Rhythm. Paws hitting earth, laboured breathing. Thump, thump, thump; wheeze. Ceberus' unsteady gait carried to his ears. His desperate eyes scanned the remote landscape once again, searching for some kind of shelter; instinct and common sense screamed the fact that finding a place to take cover was primary, but his mind also throbbed with hunger. The latter made him feel on the edge of more animalistic than civilized – but it wasn't something he was capable of ignoring. It filled every cranny of his mind, and occupied every sense. Stopping his burnt feet was not a choice, but something that came from the very back of his tortured mind: taking all control and instantly searching for some source of nutrition.
Ceberus knew very well that he did not have the minimal chance of hunting on his own – scavenging was what he was used to and what he was thus coherent of in his moment of plight. After a few failed attempts at instructing his body to stride forward, he finally managed to drag his leg forward in the first choppy step of what would again turn into a wobbly trot. Hopefully. It was very well known that he was likely not going to be able to make it across the expanse of land and to the decomposing flesh he was reduced to in the time that was suitable, but only after many rests. Every inch forward felt like a mortal struggle toward every small victory, but he always did make it through with the right kind of determination.
His breath kept catching in his scorched throat as he moved forward, and random and half-finished words flashed into his exhausted mind. None of the were anything that he would bother to comprehend; it was obviously just his over-exerted mind attempting thought. Thought through the static of his dreary situation itself was exhausting... not to mention the fact he was alone in this place, with a failing nervous system, trying to feed himself. Ceberus knew that at this rate chances of surviving were slim to none, but he was determined to remain chipper in the eye of dread.
Optimism had kept him in form before, no matter how many packs he had ventured away from in the hope of a new life. Some things just didn't suit him; nasty wolves, packs that were secretive or kept to themselves in some way, et cetera. Friendly surroundings had always been of importance to the brute; and his physical handicap did not stand in the way of him looking for better. Or of what he considered better; he was perfectly informed that different wolves had different opinions. That was just common sense. If it hadn't been, his private eye on the social behavior of wolves would have answered that thought either way.
Thorny travels had been laid and stacked behind him carefully; holding onto the memories dearly yet making sure he was detached enough to not let them shape him in any way but experience. A wolf was a wolf, and their personality should not change due to anything tragic – Ceberus believed that each wold was beautiful in his or her own way. As unique as every star in the sky. This was of course just the opinion dedicated to himself, but he believed in it strongly; and this was the cause of him despising war.
Though Ceberus had distracted himself with these thoughts to become more enthusiastic, they drug him down a little bit. They made him think about what other wolves were currently occupying their selves with; like... eating. His words of choice word have been interacting, socializing, or any other such word; but the only thing that could reach the thinking part of his mind was how hungry he was. Thinking about how long he had been traveling was off the menu altogether; if it had been three moons or three days did not alter his feelings in the least – his needs were still not met.
A grouchy, pessimistic mood had just set in, and filled Ceberus with the sudden need to bite something. He was plenty aware that this emotion was absurd, his energy was needed to continue on foot in search of food.
Wait.
Ceberus' thoughts were very abruptly met with the interruption from his nose. A faint trace of territory marks was brought to his attention, and he quickly brought his nose to the ground. His “quest” for the “perfect pack” could carry on another day – this meant some kind of civilization. Which meant shelter. And food. And... Everything else he had been yearning for the duration of his trek.
A swift plan met his thoughts of luxury half-way... Perhaps if he sat on the edge and howled? It was a very, very dangerous plan; yet it was a higher chance of living than it would be if he continued on this journey he now realized was ridiculous. Scouts or fighters would probably come dashing to his location, ready to strike down whoever dared to cross the territory line. Ceberus' fur stood on end as chills ran down his spine at these thoughts; dangerous this was. What choice did he have, though? It was better than his former plan to magically meet up with wolves that were friendly, caring, and whatever other absurd thing he desired to be intertwined in the foundation of a pack.
Shuffled steps squeezed the last of his energy from the few reserves he had left, and he winced; his spine pinching as his knees buckled and he toppled to the sun-warmed grass. Ceberus' pink tongue rolled farther from his cotton-dry mouth, and with each choking pant he gulped oxygen to soothe his burning lungs. Each breath was no longer a struggle, but a gift. He let his eyes drift half-closed; also letting his over-worked muscles relax in the shade of a tree. If he had had a black coat, this would not have been possible in the blaring heat of the sun.
This was your own fault... He reminded himself, letting his sticky eyes open one at a time. He laid his his beneath one paw, trying to shoo the dozens of flies away from the soft, and sore, tissue around his blood-shot eyes. They buzzed around his paws as well, and also the sores they had managed to open in his skin. He tried not to think about the small parasites that had made home in his folds of beige fur.
Upon an intake of air to start an energy-sucking howl, he heard a soft, feminine voice from not many feet away. He whipped his head around with a start and looked at her. He studied her precariously; seemingly memorizing the contours of her face before replying cautiously – which even itself was nothing more than a careful greeting.
"I'm Ray of Sun. Do you mind giving yours?" He heard her promptly-stated inquiry, and again was slightly startled, yet not unpleasantly.
“I am Ceberus,” he heard his own frog-like voice, and flinched slightly at it's own rusty sound.