Exhausted. That was a word not nearly close enough to describe the man's condition. Lackadaisical attitude and mental neglect weren't healthy for him, though there wasn't much he could do to prevent either from interfering with his life. He couldn't see. Sometimes in dreams—day or night, or otherwise—he would catch glimpses of the rising sun, and then a burning, falling one shortly after. As if someone hadn't wanted him to see anything. "Often times I see things inside my head I think impossible, but before I know it, that event is happening before me. Murder, birth, restoration, a gift. I get blamed for missing out, denounced for not noticing little things that the others can," he stumbles a bit across harsh surfaces, tracking the earth with hardened paws to find solid ground again before venturing further. "What is the color green they speak of? Or white, the absence of what 'color' seems to be? I see nothing but the void, a comforting sight sometimes... but a lonely one. A terribly lonely one." Cool air barrages his pelt, soothing him as he finds a ground more smooth than the lands he crossed before. Wherever he was, the heat beat down upon his back all the way to his current position, and now, the cold felt homely.
"I suppose I will press onward until I find signs of... sapient life." Following the chillness of the area around him, he notices he is clambering through a passage much more narrow than the avid expanse he traverse beforehand. Going along with the wind of the earth's path, he breaks free from this little 'tunnel', sore pads pressing softly against a less harsh terrain, the delicacy of something he had never experienced before. "What is this?" thinks the man as he trails his paw around along the ground, what felt like strands of something pleasant tickling him and brushing through his fur. Then, he quickly took notice of the pungent scent that billowed into his nostrils, and he gave a wary twitch of an ear. "It is most likely simple creatures, prey, or otherwise... I cannot imagine it being someone... or some group or other. I have only ever crossed paths with one once before, and in short, they were... not very kind." Fatigue is beginning to creep along his spine and infect his brain, and he lowers his head slightly and gives a hefty cough. "Even still, I pray they are somewhat kind souls. I might not make it much longer if I have nothing to eat or drink, but I don't know what... anything looks like. Aye, Padre Todopoderoso, ¿cómo estoy vivo?"
[ translation: "Father Almighty, how am I still alive?" ]