out there he made his haunts; a bowl-like depression draped in a single deerhide; a sentry-stone; a thin trail which led to higher elevations.
he lived in willing austerity; he grew lean and sinewy, silent most days save for his everlasting treks and travels in dogged pursuit of the herds which roamed the rich land.
it was one such afternoon, and in the colder glow of autumn's light, lestan tested himself in a run directly along the creek itself, seeing how quickly he could veer sidelong, into the forest upon the tiny pathways he had mapped from the ruts of deerhooves.

Snatches all your threads

Lestan was not the only wolf of Swiftcurrent Creek who lived haunted by the sound of his own sorrows. A fiery figure along the creek banks sought solace in the cold touch of the water. Panacea dipped his paws into it first, then his muzzle, then his face all the way up to the ears, and for a moment the water drowned out the child's cries ringing in his ears and he felt peaceful, he felt —

Someone is coming.

The little wolf tore himself from the water, scrambling back away from the creek even as he sought the source of those running footsteps. A stranger in dark furs; someone he'd never seen before. Pathetically he pawed the water out of his eyes to better gawp at the stranger.

:D

lestan hardly registered the fiery flicker as more than an ember to be feared; a reminder of the flames which had scorched him before. the sight added impetus to his movement; he flattened himself into the turn and took it firmly into the fringes of silver birch which stood along the creek.
nostrils flaring, chest burning, lestan stopped when he felt he was alone. hazarding a glance over his shoulder, the mayfair searched for any prying eyes, realizing too late that he had absolutely almost ran someone over during this particular dash.

At least, he thought, I'm not sad anymore. No, he was too frazzled; Panacea the Nearly-Trampled. For a moment he could do nothing but sit back and breathe. Or... several moments, maybe?

His racing heart refused to slow.

Perhaps he might have said something then, a stammered apology or a request for just a few minutes to catch my breath — but his head felt light and strangely abuzz, his throat felt dry and sticky, his lungs felt starved for air. Panacea closed his eyes, half-convinced he was dying. Scared to death? It would be a fitting end.

it was polite to go back! it would have been polite. lestan trudged on some feet more, ribcage swelling with breaths exhaled into pine duff and birchbark.
his legs were swift, his apology swifter. "d-didn't s-see you," the mayfair muttered when he had gone back to the water and saw the firewolf still there, looking decidedly — startled, though that was an understatement.