Lost
Darkness as far as the eye could see. It was so hard to move, so hard to breathe. His body simply wanted to shut down and rest, perhaps for an eternity. Aches and pains that he thought unable to feel any longer resurfaced as he merely lay there, unconscious. It was so easy to give in to the grief, give into the pain.
The horrors he had wrought flashed before his eyes. So much blood filled his vision, the smell consuming his nostrils. Whether it was his, or another's he could no longer tell: he had smelt the blood of others so frequently, the blood he had so readily spilt from the bodies of the innocent, that the line between his and theirs was indistinguishable.
He tasted the iron on his tongue: though to his hazy mind, it only tasted as guilt. The guilt of leaving his comrades behind, his former life…his family. He was ready to die.
Footsteps echoed off the walls of…wherever he was. A cave, maybe? He was too weary to sit up and look at who approached him, but his ears picked up the steady pace of the delicate steps heading towards him. Would he…survive?
His breath hitched in his throat: what was this feeling swelling in his chest. Did he sustain another wound? Was it fatal? It certainly felt like nothing he had experienced before. He no longer felt hollow, his strength was returning to him at a dull hum. Slowly, but surely, he opened his eyes to see the figure peering down at him. Whether it was male or female, he didn't know. All he knew, was he was saved.
"It's alright," the person cooed. "We'll get you to town Shadow. You're safe now."
He felt his body be picked up by a bulk of raw muscle. Once again, his voice hitched.
He knew what he was feeling: it was so alien to him now. So new, and yet so familiar. He hadn't dared to think that such a sensation would grace him again. Could it be? He decided to ponder no longer and merely bask in the glow that now encompassed his entire being.
For once, the wayward soul let himself hope.
And it felt wonderful.