(no subject)
Wolf's head hurts.
It's hurt since he woke up this morning, the sun filtering through the windows of his little hut on the beach, warming him, waking him. It's a sensation Wolf normally loves, but this morning it had only made him feel worse. Too hot, sweaty and feverish, like he has a sickness, but he knows that isn't it. The sickness almost always comes with a cough and there's no cough. Just hot and sweaty.
Slowly, he'd dragged himself out of bed and down toward the ocean, letting the cool water lap at his feet. The cuffs of his pants got soaked, but he doesn't mind that on a good day. Today is not a good day, but there are so many other things that hurt or smell funny that he doesn't even notice his pants are wet as he hauls himself toward the Compound. There is work to do, cows to look after, and he thinks he needs something to eat, even if the very thought of food makes his stomach do a weird flip, turning over and making him feel like all his food from last night is going to come up.
He has to shave, too, but that seems like a lot of work, which is surprising to Wolf, even though he feels so sick. Work is never something he's been bothered by and nothing has ever been too much work for him, but he can't bring himself to go inside the Compound, not even when he finally approaches it and see that it's so close. It's a long, long walk from his little hut to the Compound, but now that he's here, he doesn't want to go inside. His head just hurts so much and his stomach flips again at the smell of food wafting out from inside when someone opens the door.
Instead, he turns toward the pasture. The smell of the animals makes him feel a bit better and so he wanders over, climbing the fence easily and then sinking down with some of the goats who are more than happy to come to him, poking their noses into his pockets and under his chin, looking for something to eat.
"Don't got nothing," he says to them in a weary voice, but he's petting them, big hands roaming over their sides as they mill around. They're good goats, good animals, even if they want food he doesn't have. It's not their fault. Usually he brings them something, but he just can't go inside today. The thought of all the people and the small spaces, all the smells and the sounds, it makes his head hurt even worse and Wolf leans over his knees slightly, closing his eyes.
"My head hurts," he whines softly. "Right here and now."
It's hurt since he woke up this morning, the sun filtering through the windows of his little hut on the beach, warming him, waking him. It's a sensation Wolf normally loves, but this morning it had only made him feel worse. Too hot, sweaty and feverish, like he has a sickness, but he knows that isn't it. The sickness almost always comes with a cough and there's no cough. Just hot and sweaty.
Slowly, he'd dragged himself out of bed and down toward the ocean, letting the cool water lap at his feet. The cuffs of his pants got soaked, but he doesn't mind that on a good day. Today is not a good day, but there are so many other things that hurt or smell funny that he doesn't even notice his pants are wet as he hauls himself toward the Compound. There is work to do, cows to look after, and he thinks he needs something to eat, even if the very thought of food makes his stomach do a weird flip, turning over and making him feel like all his food from last night is going to come up.
He has to shave, too, but that seems like a lot of work, which is surprising to Wolf, even though he feels so sick. Work is never something he's been bothered by and nothing has ever been too much work for him, but he can't bring himself to go inside the Compound, not even when he finally approaches it and see that it's so close. It's a long, long walk from his little hut to the Compound, but now that he's here, he doesn't want to go inside. His head just hurts so much and his stomach flips again at the smell of food wafting out from inside when someone opens the door.
Instead, he turns toward the pasture. The smell of the animals makes him feel a bit better and so he wanders over, climbing the fence easily and then sinking down with some of the goats who are more than happy to come to him, poking their noses into his pockets and under his chin, looking for something to eat.
"Don't got nothing," he says to them in a weary voice, but he's petting them, big hands roaming over their sides as they mill around. They're good goats, good animals, even if they want food he doesn't have. It's not their fault. Usually he brings them something, but he just can't go inside today. The thought of all the people and the small spaces, all the smells and the sounds, it makes his head hurt even worse and Wolf leans over his knees slightly, closing his eyes.
"My head hurts," he whines softly. "Right here and now."