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The fiasco so very many months ago had forced Bitter Heartbeat into avoiding all -- kin and pet and cave -- even as his frame became gaunt from lack of nutrients. In settling himself as far from the populated areas as he could, he had found that less populated often meant less food supply. And while that had all been manageable for a small turtle, a larger kimeti suffered for it. Eventually he had been forced to realize that nervousness could not sustain him.

It had only been a few months since he had slowly and carefully made his way back into the heart of the swamp. The trek, though hardly anything to a healthy kin, had been more arduous for the nervous buck. Eventually he had refound his strength and his body had begun to fill out. There was still a drawn look to his face, that would likely fade over time, and his ribs were more pronounced than on a kimeti with a full stomach. Still he had taken a step in the right direction.

He had seen very few kin in his slow and short journey; the ones he had seen had more or less ignored him. He was glad of that. He didn't know how much his nerves could take. And he hoped today he would not have to find out, he was in such dire shape. He ambled along slowly, his might-as-well-be-blind turtle leading the way into tree and shrub, never realizing that as he headed into more populated territory it was only a matter of time before he met someone.

The buck's yellow eyes went wide as the area was suddenly alive with a loud echoing shout. For one dreadful moment his heart seemed to stop altogether -- so this is how my end is met he thought -- only to burst into a harsh stampede within his chest. Every nerve seemed to alight with panic and fear.

Within his head, instinct demanded he flee and yet he was quite paralyzed. A low echo of the shout faded into silence and he had not one clue which way would be away from the voice and what path would lead him to it. He fretted; oh if not moving would make him disappear.

Before him, the dark blue of his tortoise caught his sight. Even as he opened his mouth to call out that it would stop, whether so that it would cease making noise or not be lost he wasn't quite sure. But as it continued, he surged forward. And promptly found his back hoof collide with a hidden log.

The red buck found himself sprawled out on the ground, vision blurred as his head rattled from the sudden fall. He sighed. That was his luck. And yet a slight smile curved his mouth as his turtle turned, ambled back, and bumped into him. "Do stay there, please," he asked more than told.

Unkind, rung through his head as the laughter assaulted his ears. With a deep set humiliation resembling melancholy, he pressed his ears flat against his head and angled his head down. The red tuft upon his head swayed down to shield his eyes and he stared into the dark colored blue shell of his turtle. He, the turtle, seemed entirely unbothered by the turn of events mouth reaching out and tugging on the errant green of some plant.

There was a reluctance to listen to what he presumed to be a buck, even as he determined the words were not cruel or mocking. He burned at the embarrassment even as expected it so. With a gentle flicker, his ears twitched to catch the kin's voice. As much as the idea of being almost alone while the heat drove the living to relieve parched throats, a tremble shot through his spine at the idea of hunting.

"I would rather not...," he murmured. He pressed his face forward and rested his chin on the shell of his very small and very blind companion. For the moment, he was quite fine here.

He heard, or perhaps felt, the slow thud of movement. Soft and dwindling. The backing up was a nice improvement. It took time and trust until his space could be invaded; anxious as he was he often found himself panicked in close company. He'd almost prefer a tight dark space like a cave -- except that reminded him of autumn and the bugs and...

He lifted his head, ever so slightly and slow, as his ears tuned to the buck's voice. With a physical effort that seemed easy (although the mental effort was quite a lot more difficult), he turned to take in the buck. The orange-yellow eyes watched, he looked like he might be a nice kimeti but then looks were deceiving. A slow blink -- what was he looking at and why was he hissing?

The fur along his spine shot up as the crunch of paw against leaf surrounded his senses. For a moment his eyes bore into the other buck, a pointed question of what exactly he'd done even while it remained resigned as though poor Bitter Heartbeat should have expected nothing less. But then he was up like a shot, his movement so sudden that his legs almost threatened to give out.

He sprinted, fast and loose, away and circled behind a tree. His heart hammered wildly in his chest, more from the chase than the glimpse of the eaglehound. And then he thought of his turtle. The past had proven that disaster and his turtle could make him act the most foolish -- the most courageous -- as it didn't allow for his nerves to rule him.

Without preamble, he bounded out from behind his refuge. His head lowered on instinct and he hoped very hard that his show of bull rushing wouldn't end badly.