GRAYSON WOKE STARTLED, his body ached. His complexion is ashen, the natural golden skin he had sunken in tone to something so lifeless.
The sunlight above seemed too blinding for hime to keep his eyes open, so he chose to keep them closed, staying firm in his place, unable to move. Choosing to take in the coolness of the air and its loamy fragrance, and its lumpy ground beneath him as if he laid on a wet bed of earth and rocks which in fact he did.
The clothes that once covered his body from the world outside, were no longer there to protect him from prying eyes, left behind in the pieces that they were.
Moving seemed too much for him to handle, so he just laid there, face closed in a grimace with skin pale and clammy. Every few minutes he would groan in pain whenever they became unbearable to swallow. what were he to do now, he couldn't move, couldn't think straight.
There was nothing but silence in these arcane woodlands. He couldn't see where the path of bones and dead leaves led.
His breathing felt tight, the tightness in his throat he seemed to struggle getting a word out properly. His lungs felt as elastic as old underpants, just sagging instead of contracting for the next breath, a feeling he always felt lately, it defiantly wasn't something new.
This always happened after every shift, it had been months since he shifted and his capabilities in controlling his wolf were lacking... 'What else is new?' It took a lot of his strength, strength he seemed not have lately, but his need to control the beast inside was strong, stronger than ever.
The uncertainty of not knowing killed him every time, What if he did something bad? Something he couldn't forgive himself, it's not like he hasn't done it before, lose complete control and it took so much of his strength to gain control back. But the only way to control the beast inside is to repress it, repress it from ever resurfacing, from ever hurting anyone, he couldn't do that anymore, the blood lust was to hard to control at times but it's even harder to control it whenever he lost control. it would cause so much havoc. These days the harder he pushed it down the more the beast seemed to fight to push past the little barriers he had left, the urge for vengeance was too high and the need to be in control was far too prominent to ignore.
"I hate you." Grayson let out through staggered breathes, there wasn't anyone around but him, alone. Naked. In the middle of nowhere. Somethings never seemed to change.
Grayson didn't understand the obsessive need for power the beast seemed to constantly obtain,' why? What was the need?' Maybe It was afraid of Marcel? 'I am not afraid of that blood sucker!' Each word came out as poison, It couldn't even think or comprehend whether or not it was afraid of Marcel. Fear was for the weak. If fear was seen as weak then he was weak, he was afraid. Afraid whether or not he would be free, free to roam the earthly grounds without having eyes on the back of your head.
Although, Grayson could feel the slight fright the beast felt, even if It didn't like to admit it, that fear lurked inside the both of them, it churned within but then again Grayson wouldn't blame him with everything that Marcel had done over the years, it left a mark.
That same need for vengeance churned within him too, maybe that's why he didn't try so hard for control when Marcel was involved, the need to evaporate him was strong. A strong hatred flickered heavy within the both of them and it was something he couldn't control no matter how hard he tried. The pain that keeps on lingering is too hard to ignore, it practically lived there, it's the only company he had other over the years other than the beast that never seemed to leave him alone, not matter how hard her tried, they were stuck. bonded for eternity.
It seemed that everything just faded into twilight as he tried to get up and continue forward, a glint of light catching his attention and what followed was sickly caw. A bird with grievous eyes and ink stained wings, seemed to float over to him with the swift movement off a wing. It landed on the branch in front of him cawed once again. He walked forward past the crow trying to ignore its existence completely, feeling it boring eyes into his back as if it knew he wouldn't leave this dark place, he felted mocked.
The birds flew through that ever developing canvas of blue, as if their wings were fine quills, drawing such buoyant hues. Those wings in that sky became the colours of his dreams and whenever he needed a memory to lift him off the ground, they were there even if there weren't many.
He walked the path in front of him, but unusually slow, almost robotically, as if his brain was struggling to tell each foot to take the next step. It was as if he were in a stupor; like someone under hypnosis in one of those Scooby-doo cartoons.
He felt too focused on his moving feet, telling his brain to move the other, left leg, right leg... he payed no attention to his surrounds, everything felt quiet.
The pathway in this arcane woodlands was too quiet, his feet bare and bleeding due to lack of shoes, the soles of his feet left behind the blood that ran through his veins, leaving a trace of his existence behind. If someone were to track him, they would have no problem finding him but him simply didn't care. He didn't care at all in this moment, but he did care however about the skin that was once so tender has more resistance to the roughness of the path.
The walking gets a little bit easier with each rising and setting of the sun. Without the soreness of his soles there is time to appreciate the fragrance of the air, the sweet summer perfume he missed in the cold months. He never would have chosen to discard his shoes, but now it was different he had no chose in the matter. But then again he didn't mind, if it came to surviving he would do anything.
