Being short was mildly problematic when travelling long distances, but Tyrion made due in order to survive. He was no great warrior. The runtiest of runs who only survived because his family was important. Of course, that was irrelevant now as he staggered along, nearly tripping over his own paws as he did. The golden blond male shook his head as though to clear his thoughts, or vision, even he didn't know why he did it. The fall breeze seemed to coax him along in his currently unhindered travels. Tyrion didn't even know where he was headed, only that he had to leave. The gods, old and new, seemed to delight in his present discomfort as walked through open fields and found what seemed to be the sharpest rock in the land.

"Ouch," he yelped, finally broken from his daze. His mismatched eyes cast down to his paw. "Well that's unfortunate," the impish wolf mused as blood oozed from the small cut. Tyrion shrugged, "Nothing for it now." He sighed and kept on. He would need to find something to ease both his physical discomfort, though mostly his own mental anguish, both imposed by others and himself.

The water would do for one of his ails, he noted, stumbling along before plopping down at the edge of the water and stuck his bleeding paw into it to clean the dirt from it. "Wine would better," Tyrion lamented to no one or nothing in particular as he turned to lay on his side, paw still dangling in the water. At least the weather was being kind to him.