I should have stayed home.
The comment is more of an after-thought. It is sulky and pained: a piece of regret riddled deeper in his bones than he could ever begin to convey. Helios, he wished he'd stayed home. He wished that he'd never wandered off the sands, not even for a minute of his anxiety-induced attempt at walking. He wished that he'd never said what he did to Aether, and he wished that he'd never left his children alone without thinking of the repercussions. But he'd panicked. He'd always been finicky that way - anxiety subtle until it became utterly overwhelming. And he figured that it'd be okay for that moment - that he'd take a small walk after that particular fight with his brother and the birthing and all things else. He thought that - with time to gather himself together - that he'd be perfectly fine like he always was. But just as he had been blessed with family and friends, he had been cursed with that ever-persistent weight of the world. It was a pressure that he could only lug along for so long before the fragile parts of himself started to crack.
But I know better. He knows his limits, and he's known when he needs to get himself help, or just a friend. And yet he's broken that trust he's had with himself, his brother, his friends, and his lover. He's broken it every single time to keep up the act that he was fine. He wished, at times, that he didn't. When will it stop? He... He doesn't know. When will he finally open up again? When will he be free from the crushing weight of living, and when will he be free from the grasps of merely surviving? When will he finally be who he once was? Was there even whole pieces of his old self left? He doesn't know - he doesn't know a thing. All he knows is that he has to survive just a little longer, just a little further. If not for himself, then for others. For Sangria, and for Aether - even if his brother hated him. And for Marigold... Helios, for Marigold and for the kids, if no one else. Just a little bit further.
Stuttering breaths left the small king as he wandered through the outer skirts of the desert he called home. The early night air was bitter and cold - a product of the hidden sun and wintry months combined. His movements were jagged and uneven along the way - each one a struggle as he dragged himself through the sands. The light - though he'd always admired it as beautiful - now danced across glistening, sickly evidence of what was once an attempted minute-long walk gone terribly, terribly wrong.
There were wounds. Most of them were scabbed, and others bleeding a little as he moved. Others were just swollen and sprained. There wasn't a worrying amount of blood - though the dark that stained his cream pelt was evidence that there once had been. Lines of couple-week-old injuries lay themselves across his back and his shoulders - some gashes marking their way across his forearms, others along his sides. One lucky one struck right underneath his left eye - though it was small, and mostly dry of the blood it once dripped. What caused them wasn't exactly clear from just looking at them - some varied in thickness that it could have been caused by a nasty fall, a cut among rocks.. But others seemed to have the consistency of claw marks. But truly, not even he could tell which was which. It was all a blur: the fall, the fight, the scrambling. He'd been slammed upon something - or had he fallen? Which part were those from? He doesn't know, anymore. He doesn't want to. It doesn't matter, anyways. He didn't wish to rememberAll he really remembered was the ache of getting back up. The hurt of trying to get back home.
But despite the various amount of cuts and bruises, there was more - however subtle. A lack of movement where it should have been easy; a stiffness where it was once fluid and smooth. He doesn't really feel it, whatever he was lacking. He finds it hard to feel much of anything but the sparks and aches that burned within each slight movement. But even as he treks on - half blissfully unaware of the pain, half tragically unaware of where he'd been or what happened (at least for now) - he can feel himself growing more and more tired. His shaky steps take longer, he's pausing more and more. How long have I been traveling? Days? Hours? I'm tired. A half-lidded glance would flick up to the moon, before his head hung low again. He was almost there - the camp entrance in sight, not too far away. With a small grimace he moves on.
I'm here. There's relief in that - utter relief, as he stares at the gateway to his home. But it is the knowing that he is safe, at least here, that he finds it harder to go on. Harder to get to the medical guild, which was on the far side of camp. Harder to move even an inch more. With a shaky huff, he lowers himself down partially - part of him already closer to the ground, being he was dragging himself, mostly - and he sits half-up, half-down. His breaths are surprisingly inconsistent - shallow but spaced out one minute and deep and plenty the next. He gives a soft sigh, and he takes a breath, and another, as he shivers within the growing cold. He wishes to move - he's right there, after all, and he could make it. But instead... instead, rest sounded nice.
A quiet hum would leave him as he sat (not daring to lay down, as he feared he wouldn't be able to get back up), doused in that faint moonlight with his billowing breaths illuminated by the reflected glow of the moon; acting as a beacon for any who would see the signs that he was alive, that he was there, that he was home. His gaze parts just once more - bleary eyes focusing upon the dim light above him as he tried to gather what strength he needed to go on. And his eyes close momentarily, relief expressed as he breathed out. "Home." The word is barely uttered as his eyes drift out of focus and closed, but it brings solace to his weary heart and aching mind. So, shifting his paws among the soft sands - he would sit up partially, breathing steadying. He's home. And.. for the first time in a while, he's glad that he is.
claes got himself Messed Up and he doesn't remember much but he will later!! rn he's kind of? sitting up on the entrance to camp, just kinda chilling until he finds the will to move again lmao. he's got a buttload of injuries, but none of them are serious/new - they're mostly a couple weeks old.
- a couple of gashes that look like they're caused by falling, along with a couple bruises.
- some that look kinda like clawmarks, but no one really knows
- some swollen areas where smth might be sprained or broken? probably in one of his paws
- broken rib :0
- anddd his right hind leg is paralyzed but no one can really tell until he tries to hobble around :)
i am so very sorry for this but also: he's back!!
— "speech." & tags