THE CRASHING TIDE- duststorm

[DIRT]

cw: parasites & gore

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As the dust storm creeped closer, as another cried out to seek shelter, Dirt had followed suit, silent as a lamb. The dust had begun to pick up, making it hard to see without getting the grit in his eyes, let alone speak, without feeling it between his yellowed teeth. He simply followed the crowd, feeling the sand seep into the welts and wounds that the parasites in his skin left on him, feeling the sand rub and scrape against very alive little monsters and seemed fit to burrow deeper into his frame. He snarled, low in his throat, feeling a thousand tiny teeth setting into his sore flesh, pushing himself ever harder and further to find shelter.

The caves were soon in sight, and the great beast was nearly out of breath, the sand having dried out his tongue and throat as he'd tried to pant. He had lost some fur on his back and legs from the coarse winds, and the tips of his ears and nose had been rubbed raw. His body ached all over, from the onslaught of harsh sand and the parasites that called it home collectively seeking shelter.

Dirt had shuffled quickly into the nearest cave, heading as deep within its safety as he could, wheezing and coughing up great globs of grit and sand that had stuck to his throat. He laid down, growling softly, curling up alone. Bright orange eyes watching, waiting for the storm to pass.