You're busy dying if you're living in the past

In the days following the attack on Helovia and his fight with the monster in the Steppe, the hot springs of the Basin had been Crowley's best friend. Not only was he sore from the whole ordeal, but the afflictions left upon him and Talbot from the beast's blood continued to pain them, and only the heat of the spring had been enough to soothe their injuries. Talbot had rather enjoyed the few days of doing nothing but relaxing and appreciating the knowledge that they were safe, at least for now, but as always, the duo could never stay in one place for too long doing nothing.

Away from the Basin they had wandered, seeking warmer territories if there were any in this perpetual night. Together Weaver and hound went, their only companion one another and the faint whispers that trailed behind the brindle with every step he took. The moon and the stars had returned with the appearance of that monster, lighting their way and keeping a promise that Helovia might some day return to normalcy; but the midnight sun did little to bring life and warmth back into the lands it looked down upon.

Once they had exited the Steppe, the pair ventured east to where the mountains turned to rocky foothills and surprisingly, it was noticeably warmer. Underfoot, the snow had mostly melted away by now, but the grass beneath it was still struggling to survive with no sunlight to feed off of. Seeing the nearly non-existent grass reminded Crowley of the deep, primal hunger that had overcome him during battle, and the thought of it caused his ears to slick back in annoyance. It was embarrassing to think hunger and thirst had taken him in a time like that, but the memory of the violet Goddess' words rang clear in his mind. He was cursed, and he would never know when one would start or end, or exactly what would happen to him next. He could only hope that it was over soon and he could carry on with his life.

Crowley had begun to feel strange on the duration of travel, though he knew not what had brought it on. Was it simple annoyance that was being brought on by his curse? The tension that had littered the Basin? Or perhaps it was the change of the season? The Weaver couldn't place the strange feeling that had begun to consume him, and for now, he wouldn't worry about it.

'Hurry up,' came an eager voice in his mind, and lifting his gaze, Crowley found himself looking at Talbot who stood at the peak of the fields, tail wagging enthusiastically behind him. Shortly after the fight in the Steppe, the pup had gained the strange ability to speak with his master, though it wasn't audible for any other to hear. It was still strange to think he was able to telepathically communicate with the hound, but honestly, it opened up a whole new world of possibilities in Crowley's mind.

Rolling his eyes, Crowley propelled himself up the hill to join the waggling hellhound. "My bones are not as young as yours," he spoke aloud to Talbot, but the pup didn't seem to care as he continued to wag his tail and jump all about. With a sigh, Crowley shook his head as he rounded the zenith of the hill; what he wouldn't give to be young again.

[For Irrydae; curse #5.]