Irritation pulsed thick and red around Tychon’s exposed gums. Where the right side of his lips had been ripped off, the skin was tight with dryness. The scarring that formed at the edge of the wound was shriveled like an avocado and cracked with fresh dots of blood. A soft, whirring whine breathed out of his clenched teeth, though if it were from air escaping between the narrow spaces in his teeth or from a vocalization of his discomfort, he couldn’t tell. He just wanted to be away. Away from the mountain, away from the repulsed stares, away from the wolves he owed, away from everything. But he could never truly accomplish that without being dead. Tychon’s amber eyes grew wearier as he stepped further from the mountains, descending into the wooded foothills towards the Aplos riverbed.

Each step was dense as his large paws sunk into the short grasses. Already, fall surrounded him. It had been nearly half a year since his face had been ripped apart and he’d limped to Diveen for help. His right rear leg was healed; nearly, it looked normal if not for the brutish scars left over on his lower leg. Likely, he would be stuck with the exposed, dusty gray skin bulging out through uneven fur coverage. Hatred constricted his chest. His exterior was a vile creature, and he’d witnessed his insides slowly contort to match it. Vengeance seared it’s anthem into his heart while he grew ever more disgusted with weakness - mostly his own.

He failed to defend himself (against Valefor and Anima), was incompetent at healing himself, and meek enough to be driven by another. With others, he was constantly reminded of his pathetic position, and it drove him closer to the ground. His posture had shrunk, and he strode out as long as he could to disappear; but nothing helped. He was too large to go unnoticed and his paws to weighted to travel silently across the ground. Each step his took was marked with a pat between his paw and the dirt. They became more silent when the pressed into the cold mud of the Aplos River’s bank. Tychon sank his brown and cream form into the mud and plunged his face under the water.

He inhaled water, choked, and resurfaced gagging and coughing. Water ran out of his nose and the uncovered portion of his face. His blinks became more intentional while his eyes glazed over briefly. He plunged his head roughly under water again and shook it fiercely about. After his brief fit, he pressed his head into the shallow water. His nose twitched above the water and inhaled the scents of the riverside. The thick, autumn smells helped to sooth his injuries - both physical, and mental. The cold liquid streamed over his muzzle, soothing the puffy inflammation of his dry, exposed gums and carrying away the beads of blood of his shriveled skin. His eyelids drooped lower in the brief relief. For a moment, anyway, he could pretend he was the only wolf in the world.