Larksong Grotto cut the red wire -- or was that the green wire?

set on 11/13

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: suicidal ideation

He doesn't know why he thinks visiting the grotto is a good idea — it's not. There's a pressing ache in his chest pulling him toward home, toward Korei, reminding him he needs to make amends, but he's ignoring it. Avoiding it, like he always does; he hasn't changed at all and this was all for nothing, and most of all he doesn't want to face that truth. He'd overreacted, not once or twice but fairly like a machine gun within the span of a few minutes — and again someone else is paying the price.
So maybe he does know why he thinks this is a good idea. The steps are slippery, and his legs ache from running so carelessly — who could blame him if he lost his footing? Who would miss him? Korei, who he has only ever managed to hurt? Outlander, who hardly knows him but has somehow been fooled into thinking he's worth a shit? His friends are safe now with Easthollow; they don't need him, and if he's so irreparably broken then he doesn't need himself. So of course he slips — of course he falls.
And of course he's lucky enough to make it to the bottom conscious and swallowing back the nausea that accompanies the fresh bruises forming across his body.

The scent of a well known face beckoned hum forth. Ulf has been a shadowy present in the north, a beast in hibernation. The North had always served him well and it seemed to want to continue to do so. Perfect.

He prowled forth to see the form on the ground. Open for the taking, to ravage and gut. But Ulf had promised himself that this would not be a quick process. Anything savage was far too fast.

He moved a bit closer, just enough to see and be seen but neither could touch. A harsh click of his jaws and growl that rumbled from within the pits of his being demanded for Alarian’s to give him attention.

Or Ulf would take it and take, take and take some more.

He lays there for a time — he doesn't know how long. Minutes, hours? But finally something stirs him from the agonizing haze, and his blood chills immediately as he realizes his situation. Ulf. The wolfdog's growl lifts the hairs along his spine and he shivers, sitting up immediately with a brief pained noise. Ulf — no, He pleads; maybe another time he could take his abuse quietly like he should, knowing he deserves it, but not now. Not today. He can't — but he can't run, either, and some part of him knows there will be no mercy for him —

and there isn't.

But he will never speak of the hell endured here; he'll take it to his grave alongside the knowledge that this is all he deserves.