waiting on me to find myself ☆ introduction

[teef]

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LAEGLIN NIAZAI LINGRÉ

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[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"] Paws dragging through sand and snow, body heat melting shimmering snowflakes falling upon pelt. Gaze on the boardwalk far above, his legs leaving a broad trail behind himself. His contraption had been left behind on the boardwalk, his eyes barely open as he shuffled along. Scent giving him away with the obvious markings, he carried his meager mouthful of bitter greens alongside the pole., getting it down as h let his front legs stretch forward to lay upon the sheltered shore. Eyes sliding closed, he yawned as he settled under the fur stretched across his back. Slipping into the world between being awake and asleep, he found himself immersed in memories.

He remembered the looks and expressions worn, those who returned from the fight with the bandits and … those who didn’t. Taking a deep shaking breath, he pushed memories of the white lion from his mind, his friendly tone and gestures, carrying him when he needed the aid, even saving him from a pit of sand swallowing him up. Pressing his paws to his eyes, he grieved and cried in isolation, his heart aching with the memories of his loses. The sight of his sister’s soul so far ahead, disappearing as the rocks and dirt came crushing down on him. He had thought that would have been the end, where he would have been able to join them, join the family he had lost. How wrong he had been, his father having been the one to dig him out. The hours spent in his nest, unable to move … the hopeless frustration of s body that didn’t work the way it was supposed to, the embarrassment of his body betraying him, the shame of being looked after. How he wished that these memories would leave him alone, yet he knew that he needed to accept them, to stop letting them haunt him. Mindless of his surroundings, he drifted in the silent grief, knowing that eventually someone would come looking for him, or he would return before they searched for him.

After the battle, he had decided to stay in the Palm Glades, with the blessings of the group. He had nothing left to go home to, only a father growing more and more lost, a father who was sick and weak, a father who was as broken as he was. Perhaps he felt some shame – for running away like that, for staying here, reluctant to go home. He could have been a warrior … he could have helped his family drive the bandits out if that spying mission hadn’t gone wrong. Veris and Clover would still be alive if it had succeeded. He wouldn’t be here, wallowing in guilt and shame. Taking a shuddering breath, he looked at the herbs not too far from himself, bleary teal eyes watery with tears. He owed it to those who died, to survive, right? Surviving meant eating those horrible things.

tired brain but have a sad boy//
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[W]isker