The landscape stretched before him like a great composition, painted by an expert hand and mounted on the face of the earth. Deep pools of terra cotta took it in, glancing here and there, wishing to burn it into his skull. Sylux was a creature of knowledge, a child of the mind; his search was tireless, the need for exploration and information almost as primal as the urge to hunt and eat. His pack had been a great beacon of light within the forest, a group of mortals who dared question the immortality around them. They were a great network, an epicenter for all that was wonderful in the world, a gracious people who wanted nothing more than to share their gift.

The creamy male tore his gaze away, lowering it to the cliff’s edge beneath his paws, stare distant. His pack... The memory was still fresh, painful, a thorny cage that surrounded his heart and pierced him relentlessly. He wanted to remember – how could he so easily forget the greatest part of his soul? – but at the same time his rational mind knew it was no use. He could honor his fallen brothers and sisters with his memory... but that could never bring them back. Could never drive out the madness that consumed them. Could never command their lungs to fill, their hearts to pump, their eyes to blink once more. He clenched his own portals at the thoughts that were swirling about his cranium. He could feel them burning into his gray matter, scorching swathes of the wrinkled landscape, filling him with the same madness that consumed the others, and in that second his heart was filled with fear and his gut rolled with panic. Pupils dilated, nares flared, fur bristled. Sylux was lost in it, lost in the terror, and he ran.

The boy couldn’t justify his reason for fleeing, especially since the danger was within his own abdomen, but he did anyway, scrambling up the rocky mountain like one possessed. His nails dug deep into the hard ground, grating and splintering on the stone, pads beginning to bleed from the careless cuts that he accrued with every step. The majesty of the landscape had long disappeared from his mind, only to be replaced with darkness. He fled, higher and higher, gaining feet of elevation by the second. The air started to thin noticeably and the brute dragged in ragged breaths, his lungs and throat burning red and angry, his eyes stinging from the cold wind and the rising mist. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop his own legs from advancing, could only hold onto whatever shreds of sanity that remained.

It was only when the fog was thick upon his coat that the ivory and ashen knight began to calm, his gait slowing, his pupils returning to their normal pinpoints. Sylux stumbled, utterly exhausted, deprived of oxygen and unable to get more. He kept his footing by some small miracle but was on his rear the next second, his hinds nearly giving out. Minutes passed as he breathed in the cool, humid air, muscles recovering, mind returning to its normal speed. The lupine hung his head, trying to analyze what had just come over him. The panic, the anxiety... it had filled him to the brim and forced its way over the edge. And this was not the first offense. The attacks had been occurring steadily since he arrived at these lands, averaging once a week, although they were far too often for his comfort. It was all too real, and all too familiar. His pack... the ones that went first, those who succumbed to the madness before everyone else, they had endured the same symptoms that Sylux himself was now displaying. Could he be... No! The brute shook his head in protest, rising to his paws to pace around the cliff he found himself on. He needed this, needed the feeling of wind through his mottled fur, and although each step brought a fresh wave of pain from his bloodied paws he pushed forward anyway. He wouldn’t let himself think of these panic attacks as anything more than stress from his recent loss, couldn’t allow himself to give up hope that he was the only one to escape the disease of his homeland. He filled his head with stories, retold them to the mountain side and the mist, muttering some lines beneath his breath just to feel the roll of them on his tongue. He had to keep himself calm and sane. Calm and sane...

---

"We can but watch and wait for our doom."