He would have been utterly terrified if his exhaustion hadn't been so pure, so palpable, so... Circumferential. Swallowing him, eating him, spitting him out as a rotting carcass.

How long had he been wandering? Deviating? Rambling and roaming and hiding? He didn't know. Time no longer had meaning when one lived in a constant state of dread, panic, and anxiety. The brute's large, robust head was low between his forelegs, muzzle nearly scraping the dry earth that he passed over in stumbling, unsteady, blubbering steps. Large hooves, too large, overgrowing and chipped, sought purchase on stable ground through unsteady legs, muscles feeling like coils that had been pulled taut, too tight, irreplaceable and damaged for good.

Dust coated the coward's black hide, staining him, marring him, ruining him, summer burrs clinging to the behemoth's long, untamed tresses, and upon the thick matted hairs upon his hooves. Dull golden eyes stared forward without seeing, vacant, soulless molten orbs prying through the darkness that did little to cloak him.

Where was he? When was he?

Vincent did not know.

All he knew was that he was lost, irreversibly lost, mentally, physically, soulfully lost, and he lacked the guidance that he so desperately needed, so desperately craved.

Archibald...? "A-A..." Fruitless. Foolish. He was not there to save him. Not now.

He would have gone to the Hidden Falls, but he didn't remember the way. He would have stopped to snack on dry, brittle grasses, to fill his sunken flanks, but he couldn't find any food. He would have done a lot of things, but...

He didn't. Couldn't.

That damnable, condemning, suffocating terror hadn't let him free from its grasp in so many suns, so many moons, and Vincent no longer knew where he was. How long had he been in hiding? How long? The fear no longer held him under its powerful sway, replaced instead by an all consuming exhaustion that made him feel as though someone had cut him open, filled him with rocks, and sutured him shut. All he could deduce was that it was summer, and that he was lost.

The trees passed in a blur, the distant sounds of a hot summer's night passing unheard within his ears. Nothing registered within his muddled brain, rattling about in his too-large head, nothing, except... Except -

Fire.

It was sudden, to his left, sudden and flaring and bright and terrible, and the black behemoth released a pitiable moan from cracked lips, golden eyes going from vacant to a bright, vibrant, glowing molten color. Fear snagged his heart, tugging, pulling, but exhausting held him rooted to the spot.

The glowing remained, shining, pointing him out like a black smear upon a flawless canvas, head tilted towards the flames before they dwindled and disappeared entirely, leaving behind a spotted specter among the summer darkness. Vincent eyed the stranger warily, nostrils flaring in large, sharp inhales of panicked breaths, and the terror had him by the throat, stealing his voice, his words, cracked lips opening and croaking out a sound.

"S-s-sorry." For showing up, for arriving, stuttering and scared and so damn tired.