[It doesn't much matter, really, and he doesn't have the wherewithal to pick fights about semantics. He doesn't have energy much. Focuses, instead, on the slow, desperate, excruciating tread, one foot after another, each step shooting another bolt through his belly and up through his fucking spine.]
[His molars feel like they might crack with the strain of gritting them to keep from issuing a constant, insufferable drone of pained misery when his foot snags something and he half-collapses, half-grasps for the nearest tree trunk with a short, sharp cry.]
no subject
[His molars feel like they might crack with the strain of gritting them to keep from issuing a constant, insufferable drone of pained misery when his foot snags something and he half-collapses, half-grasps for the nearest tree trunk with a short, sharp cry.]
Fuck -