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.

Despite his greater size, Vincent was the smallest thing in their unplanned gathering, the most minuscule of creatures as he shook and trembled, cracked lips opening and closing as though babbling a litany only he could hear. He was spotted, but glowing-golden eyes could not look away, locked and staring upon the forms he had so ignorantly traipsed upon.

For a moment he stood still, aside from his obviously quaking massive frame, looking around, giant head twisting from left to right as though searching for someone to save him from this situation that he had found himself in. No one would come, however, no matter how long he waited or prayed. He was beyond salvation, beyond redemption, and the thought rattled around inside of the cavernous echoes of his skull, momentarily drowning out everything else. How should he react? What should he do? Run? Hide? Yes, yes, yesyesyes. If the consuming exhaustion had not held him so firmly, keeping the behemoth's thick legs rooted to the earth, he probably would have done so... But alas, he was stranded, forsaken by his own ailments.

The stranger spoke, and through the darkness, Vincent could barely see the smile that crossed the spotted specter's lips. A smile? Why? Why? 'Don't be,' he said, as though brushing aside his pathetic apology, this creature with a voice that was far too soothing for one such as Vincent, 'I'm Ashamin.' The dark monster remained still, lips twitching, glowing golden eyes remaining rooted to the specter, this Ashamin, fear clutching his breast and stealing his words, closing his throat and choking, choking, choking...

At his side, Claribel released a pitiful whine, sitting upon her haunches and pawing at Vincent's robust left foreleg. She whined, wire-grey fur pulled back and pinched along with her expression, and deftly she nuzzled her nose against her bond-mate's leg, trying to pull him from his panicked state of anxiety.

Suddenly, air breathed life into his lungs, into his limbs at Claribel's motions, sanity giving way beneath reality, and Vincent heaved in a mighty breath, stuttering, coughing, before managing a weak reply. "V-V-Vincent,""V-Vincent." His name, not as mighty as his twin's. Never as mighty, as daunting.

At Ashamin's following words, Vincent's bulging eyes turned towards the two deer-like companions, watching them carefully, noticing the panic of the little red and the subdued acceptance of the other. They were not attacking... And they wouldn't. Right?

Claribel whined once more, bringing Vincent back to the present, back to the real-world.

Dwarfed? By him? As meek and timid as he was, Vincent easily forgot that he was of massive, unnatural size. His movements were always slow, always clumsy, as though he was trapped inside of a body that was far too big. Even when he ran, he would trip, stumble, and crash into anything that so much as got in his way.

"S-sorry," he said again simply on principal, this time to the two Cerndyr, his breathing calming ever so slowly, golden orbs continuously glancing to Claribel, the Wolfhound's grey-blue gaze warm, understanding, loving. Then, Ashamin's inquiry caught him by surprise, but not in the terrified, panic-driven kind.

Was he lost?

Yes. Yes, Vincent had been lost for a very long time.

"Y-yeah. Um, I... I am. L-lost, I m-mean." Stuttering, always stuttering around those who were new, strangers, terrifying and unknown, inarticulate and dumb. So dumb. Not perfect. Not worthy. A terrible, terrible son... "Do... Do you have sh-shelter? That, th-that I would f-fit in?" There seemed to be so little shelter around them, save the trees, but Ashamin seemed patient, and kind, and welcoming.

He did not snap at Vincent for intruding, for interrupting his peace. He did not cajole, heckle, or antagonize the black beast for his stuttering words and glowing parts, did not poke, prod, or make fun of... Ashamin did not attack, was not hostile, instead patient, paternal, and kind... While not convinced that he was safe, never safe, Vincent felt his hairs lowering, his pounding heart slowing, his breaths coming easier as his throat loosened...

"A-Ashamin." A whispered statement, simply to himself, said out loud to remember Ashamin's name and taste the way it formed along his tongue. Vincent had forgotten a lot of things in his solitary self-exile, but he promised himself he would try not to forget Ashamin's name. It was a promise he would probably break, but it was good to have goals.