[Adrian had finally passed out long before Vash cleared the treeline. The last thing he'd heard was being apologized to, distant though it was, and it felt like a slap in the face. Whatever.
Maybe he'd have the decency to just lay here and die, finally.
There's no way for him to know how much time passes, initially. But Adrian is luckier than he knows. Lager- the forest he's chosen to live in- is littered with patches of fog...and some of those just so happen to wander near the fringes, where he finds himself now. The Fog has been so thin the past few months, but in Lager it's probably at its strongest. Strong enough to keep Adrian alive, as much as it feels like he's clinging to life for a while there. He slips in and out of consciousness for what feels like hours, the sun jumping through the sky in erratic steps. He vaugely remembers rolling his eyes up to look at the canopy above, watching a squirrel stuff a nut into a hole in a tree. It's remarkably mundane, before he passes out again.
This happens for some time until, finally, the Fog has done just enough haphazard stitchwork to keep Adrian together. The blood he's laying in has long since grown cold, dried hard to his fur in some places whereas in others it remains tacky and wet. He needs help, but he's too weak to scream for it. Too weak to move, really. Vash had drained a lot of his energy, but not enough to kill him. His only saving grace is that his back has suffered so much nerve damage that the pain there is all but absent for the time being. He knows deep down, of course. He just can't let himself think about it right now. But he's fortunate. His discarded wing had become food for forest animals hours ago, and now nothing but bloody bones remain. Maybe he won't register it. Maybe he won't see it.
He has to move. He has to...get home. Of course, his first reflex...is to try to fly. It's a mistake he won't make twice, because the act of trying to move one wing sends phantom pain through his entire body so violent that he actually blacks out again for a moment. It isn't until he comes to to the realization that he's laid here so long that the sun has reached the other side of the sky that he's able to slowly piece together the notion that he probably would have died hours ago if circumstances were different. One meager point in the Fog's favor, he guesses.
And so begins the slow, arduous task of dragging himself home. Lager woods is massive and sprawling, yet Adrian knows it like the back of his hand at this point. Even when he's unable to properly get to his feet, he can at least halfway crawl through the trees, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. There is a moment or two where he manages to struggle upright, hobbling for a half mile or so before he collapses again. He's not sure how long he does this for, just...long enough.
He doesn't stop until he sees home in the distance. He can tell Rosso is home from work already, because there's a little trail of smoke coming from one of the windows. He's probably cooking. And from what Adrian can tell, wherever Vash went, it at least wasn't here.
Thank god, he thinks, as he drops to his side at the edge of the clearing, the rest of the scraps of energy he managed to dredge up finally leaving him with the relief of managing to make it back.]
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Maybe he'd have the decency to just lay here and die, finally.
There's no way for him to know how much time passes, initially. But Adrian is luckier than he knows. Lager- the forest he's chosen to live in- is littered with patches of fog...and some of those just so happen to wander near the fringes, where he finds himself now. The Fog has been so thin the past few months, but in Lager it's probably at its strongest. Strong enough to keep Adrian alive, as much as it feels like he's clinging to life for a while there. He slips in and out of consciousness for what feels like hours, the sun jumping through the sky in erratic steps. He vaugely remembers rolling his eyes up to look at the canopy above, watching a squirrel stuff a nut into a hole in a tree. It's remarkably mundane, before he passes out again.
This happens for some time until, finally, the Fog has done just enough haphazard stitchwork to keep Adrian together. The blood he's laying in has long since grown cold, dried hard to his fur in some places whereas in others it remains tacky and wet. He needs help, but he's too weak to scream for it. Too weak to move, really. Vash had drained a lot of his energy, but not enough to kill him. His only saving grace is that his back has suffered so much nerve damage that the pain there is all but absent for the time being. He knows deep down, of course. He just can't let himself think about it right now. But he's fortunate. His discarded wing had become food for forest animals hours ago, and now nothing but bloody bones remain. Maybe he won't register it. Maybe he won't see it.
He has to move. He has to...get home. Of course, his first reflex...is to try to fly. It's a mistake he won't make twice, because the act of trying to move one wing sends phantom pain through his entire body so violent that he actually blacks out again for a moment. It isn't until he comes to to the realization that he's laid here so long that the sun has reached the other side of the sky that he's able to slowly piece together the notion that he probably would have died hours ago if circumstances were different. One meager point in the Fog's favor, he guesses.
And so begins the slow, arduous task of dragging himself home. Lager woods is massive and sprawling, yet Adrian knows it like the back of his hand at this point. Even when he's unable to properly get to his feet, he can at least halfway crawl through the trees, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. There is a moment or two where he manages to struggle upright, hobbling for a half mile or so before he collapses again. He's not sure how long he does this for, just...long enough.
He doesn't stop until he sees home in the distance. He can tell Rosso is home from work already, because there's a little trail of smoke coming from one of the windows. He's probably cooking. And from what Adrian can tell, wherever Vash went, it at least wasn't here.
Thank god, he thinks, as he drops to his side at the edge of the clearing, the rest of the scraps of energy he managed to dredge up finally leaving him with the relief of managing to make it back.]