08-30-2017, 12:27 PM
He's lost in his own thoughts, glancing over at the cave mouth and the damp feeling inside, trying to devise some method of escape, when the horse meat drops wetly in front of him and shocks him out of his head. The smell makes him gag, and he covers his mouth and closes his eyes. In the face of his assaulter, he still can't bring himself to even look at him, and keeps his head low and his legs pressed tight together, as if that will save him from being noticed. He doesn't eat the horse meat, not even when he can hear the slow, even breaths of the wolf before him, and tries to clear his thoughts.
He gets up slowly then, stance shaky and pained from the brutal treatment his body had been given, stepping as softly as possible to a small collection of rocks on the far side of the cave. It's not much, but it's something - he gathers them and wraps them in the tatters of his robes, a makeshift weapon to try and knock out the wolf if he comes after him and grab a branch, or something, anything to channel his magic through to escape the beast.
In order to make little noise, he steps as silently as possible out of the cave, cloth of the weapon he'd made firmly between his teeth, and hands along the wall for balance. His search for a branch begins then, though none of them are quite the quality of his old staff, and only produce a fizzle when he channels through them. He spends most of his time searching for any sort of branch, any suitable conduit for his magic, until the snarl of his assailant stops him cold, bundle of twigs in his arms instantly forgotten.
He's not far from the cave, and hasn't technically escaped, knowing that the wolf would easily track and most likely kill him if he ran, but he freezes in place anyway, unable to speak, blink, or even breathe as the memory of his assault wells his tears back up inside of him. His legs suddenly feel weak and he falls against the tree he'd been gathering under, barely even noticing the bark scraping roughly against his skin and opening a jagged, weeping wound. He remembers to breathe then, a little too much, and his pleas come out in his hyperventilation. "Please-- please let me go. I'm sorry. I didn't come here to hurt you. Please let me go, I'll never ever come here again. Please."
He gets up slowly then, stance shaky and pained from the brutal treatment his body had been given, stepping as softly as possible to a small collection of rocks on the far side of the cave. It's not much, but it's something - he gathers them and wraps them in the tatters of his robes, a makeshift weapon to try and knock out the wolf if he comes after him and grab a branch, or something, anything to channel his magic through to escape the beast.
In order to make little noise, he steps as silently as possible out of the cave, cloth of the weapon he'd made firmly between his teeth, and hands along the wall for balance. His search for a branch begins then, though none of them are quite the quality of his old staff, and only produce a fizzle when he channels through them. He spends most of his time searching for any sort of branch, any suitable conduit for his magic, until the snarl of his assailant stops him cold, bundle of twigs in his arms instantly forgotten.
He's not far from the cave, and hasn't technically escaped, knowing that the wolf would easily track and most likely kill him if he ran, but he freezes in place anyway, unable to speak, blink, or even breathe as the memory of his assault wells his tears back up inside of him. His legs suddenly feel weak and he falls against the tree he'd been gathering under, barely even noticing the bark scraping roughly against his skin and opening a jagged, weeping wound. He remembers to breathe then, a little too much, and his pleas come out in his hyperventilation. "Please-- please let me go. I'm sorry. I didn't come here to hurt you. Please let me go, I'll never ever come here again. Please."