Everything hurts, a lot. The old stallion grunts through clenched teeth, moving in an unnatural mix of hobbling in the front and shambling in the rear, trying to avoid placing too much weight on his left front leg while also trying to step as gingerly as possible with his hind end. He compromises with the two halves of his body by taking several shortened steps with his hind feet before hopping forward onto his right front, left forehoof touching the ground but non-weight bearing, creating an odd and obviously painful gait. He’s also forced to halt after every few minutes of movement to catch his breath in shallow gasps, the bruising across his left ribcage limiting his air intake with sudden jabs of pain any time he attempts to inhale fully.

Sweat glosses his dull coat like a lacquer, catching the evening light and emphasizing the already angular planes and points of his malnourished body. Glazed eyes stare down at the valley of the Basin, wheezing breaths invisible for once in the mild temperatures of birdsong. It’s getting late, and he’s only just reached the territory’s threshold, falsely guarded by the shadows of their decrepit sentinels. Head low, he calculates the remaining distance to the hot springs, to his personal cubby hole in the foot of the mountains, and knows that it’s too far. Just getting here was trial enough. His flanks quiver with exhaustion and a dangerous light headedness is beginning to dim his awareness of the world around him. Did the ground used to sway so much? He’s sure that he’s standing still, but the sensation of movement slips across his sides as if he were staggering… or maybe he is. He isn’t sure, but at least the entrance to the valley is downhill.

He stumbles a few hundred feet forward, then ducks to the west of the main path and into a copse of trees. The ground is soft and springy beneath his brittle hooves, something his aching joints would appreciate if it wasn’t amplifying his already comically diminished sense of balance and body control. He lists heavily to one side, eyes widening in panic as his body refuses to right itself, and crumples to the ground in a barely controlled fall. The layered litter of moss and pine needles softens his landing, so it’s with a relieved sigh and not the high pitched whimper that’s been trapped in his throat for the last several hours, that he comes to rest among the trees, broken, but blessedly whole.

Eyes closing, he makes an effort to slowly relax each painfully bunched muscle until he’s lying flat out on his right side, the flap of almost disconnected hide that should have hidden the battered, naked flesh of his left shoulder folded back against the base of his neck to leave the wound open and gaping wide to the canopy of branches above. He reaches down to smooth the flap back to its intended place, smearing a fresh band of red across his muzzle as he does, then rests his cheek against the solid comfort of the earth.

His thoughts quiet, overwhelmed by the urge to sleep and let all the unpleasant sensations of the day just slip away. The last semi-coherant thought to claw its way out of his mind before it shuts down is the need for a healer, but he’s only met one of them that he knows of - the salt water and seaweed mare, Tiamat - and he has no idea where she lives or any means of getting there, to even get out of this small depression in the ground between two trees. A low rumble of a nicker crosses his lips, slurred and wordless, barely audible. To who it’s addressed he doesn’t know, and doesn’t care anymore, as the darkness rises up and over his consciousness.


OOC // Just got his ass beat by Rikyn. Injuries: Severe muscle cramping in his hind end, an open wound to the point of his left shoulder with a hair-line fracture to the head of his left humerus bone, swelling and bruising across his left ribcage. @Johnny first please and then a healer would be niiiiiiice. <3