[❥] the creatures bound to the dark
The bark of the tree scratches through the ruined fabric of his shirt, prickling into the skin of his back but it's nothing compared to the burning in his blood, wolfsbane coursing through his body. The bullet wound covers a small spot just long the side of his abdomen, veins coloring black and the air of the woods does nothing to soothe the fever over his skin. He's dying it's a thought that extrudes from his inner fears and bleeds from the wound itself, lupine eyes trying to find the bullet in the dark earth but his limbs can't move.
[It's like drowning, nostalgia of forgotten asthma attacks with lungs heaving for air and cold sweat dampening over his flesh. Breathe, he tells himself, breathe, breathebreathebreathe.]
A twig snaps somewhere in the dark gaps of the trees, a incense of another body but he keeps his voice lodge in his throat, harsh breathing hitching through his nose. Waiting, he feels pathetically small as his trembling limbs stay limp but the thought of moving only makes the wolfsbane burn hotter, lacing along veins that tread closer to the pounding organ in his chest.