From the burning sands of Pittian desert, to the wet muck of Tanglewoodian bog, Leroy's limbs had convoyed not only him, but a gravely wounded [member=4834]samantha[/member] and [member=67]beck.[/member] as well. The hound ran like a madman, as if he had hot coals in his hypothetical shoes. The deformed duo bobbed fiercely atop his spleen over the trek's duration, violently seesawing up and down whilst potent leaps from below carried them closer and closer to their home. An ill extent of pressure was forced upon the cur's bones, compelling him to whimper and whine; though the pain he currently experienced couldn’t even come close to holding a candle to the shit the two captured Tanglers had endured. Soon, they'd all be well inside the borders. Soon, they'd be safe.

The town's outline was a welcoming sight, albeit not for long. A vignette loomed around the outskirts of his eyesight, slowly but surely growing as time went on. Only a handful of paces outside of the hamlet’s reach did he collapse, sending his two companions toppling over whilst he himself fell to the cool ground. There was no fight; fatigue has enveloped him.

Hopefully, something could be done about Beck's missing paws. Hopefully, something could be done about the missing eyes.

//out

    In his experience, blood loss was one hell of a sedative. He remembered the cold tendrils of death snaking their ways through his suspended body; he remembered the fuzzy numbness claiming his mind all too well. Yet this time, no matter how much blood was drained, the viscous fluid seeping from lifeless arteries without a pulse to usher the flow along, Beck could not succumb to the still nothingness that enveloped him before. Thus, he remained trapped in a strenuous cycle. His faux blood would spill from the inflamed wounds bloodying his form until his veins ran dry, his remaining vision would fade as his apparition struggled to remain intact as more blood refilled his overworked system, only for the product of his exerted energy to surge forth and spill from the gashes along his flank and the mangled remnants of an underbelly. Unlike Sam, his right socket lacked its eye entirely, leaving half of his lifeless stare hollowed and clotted with globs of his foul blood. A ring of puncture wounds from Jervis' yellowed teeth marred his throat, severing his voice and crushing his airway in the ardent's vicious fury. To top off his direful condition, his front paws missed the memo to follow the wolfhound convey back to Tangle -- Beck had tried his best to grit his teeth on his tongue to keep from screaming out in pain as Leroy's trusty blade sawed through tendon and bone. He could never blame Leroy for the agony. The dual amputation had been the last resort in order to free him from the hell-forged shackles condemning him to an afterlife of eternal wandering. But soon after, the boy collapsed into shock, blissfully unconscious as the newly-appointed proxy sped across the uneven terrain as though the devil herself was nipping at his heels. If it weren't for Sam, the poltergeist likely would have slipped off the hound's haunches, delaying their escape even further.

    The impact jolted his broken form as he tumbled from Leroy's back, landing sprawled belly-up for the world to witness the aftermath of the ardent's crude vivisection. Beck failed to stir, his muscles slack and his tongue hanging past scarred lips. Wormwood desperately bellowing for the medics and even Sam pressing up against his blood-crusted ribs could garner no response. As if all the fight had been drained from him, he allowed himself to be limply draped across yet another back, darkened water leaking from where it remained sealed in irritated lungs and trickling from his mouth at the shift in position.

    'Do you know where Beck lives?'

    A single eye peeked open just a slit, gazing at nothing as his ears angled themselves towards his friend. Selby. Selby was here? Where? The mangled boy weakly reared his head, a scratchy gurgle attempting to make itself heard to no avail. Yet the world began to move once more, dizzyingly so. Beck slumped and closed his eyes, too exhausted to wince or whine at the accompanying pain. Before the lulling stride of Wormwood could return him to the unresponsive haze he had been found in, he was taken by the scruff. Learned instinct jarred him awake, panic fluttering in his broken ribcage like a caged bird -- yet instead of being tossed aside as expected, he was gingerly set down in the tattered blankets he called a bed. Beck could only grimace as the lion's nose prodded his side, trembling from the pain long after heavy footfalls plodded outside and his porch creaked with added weight. With a final quiver, the poltergeist fell as limp as a ragdoll, limbs at awkward angles and fresh blood soaking into the sheets.