23 FRANCOIS
Putain de merde.
The weightlessness of the ocean and being shifted kept some interesting information from me.
I’m more injured than I thought.
As soon as I’m out of the water, stumbling onto the shore, pain hits.
Nothing so grave that I cannot continue on, and I know I’ll heal quickly, but still—I am not pleased with the state of my body.
The monstre requin was able to take several chunks from my torso. The battle was long, and our strength unfortunately matched. But I finally succeeded in crushing him, painfully, to death.
And by the time I had regained my equilibrium, the only trace of Aurora I could find was the abandoned Sadie-Mae.
But I will find her soon. There is no other option.
Though first I may need to take une petite pause.
It’s not just the injuries; I haven’t eaten, rested or hydrated for far too long. The conundrum is—whether I should shift again.
Yes, I could slither into the undergrowth and find a hideous rodent to provide nutrition, and probably heal faster in beast-form. However, dining on a rat leaves much to be desired.
I’ll rest for a moment, then decide.
Dragging my sodden, human frame upward onto a pebbled-beach, the movement sets my wounds bleeding again. Gods. The dark sky is full of cloud, and the wind is biting. Is she warm? Is she safe?
Is she close by?
Is her merry gang already heading cross-country to set up a home without me?
“There’s a room there for you, if you finally get the stick out of your ass.”
Closing my eyes, I force my mind to reach outward, searching for that invisible humming thread, the fragile bond between us.
For a terrifying, endless beat, there is nothing but the static hum of my own exhaustion.
Then, a microscopic spark. A faint, golden vibration echoing from the mainland interior. A direction to follow.
My guiding light.
But not in this condition.
Merde.
Shifting and rattus rattus it is.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.