1/4/2025, 5:24 AM
The ceaseless stretch of trees beyond his recognition is disorienting enough, but with thick cloud-cover shrouding the moonlight that might otherwise illuminate a path through the snow, Casavir finds himself even more lost than usual. He has passed by the same marks he’s placed upon a tree twice—now thrice—already. There are no stars in the sky to guide him, and the creeping dawn does little to quell the unease that sinks deep into his belly. He had hoped the storm would pass before the sun rose. But, as always, Casavir is one of the most unlucky of men.
So he sits, for a moment. Shoulder braced against a tree, bark digging between his fur in a way that is pleasant until it becomes too cold. He catches his breath, abates his frustration in favor of silence. Heat exudes from him in tired waves, melting the snow between his paws and numbing his certain-to-be-frostbitten toes. His nose, dry and cracked, can no longer catch a scent on the wind over the coppery tinge of his own blood.
For now, he must forgo the temptation to continue, to try and find his way from this forest that has seemingly swallowed him whole. Instead, he relents to his creeping tiredness, parting his jaws in a voluminous yawn, before slipping down into the snow. If fate is merciful, the day will bring with it warmth and light; but long before the sun has risen, shrouded in snow-heavy clouds, he suffers through the cold alone.
Just as he always has. Just as he always would.
And he would be damned if he let it kill him yet.
So he sits, for a moment. Shoulder braced against a tree, bark digging between his fur in a way that is pleasant until it becomes too cold. He catches his breath, abates his frustration in favor of silence. Heat exudes from him in tired waves, melting the snow between his paws and numbing his certain-to-be-frostbitten toes. His nose, dry and cracked, can no longer catch a scent on the wind over the coppery tinge of his own blood.
For now, he must forgo the temptation to continue, to try and find his way from this forest that has seemingly swallowed him whole. Instead, he relents to his creeping tiredness, parting his jaws in a voluminous yawn, before slipping down into the snow. If fate is merciful, the day will bring with it warmth and light; but long before the sun has risen, shrouded in snow-heavy clouds, he suffers through the cold alone.
Just as he always has. Just as he always would.
And he would be damned if he let it kill him yet.