They were riding on his back, all of the cubs. They didn't look near as bad as him- a few cuts and fur dirtied by sand, because for some reason Bloodclan drew its line at hurting children. Anakin wanted to laugh at that- Darth Vader didn't have any qualms against hurting children. Darth Vader didn't care and Darth Vader was on that note, much more evil than Bloodclan.
A sick part of Anakin was proud of that.
He stopped, his exposed and sand clogged prosthetic hand reaching up and checking the pouch hanging off his neck- the lace had rubbed a line of raw skin and a scab on his bare skin, and it hurt to wear it because of the sunburn buried into his scarred flesh. Keep it safe, he reminded himself, touching his head and recoiling as his skin peeled off with the touch. He shifted so that the cubs were comfortable, and continued the slow pace the group moved at. He felt old and embarrassed by his showing age, because they had to slow down for him, when he was normally pushing the army forward and the headrunner but now he was limping and he was limping with metal legs so he shouldn't be limping in the first place but the sand was everywhere and continuously dusting off of him and everything hurt and his oxygen mask was so hot.
Five minutes, and they had to stop again for him, let him sit down and like the cubs stretch their legs and Tena giving him that look and Anakin's expression reading I told you. Anakin's hand reached back up, slowly peeling off another flake of skin. It hurt, but it wasn't the worst. When they started moving again, one of the cubs was pulling at his peeling skin for him and Anakin decided to tolerate it as best he could.
You should just die.
Anakin's eyes squeezed shut as they started to water again and he took in a quivering breath. I'm fine. I'm going to be fine. Let himself believe that, they were almost there. His cape had been ripped, the wool only covering half his back and took away his normally imposing posture, as onlookers would notice that the Skywalker king lacked a tail and his leather undersuit was almost starting to look baggy from his inevitable dramatic weight loss.
His furless skin had not been shielded by the sun, and the resulting sunburn pained him in every moment and his oxygen mask was fogged up by hot breath and made it look so much worse. Blue eyes would still hold their gazes when onlookers try not to stare at him, it was baggy and flecks were missing- burn scars. A scar formed a crievace at the top of his skull, where the muscle had been ripped away and other parts were protruding scars that stretched across his face. His mouth was held open- yellow teeth, weak from underuse and his lips malformed, as if the flesh was burned away giving the impression he was always baring his teeth. He was even missing a fang now, and dried blood stuck to his lips, telling that he had attempted to eat.
When they finally reached the border, when his crumbling prosthetics touched grass, he felt a wave of relief, even bending down to smell the scent of his home- but was stopped by the ask and grumbled loudly. He sighed, sitting down and letting his eyes droop shut. He was completely exhausted- spent and ready to collapse. He had to keep going, keep going because the Force had not allowed him to die and that meant he still had work to do.
Your body is going to kill you before you do.
Maybe, perhaps. Anakin wasn't sure- his visions had even made mediation impossible, disrupting his peace and the bags under his eyes was taking far more toll on his mind. He couldn't read and his sentences were more run-off in a stream of concentration poem, he couldn't read because the words had started moving around on pages and his writing was all over the place. His movements were sluggish and he was constantly light-headed, a burning sensation behind his eyes as his brain begged him to sleep and his suit overpowered that function.
His eyes closed, reexamining the images from his meditations- yellow eyes, angry and with intent, but calculated and with a plan.
Sometimes that's all he saw- and it scared some unknown part of him when his vision would pull away to reveal the owner of the eyes, but it was always unclear and changing, sometimes the dead, sometimes himself, sometimes someone he loved. The faces and the roars melded, and sometimes he swore he saw Luke, angry and on a spree. That terrified him most- the image of his son with the same eyes of the emperor and if he had nightmares that's what would haunt him- and a purple flash of energy. He never understood the purple, but it put an end to things and he could thank it that much.
He understood the purple flash, now. He leaned against a tree as he stood, needing it to support his weight and reopening the pouch on his necklace. His vision was met with a purple glow erupting and lighting up his red face, then calming and revealing the small, purple kyber crystal inside. He closed it again, rolling his shoulders and looking ahead at the riverclan territory. They were on the border, and Anakin wasn't sure how much further he could go.
"Stop. Here." He said, a few feet inside the border and laying down, resting the chin of his oxygen mask on the dirt and readjusting the tubes that ran to his face, and gruffly ordering the cubs to get off.
They would be here soon, if he knew them well enough. Anakin just hoped his other cubs wouldn't have to see him like this, and he wouldn't have to explain what happened to him.
