After the Massacre (Open for OCs)

[TigerKhan]

I sincerely apologize for not starting things out on Friday. The hurricane really threw things off for me, but now, I'm back and better than ever.

[TigerKhan]

It would not be long until he was dead.

Frost registered this thought without a trace of the emotion that others called "fear". Fear, in fact, was a mystery to him; as far as he was aware he had never registered it. Certainly, he had never felt the clammy hands of extreme emotion stifle his thoughts or instincts in any way, and certainly he had never been driven to tears or actions he wouldn't undertake with a sound mind.

But, just then, he did feel concern. Perhaps he even felt anxiety, in some distant corner of his mind, so foreign and unknown to him that if he realized it was there he would have thought that he was going insane.

Apart from concern, Frost felt pain. After all, the injuries he'd sustained in the battle, while not immediately life-threatening, were severe to the point that they stifled his ability to run, to look, to fight for his life at a moment's notice again. But he had to run and he had to have all of his wits about him, and he had to be ready to tear apart entire hordes of enemies without reinforcements or even knowledge of the land he was fighting in, because the hyenas were still hot on his trail, though he had strayed so far from Pride Rock that even his sense of direction was starting to fail.

Now that he thought about it, he couldn't for the life of him figure out why he had joined Simba in his attempted coup. It didn't seem like a spur of the moment thing, but it was by no means clear that Frost's best interests were served by installing a new Lion King. In fact, now that he looked back on it, he would have been better off if he'd remained neutral by simply vanishing from the area altogether.

It didn't look like neutrality was an option now, though vanishing certainly was. In fact, that was probably the only long term and short term option. The hyenas had been after him for hours now and only recently had he managed to get some ground between them, but who knew how long that would last?

Ahead of Frost was a forest that he was only vaguely familiar with. It was a rather thick forest, with many marshes. There were probably some animals there that he could kill and eat, but there were also many, many animals and insects there that were poisonous. And then there was general infection to worry about, let alone getting lost and running out of food and clean water.

At least he could have a drink now, at a shrinking oasis so far removed from anything else in the Savannah that finding it was an act of sheer dumb luck rather than skill. And so Frost made his way to the small water hole, knelt down, and began to fill his stomach with water.

Food would come later, he hoped. It would have to, or else he, the only survivor of the massacre that he was aware of, would too find his death.