It smelled so good right now, so damp and hot as the brute seemed to bake in the sun. He lay in a very shallow patch of water, his breathing heavy with each inhale and exhale. His eyes were halfway open, the world seemingly blurred. A voice rings in his head but the words are always unclear. He knows that he is hot and pained, that something else had taken control of his body. Perhaps he was cursed without Lillith, doomed from the moment of her very last breath. Perhaps he was taken into a world of delusions that allowed him to believe such a thing.

His tongue dangled into the water as his head lay haphazardly upon his paws. He is roused to drink, his head lifting only slightly as his eyes rolled into the back of his head momentarily, until the water rolls down his throat. He grumbles as his head wobbles back and forth slightly. There is a difficulty as he pushes himself from the earth, the wet liquid of bog running off his soaked black pelt.

He lips his chops as he sits upright, feeling the heat of day cling to him. He stared into the world ahead, blank in his expression, as he was taken into the own depths of his now warped mind. It seemed he was looking at nothing at all, that perhaps he wasn't even here anymore. He sat for many moments with the world coming in and out, blurring and sharpening periodically.

When he hears her calling, his blood tipped ears perk. He attempted to search for the call from every direction, but it seemed to come from all around. It comes from the black shadows of trees, from between the tall bog grass, and from gurgling water itself. It was a calling that was all his own- all within his very head, but it was very real to him.

The calling grew strong and he grew more agitated. His lips began to twitch as his eyes began to narrow. Lillith's voice was there, whispering and screaming all the same, but he could not find her. His head fell to look at his paws and the shallow water, seeing in the still reflection a wolf dark, fading in and out he swore were yellow eyes. But...it must be a ruse, a farce, and suddenly a growl with a frightening bravado ripped through his throat. With great force, he snapped down at the water, wishing to rip the fur and flesh off the wolf who stared back at him. It was cursed, magic as his mouth is filled with water and sand. He lifts his muzzle back up, tongue attempting to expel the sand from his mouth.

A growl like distant thunder would be his song, as he awaited for the impostor to come back to him again. A gentle sway would accompany his frame as he stared intently downward. Cursed without his Lillith- it was no life to live, and he refused to believe he was diseased.