Sickness tainted him as a carcass taints water, stealing his strength and numbing his mind. He could feel it ravaging him even as he lay there, the thick feeling in his chest threatening to choke him so that his form was often shaken by deep, hacking coughs that reverberated through the enclosed space and out into the snow-laden landscape beyond. He no longer had a fever, and the relief was great, but it was not as though he had been entirely freed from the shackles that bound him. Even in the depths of his despair, Ferox managed to silently chide his unknown saviour for their shoddy work. A healer of Diveen would have had him up and walking long ago. His sigh was one of frustration and annoyance, and he flicked his blood-tipped ears to and fro, the only movement he could make which did not cause him pain. Every now and again, he held his breath against the agony of motion and stretched his neck out to the puddle of meltwater cupped in the evergreen bowl of the oceanic leaf, having dripped from the bough of a spruce thanks to the heat his ragged chassi gave off. It had refilled on its own after his earlier refreshment, and he did think it was a rather clever idea, although he did not dwell on the thought for long.

It seemed to him that ages passed before the tell-tale crunch of snow sounded outside the den mouth, and he picked up his handsome head from his paws to regard the entrance with swirling, lilac eyes. A female, raven-black, ducked into the den and dropped a pheasant at her paws. He could hardly believe his luck! His nostrils flared as he took in the sweet scent, and he fell onto the creature immediately, indifferent to her proximity, consuming most of its breast and one wing before he pulled back, panting and coughing, feathers stuck to his fur. He felt rather ill, and tried his best not to vomit up the offering he had been given. Strange, his stomach appeared to have shrunk due to the amount of time he had neglected to fill it. Burping quietly, he turned his attention back to the stranger, food forgotten, already busily licking the blood from his lips with his tongue. Let no creature say that an Angel does not look after himself, even in times of dire need. The female watched him through cool, teal eyes before speaking. She was calm enough, although Ferox could not help but issue a snort of disbelief when she told him that she had dragged his sorry pelt all the way from the shore to her den. She did not look as if she had the muscle to execute such a deed. Still, he could come up with no other explanation for his being underground, and he refrained from arguing. Only at her next sentence did his eyes soften a little and did he deign to reply, his voice husky and unfamiliar, “I am Ferox, last born son of Heyel and Zeivah. I don't know how you managed to get me here but I do have to thank you, for the food and the herbs,” begrudging though his gratitude was, he could not let her deeds go unthanked, “I do not think I will be able to manage anymore for awhile, so you should probably finish the bird, Leviathan of Glorall.”

She ignored his sarcastic tone and continued, her tone clinical and to the point, something he did not mind much. AT the mention of his 'leavings', Ferox's face contorted in horror and disgust. That an Angel had to be cleaned up after was unthinkable, nevermind by the healer of another pack. If Heyel heard about it, he would never let Ferox forget. Ashamed and angry, he growled to himself and, using every ounce of strength he had, he heaved himself to his paws, swaying slightly as his vision swam from the fire in his side. He limped forwards, pushing past the black fatale into the icy halo of dusk, the crash and roar of the ocean loud in his ears. Wistfully he turned towards home, gazing in the direction he guessed would end in the cliffs of Diveen. He wondered if any had missed him, but guessed they would not for awhile. His father was busy with apprentices to train, and Isola with her pack. His brother, Azrael had Andromeda and no mate waited for him at his den. He was truly alone, with only this other female for company. His pelt stank of herbs and he considered rolling in the snow, but the thought of the pain that would awaken stopped him and he turned and dragged himself back to the warmth of the badger sett, noticing for the first time how small it really was. He would have to squeeze up tight with the girl. The thought warmed him and he grinned slightly, although it faded as he recalled a fuzzy dream that wasn't a dream at all, but a memory. Squinting into the darkness, he spoke, “Not many have spoken of Tesseract having a new mate. I heard you howling to him earlier, have you taken the place of his sister?”

His voice was full of contempt. Of course he did not know it for sure, but rumours travelled fast in Moladion, and the thought of such a union both troubled and revolted the Angel spawn.