He awoke slowly – sunlight seeping between his eyelids, birdsong slipping into his ears. It was the way any might choose to awaken; brought forth into consciousness without force, without expectation. Just the steady extraction from sleep, so smoothly that neither mind nor body suffered for the journey.

Even when he was at last awake, fully aware of the soft chattering that came from above, the scent of honeysuckle and sugar sharp in his nose, the crushed bed of flowers beneath him – even then, he laid there on his side for a few moments more, focused on his breathing and the sheer wonder that was being alive.

Even now, a month or so after his desperate plunge from that hellish mountain, Elysium still found himself filled with an almost childish wonder, to know that he was alive, that his body had survived that brutal trip from sky to ground – and he was free, of his past, of his brother, of the last vestiges of guilt that had stubbornly clung to him through most of his preceding years.

Then again, almost dying had a tendency to radicalize your thinking.

So wrapped up was he in the spectacle of his continued living, it took several moments for him to raise his head and recognize his surroundings. Or, rather, what his surroundings were not. The field of flowers – once a dazzling blanket of wildflowers of every color and hue – had become a snow-white landscape, interspersed with stalwart trees, guardians over the smaller plant-life.

The cool nip of spring had been replaced by the biting heat of summer, and Elysium took time to breathe relief, that he no longer sported the thick coat of his youth.

He pushed himself upward, into something of a slumped sitting position, with his back legs still relaxed beneath him, powerful, unharmed front legs supporting his skinny weight. He cast his red gaze about, seeking further information, even as his nostrils flared and his ears stilled, identifying each trill and twitter of the life that went on around him.

No threats, he thought, a touch sardonic. The thought was enough to amuse him, pull his scarred muzzle into a smile utterly lacking in emotion – a reflex, he suspected, left over from when he still played niceties.

Now – where was he?

Had he been a younger sort, of thinner blood and weaker temperament, his first reaction might have been overstated panic, outrage, despair. But he had seen many things of late, not least of which was his own brother ready to rip his throat out, and a change in surroundings was hardly worth fussing over.

Concerning, yes, but not to the point he would expend precious energy.

At last, surroundings judged clear, he pushed himself to all four paws, a grunt of learned pain escaping his jaws as he carefully stretched out his injured hind leg. The bare skin that marked ruined muscle beneath burned painfully, as scarred flesh had a tendency to do when worked. Still, he kept at his learned exercises, working the limb back and forth and up and down until he found it suitably limber.

No, he could not run upon it, fleet-footed and swift and tireless – but he would need it to stabilize, if he did come face-to-face with an unpleasant sort.

Better to be prepared – another lesson learned.

He stood at last, as ready as he was capable of making himself, and asked aloud, voice a velvety bass, “Now where am I?”

tags: @tag, @tag
words: 577
notes: intro, come say hi | ♫