IT'S BEEN THAT DAY FOR ME ☆ O, SNOW STORM EVENT

[METEOR]

Quasar squinted. He fought against the strong wind and snow to see, and every glimpse ahead was a battle. But he thought he saw a refuge in the distance. He’d only been to the abandoned house once or twice, and the white blanket enveloping everything obscured most landmarks. He hated following an uncertain guess, but he couldn’t be choosy about shelter. Not when each step numbed his paws.

He breathed the cold in, and every inhale burned his lungs. The cold stung his gums, drying his mouth, and itched his throat all the way down to his chest. His raw throat burned, but he couldn’t scratch hard enough to ease it. Nose numb to the cold, he couldn’t tell if his nose closed from snot or swelling—he’d thwacked his head on branches and plants enough in the blinding blizzard—and he smelled nothing.

The sparkledoggo’s winter coat had yet to grow in. Each gust chilled to his bones, but he dragged himself through the growing snow piles anyway. If he couldn’t make it to the shelter, then he was dead. He knew he’d be dead. When he thought about the real possibility of dying out here, sparks crackled in his chest—exactly like when Stryker fucked with him—renewing his determination. Determined to live, he walked on.

Shivers tormented him. It was hard enough to walk without his legs quivering. But he put one paw in front of the other. He breathed deep inhales, despite the pain, fueling his body.

CRACK! A tree branch fell right in front of him, scraping his nose, but Quasar didn’t feel a thing. The blood seeped out and froze against his purple fur. He had no idea. He only mumbled to himself as he hauled his body over the mess of snow and tree.

Against all odds, he made it. Quasar tumbled through the abandoned house’s doorway, teeth chattering louder than his distressed heartbeat. But the crackling in his chest—in his ears?—in his bones?—screamed louder. He blinked, looked around, and almost shrieked in frustration. The abandoned house had enough cracks in it for snow to infiltrate in, and the shelter was hardly worthy of the appellation.

Luckily, he tumbled into the basement. And, even luckier, he caught his balance right before he started rolling down the stairs. Slowly, he stepped down the stairs, and blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

“Medusa…?” he said. His teeth chattered. He almost couldn’t make her name out. “I’m… so… cold. Need… a fire.”

His eyes weeped, and he blinked the liquid away. He hobbled to a pile of wood, old, but dry enough and okay. He placed one paw on the pile, and his blue eyes gleamed. The cracking in his chest became a roar, an unintelligible, demanding roar he couldn’t understand. He tilted his head, breathing heavily, as he tried to understand.

The roar enveloped him. It engulfed him like the snow would’ve engulfed his corpse, and he threw his head back and screamed. Lighting zipped over his skin and pulsed through his body in one booming crack.

He fell to the floor. The lightning exploded a third of the firewood on impact, reducing them to almost unusable scrap. But a small portion caught aflame, burning bright and steadily, though the hungry fire would eat up all the fuel if it wasn’t managed. Unfortunately for Quasar, he couldn’t move, and his blue eyes couldn’t… keep… blinking… open.

[member=16168]Medusa[/member]

[sub][W]isker[/sub]