Where he was going he didn't quite know, right now he had nothing on him: no clothes, no shoes, phone and not even a source of transportation. 'What am I going to do?' He didn't quite know what he was about to do, it was better than staying in one place. At least he was moving forward, but towards what?
He had been in this situation before many times before but the difference was last time he had help, people to find him and bring him clothing but now he had only himself, only himself he could rely on. No one could be trusted.
He knew the most important thing in this very moment is to keep on the move, he wasn't about to be caged again like some animal. As much as he wanted answers, he valued his freedom before anything else. He couldn't find any answer if was dead.
In the heart of the forest, an idle river carried all the debris that fell in from above slowly downstream. Large boughs sprouted from the trees and reached into the murky water as if trying to scoop up the swarming fish.
Although the warm water was an olive colour from the swirling mud and algae, you could see the underwater wildlife flourish in the shallow part. swamp-like vegetation and old, rotting trees crept into the river's edge and created slimy pools of debris from withered leaves, twigs. Above the mass of water, high branches wove tunnel of green leaves like archways in a church to protest from strong sunlight.
His Long walk had led him to a river stream, although he didn't know where he was, he was glad to find some water he could replenish his drying throat that felt like sand paper every time he swallowed.
Grayson listened intently for anything that would be around. The approaching footsteps have the wet sound of someone on grass; someone who has not learnt to walk quietly and instead relies on the verges to muffle their steps. Each footfall is chaotically spaced from the last, no rhythm at all. Whoever it is lacks confidence, is likely scared. They are neither a threat or of interest. He didn't want anyone else to look after, he had enough to watch over. In fact the sooner it's back to being just him the better. He left - his footfalls as silent as the air around him.
Over the fallen leaves that sprawled across the ground, each footstep crackled. He could tell with his eyes closed something about the passer-by. suddenly the frantic footsteps came to a halt. Silences that's all that could be heard.
A scream pierced summer morning like the air raid sirens did a few years before. It echoed through the forest making the origin hard to pin-point. The first cries were undoubtedly terror. No matter how much he didn't want to be involved, he ran towards the screaming person that was not too far from him, trying hard to pin-point their location. He felt frantic, scared even.
He came to a halt just before the body, a female laid on the ground, face closed in a grimace, her skin pale and clammy. Every few minutes she would scream, just like one of those people in some Tarantino movie being tortured, but worse. It had a raw quality, the realness of a person consumed by a pain that knew no end or limit. Then she would go quiet, just panting. He should have been at her side, at least he wouldn't have been alone in her torture. But instead He just stayed there watching her, not moving an inch. She looked possessed, probably was. The trail of blood grew thicker as he payed much more attention to what surrounded her.
Her skin paling to a translucent white as second flew by, with each tick of the clock, something seemed to want her dead, for her heart to stop, just to stop, to watch her eyes become glossy and vacant. The blood of many victims had begun to dry, more brownish than scarlet. She no longer looked human- or sane.
He had to do something. Yet he wasn't sure, the uncertainty to whether to approach her or not was strong inside him, but he did it anyway. He couldn't just let her helplessly lay half-dead in the middle of the forest.
His foot steps were slow and the wariness that flicked inside prevented him from making any hasty decisions. The closer he got to her, the more he felt disgusted at the person who ever put her in this position, she was truly battered. She looked dead.
But the slight flicker of a heart beat, that was so faint was a strong indicator she was very much alive, yet dead at the same time. What was this place? So many strange things were happening around here and he hasn't stay more than seventy-four hours in this place, at least he thought so.
She laid beneath his feet, unconscious. The odd feeling he had was very present but he didn't know what to feel, Grayson slowly crouched in front of her, observing her before proceeding with anything else. Dirt stained her perfect, long white hair that was sprawled around her. Her features were small and perfectly related; her nose deliciously interrogative at the tip. Her brows and lashes, drawn in a darker hue, gave touches of character and distinction. She was very slender, erect, and was posted as though she would have grown in the wind.
Her eyes shot open, startled. Panic was something that was evident, although her reaction was normal, it was expected.
"Were am I?" Her voice soft and gentle yet slightly strained, as if her throat was too dry and it would hurt to speak further.
"If I knew, I would tell you" It was more a whisper to himself rather than to answer her question.
He wasn't quite sure where he was, he was aimlessly walking in the forest hoping to find some sort of path, concrete road or whatever... He felt so dumb and stupid, for the situation he was in. Marcel would laugh at the amount of intelligence he had right now.
"Who are you?" She spoke, still frightened at everything around her.
"Grayson." He kept staring at her, oddly feeling something he has never felt before, it was a feeling he couldn't quite explain, was he attracted to her? How in appropriate? Her beauty was out of this world, what could have possibly led her here, in this position?
"What's your name?" Grayson continued, too curious for his liking. Why was he so curious about her, he had seen women before, yet this one seemed different. Mysterious.
"I don't know..."