Alkos lapped at a stream, his ears alert and pivoting constantly as he drank. His tail twitched nervously, and his drink seemed quick and rushed, as did his paw steps when he retreated to the plain of tall grasses close by as soon as his thirst had been quenched.
And why shouldn’t he seem that way? Large bodies of water often evoked such an emotion from him. It was easy to lose footing and fall if he accidentally stepped paw into the waters, waters that, while normally calm and even fun to play in for some, proved dangerous to him, who had lost the gift of the light, the ability to see.
He padded across the grass, his tread slow and uncertain and always cautious. With a whimper, he remembered the time when he could see the green of the grass and the blue of the sky, before he fell to disease and lost his eyes, before he had been shunned by family and pack-member alike, before he had lost all he had known, and had been left with the never-ending oblivion.
But self-pity wouldn’t help him now. Or so he tried to tell himself.
