refiningspacetime: (unhappy)
refiningspacetime ([personal profile] refiningspacetime) wrote in [community profile] fleetlogs 2014-12-19 05:01 pm (UTC)

Where is he?

Dying down here is starting to look like an actual possibility. Your snout won't stop drizzling blood, and walking is starting to get difficult: the fear of being lost here drove you to keep moving at first, but exhaustion is starting to set in past that.

You keep a tight grip on the rail. If you're going to collapse, it won't be in the river you're sure must be running far below. It's flat determination that carries you to the end of the walkway, and back to the safety of the concrete.

You're one foot off of the walkway when the room lurches as your walking struts decide to fold under you. You hit the concrete knees first, your palms only just managing to hit the ground before your face does. It takes all of your concentration to stay like that, face inches above the ground: it should be so easy to just push back up and keep walking, but you can't muster the energy.

From here, you can't see anything but the rough texture of the stone under your palm, and the steady drip of blood from your snout as each rosewood drop hits the ground and splatters.

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