10-22-2018, 08:33 PM
Pangea has left him ill.
For weeks he was too sick to even leave the cursed beach that had brought them to the land that he had helped rebirth; it took everything in him just to find sparse patches of grass and water that wasn’t contaminated with salt from the sea. Eventually he had found the strength to finally leave, though his progress was infinitesimally meager due to the ruin of his left foreleg.
The gravel had left his lower limb a disaster, and though it has slowly begun to heal he knows that there will be permanent damage to the appendage. If not for his immortality it likely would have killed him, as catastrophic as it was. He had lain on that beach for days, seeing his hoof holding on by what looked like tendrils to him, though that may have been the fever he had spiked making it seem worse than it truly was. Either way, it has begun to heal. He can bear weight on it now (as little as possible) and move about and not just lay here and waste away.
His steps are quiet and trailing, but nonetheless he covers the ground, leaving the blood-soaked beach behind him at least. The others are all gone, having vanished into thin air long before him, and he dearly hopes that he never has to see any of them again. He lost so much for Carnage’s sake and he never wants to dwell on that particular part of his past ever again. He will do very well to not remember it, thank you very much.
What he doesn’t notice is the grass dying beneath his hooves, as weak and totally unaware as he is. He had never thought that their quest would leave him with a new ability, a way to destroy. Once—mere months ago, even—he would have been eager to test his new limits, but today he is too exhausted to even know it is there, let alone control it. And so, the grass withers beneath his feet but he continues dragging them along, unwilling to let anything stop the gentle lull of his steps. He has to keep going.
For weeks he was too sick to even leave the cursed beach that had brought them to the land that he had helped rebirth; it took everything in him just to find sparse patches of grass and water that wasn’t contaminated with salt from the sea. Eventually he had found the strength to finally leave, though his progress was infinitesimally meager due to the ruin of his left foreleg.
The gravel had left his lower limb a disaster, and though it has slowly begun to heal he knows that there will be permanent damage to the appendage. If not for his immortality it likely would have killed him, as catastrophic as it was. He had lain on that beach for days, seeing his hoof holding on by what looked like tendrils to him, though that may have been the fever he had spiked making it seem worse than it truly was. Either way, it has begun to heal. He can bear weight on it now (as little as possible) and move about and not just lay here and waste away.
His steps are quiet and trailing, but nonetheless he covers the ground, leaving the blood-soaked beach behind him at least. The others are all gone, having vanished into thin air long before him, and he dearly hopes that he never has to see any of them again. He lost so much for Carnage’s sake and he never wants to dwell on that particular part of his past ever again. He will do very well to not remember it, thank you very much.
What he doesn’t notice is the grass dying beneath his hooves, as weak and totally unaware as he is. He had never thought that their quest would leave him with a new ability, a way to destroy. Once—mere months ago, even—he would have been eager to test his new limits, but today he is too exhausted to even know it is there, let alone control it. And so, the grass withers beneath his feet but he continues dragging them along, unwilling to let anything stop the gentle lull of his steps. He has to keep going.