Smoke had filled his lungs; made the horns of war sound distant, muffled. It had shifted through the tall firs and blacked out the sun. Vehemens was running through it, on the frontlines towards what was meant to be the final battle for his rebellion. The beat of his steps, the labor of his breathing, the crackling of fire and distant shouts being the sounds that surrounded him.

Until, they faded.

He wasn't sure how. It had felt both abrupt and gradual, the way his heavy breaths brought fresh air to his lungs, the way the forest brightened. At first, the rebellion king had thought he only made it to the other side of the Empire's defenses, and so he charged forth still, unyielding. Then, eventually, he realized that he could no longer hear the bugles, the voices. The very presence of his comrades felt absent in a way he was not familiar with. Vehemens believed that he must have gotten turned around in the thick cover of smoke, and so he had raced back the way he came through tall stands of pines, growing desperate to follow his trail back to his team, until it, too, faded.

He couldn't make sense of it. The rebellion leader's mind reeled with possibilities, his limbs feeling numb while his blood felt alight with adrenaline. Or was that panic? He couldn't be sure.

Neither could Vehemens be sure how long he must've spent trying and failing to find his way. The air was cool, pure. The sun was aloft in the sky, bright and clear, and the forests sounded unburdened. He could not share the sentiment. The fear gripping his heart relented as he walked aimlessly, leaving behind a cavity of dull uncertainty instead. After some time, he found himself along the banks of a river. Not one he was familiar with - something he noticed was beginning to be a theme. The man's legs shook beneath him, from exhaustion, adrenaline, nerves. With dwindling hope, he let his strength give way, laying with his front paws just dipping into the waters, and bending to drink. It tasted like perfection, as fresh as a mountainous river should. And yet, the relief on his tongue and throat felt like a distant sensation.

The young king stared at the surface as it slowly stilled, bringing his reflection to the forefront of his attention. With ears held backwards, a tense and pensive face stared back at him. His feathers still remained, tucked into the fur of his scruff. He could see the familiar red fabric of his cape tied around his shoulders: the last physical semblance of his role, a small comfort. Vehemens seized the moment to rest, and to gather his thoughts. He wondered, did his trail simply disappear for his friends as well? Or would they think he had fled, and abandoned them in battle? The thought urged a small, distressed whine from the man as he stared down into the river, unbecoming as it was.