excuse this post i've forgotten how to write ;^))
you're lost. not— not in a literal sense, you know exactly where you are, hawkclan-scented winds lifting your fur like fingers. here, it's more along the lines of mentally, emotionally, you're lost. confused about everything that's happened, or maybe you're still in denial, you don't know. you don't know a lot of things. you don't know how long it's been since everything snowball rolled to hell. you don't know when you left your home, not really home at all. you don't know if you even bothered to say goodbye. these days, you don't know a lot of things. a part of you wants to keep it that way. a tiny piece of you disagrees.
the snort that sounds nearby tears you from your thoughts and you offer hermes a sparing glance as he grumbles for attention. like everything else, you don't know how or when the pig became apart of the equation. for the most part you're figuring he followed you out of the sanctuary or something like that, but even then you aren't sure how he got out of his pen. hmm. maybe you played a hand in that and let him out yourself. eyes drift over the pig's frame, and you're once again struck by how much he's changed; he's rounder now, fatter, and he's got you by a couple of inches, and still growing. he's waddling beside you now, blowing air into your ears. he's hungry, probably— (when was the last time you guys ate?)— but he'll have to wait. you've got to go through the usual motions of joining first.
and then you trip.
whether your hindfoot caught on a hair of uneven terrain or you were just unbalanced to begin with, you've no idea, just that the fall is expected. instinct is to dig your toes into the dirt and hold ground but that just brings a faint reminder to the surface; you need four feet for that, and you're still trying to function with three. still, your heel digs in on its own accord and the consequences are immediate; you careen into the side of some rustic redwood instead of the floor, splinters biting into your shoulder almost jeeringly, but imbalance is still at hand. with a hammering heart, talons extend and catch purchase in the shape of old bark, slowing your descent to a stuttering halt. i'm fine. pain, dull as it is, hiccups from your arm and blood bubbles up from a torn claw but other than that you're alright. you've done worse to yourself, and a little fall is nothing, really. doesn't mean that you want to fall, though, and that's why you're there, sagging against the tree, eyes screwed shut out of habit, as you wait to be found. someone'll come along eventually. you hear hermes sniff and snort beside you, and the loud crackle of broken leaves tells you that he's sat down. what a good boy.