Anthamax

Anthamax couldn't help but feel irritated in the night, the worsening storm surrounding him. As he tread through the snow covered forest, cold numbing his paws as he ran, cold wind whipped against his face. He hated the cold, despite growing up in it. He quickened his pace, trying to get through the trees faster. He knew if he didn't, and soon, he wouldn't make it out of here alive.

At least the dense trees lessened the strength of the wind, and the feeling of snow getting caught in his fur and face wasn't as bad, but it still felt horrible. Icicles hung from his mane, weighing him down as his fur clumped together, the strength of the blizzard making it difficult to get through the blasted forest.

Why was he out here, late in the night, in some stupid forest, in a blizzard, kind of lost, pretty cold and extremely annoyed with the entirety of the situation? Well, he thought it would be a good idea to get away from clan life. He thought he'd go on a small adventure. He thought he'd travel through a nice forest in a little camping trip, and relax, clear his mind and enjoy nature for a bit.

But no, the weather decided that his vacation would be turned into a challenge of survival and instead of relaxing he'd have to fight the winter storm for his life. It was as if the deities themselves were trying to torture him.

Damn his clan, if those blasted, annoying idiots had left him alone instead of constantly wasting his time with their blubbering idiocy, he wouldn't have needed to get away from them, hell he tried to take a stay-at-home vacation, just lock himself in his den with enough medical journals, food, and silence to last him a week, in total comfort, without having to worry about anyone disturbing him, but no, someone just had to make a stupid decision that filled his medical clinic with half-a-clan of injured dragons.

His clan always took his doctor status for granted, coming in for the stupidest reasons. They were just so stupid. One would eat some weird plant, and he'd tell them it was dangerous to eat and treat them, then the next day there'd be a stack of them in the communal eatery, dragons all around him eating it and then a tidal wave of idiots complaining about their stomachs hurting after he told them they weren't safe to eat.

And then they'd go near some animal they don't know, and try to pet it, as if that's ever a good idea, and be surprised when it bites them or shoots venom at them. One of the first instances of this was when some dragon tried to impress his crush by catching a snake. Needless to say, that went horribly wrong, and he ended up in the clinic rather quickly after that. His clan was just idiots, all of them. The only reason he stayed there was because of the fact that everyone was an idiot meant that clinic has plenty of patients to treat, and as mind-numbing as it was, it kept him busy.

But the busyness got boring and repetitive, because they were all idiots, and no matter how much he told them "Don't eat that plant!" or "Don't touch that!" or "You need to rest so that your injury will heal!", but they never ever listen, and end up back in the clinic. Idiots, all of them.

And now? He was stuck in the snow storm currently assaulting him. He ran faster, looking for shelter, but he could feel the fatigue setting in. His anger had fueled him for some time, but now the fear of getting stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere was feeling realer and realer by the second. Was it just him or had it gotten darker?

His claws dug into the cold, frozen ground as he pulled himself forward, the branches of the dark woods twisting into dark and creepy shapes. He did not like this situation at all.

Faster and faster he went, the storm worsening with every step, darkness wrapping around him, snow trying to smother him, but he would not give up. Was it dangerous that he was running through a forest? Yes. Was it more dangerous if he didn't find shelter in time? Definitely yes. Then he saw it, in the distance, that the forest was turning into rocky, snow covered slopes. He could definitely find some shelter there, but without the tree cover, he would feel the full force of the storm.

He stopped at the edge of the forest. The wind screamed around him, snow attacked him from all sides, and he looked. There, a few ledges formed an entrance to a cave, which, through the dense blizzard, seemed to be safe from the storm, and if he could just make it to there, he would be able to spend the night there. Hopefully by morning the storm would be over, or at least not as strong and he'd be able to get some food, but for now, he had to get to that cave.

He closed his eyes, as snow hit him in the face, took a deep breath, catching the scent of the coniferous trees around him, opened his eyes and ran. The wind nearly knocked him back at first, and the cold almost shocked him, but he tucked his wings closer into his body, covering his wing membranes with fur to keep them warm. The feeling of numbness had already taken hold of most of his body, but he had to keep going. Wing whipped against him, but he kept on going. The snow tried to grab at his paws, get him stuck in the ground, never to get up, but he wouldn't give up.

He was almost there, the cave entrance now visible, and Anthamax couldn't help but smile to himself. He was so close, he was going to make it-

and then the world fell out from under him.

He tripped, some ice he hadn't noticed made him lose his balance, and he fell, hard, but he didn't stop moving. As he skidded onto a slope, he desperately grabbed at the ground, clawing marks into the cold, unforgiving ice. All he did was slip faster, and his desperation turned to heart-gripping fear as he felt himself get closer to the ledge. As he felt his hind legs slip off, he managed to grab a rock, and clung to it as the lower half of his body dangled off the edge.

He looked down below him, and saw the drop. One glance was all he needed to confirm that it was certain death if he let go. The blizzard's deafening howl screamed around him, and he felt a claw slip off a bit. He was holding onto the rock with both paws, but he didn't know how long he could keep holding it, but with the cold numbing his body at a terrifying speed, he knew it wasn't for long. He attempted to open his wings and fly away, but the wind nearly flung him into the ravine. The damned storm was too strong, and if he tried to fly, he'd only be flung against a wall of stone, knocked out, and fall regardless. The only escape he had was to try to climb out.

He held on for as long as he could, until his grip started slipping. His paws were so numb that the only reason he knew he was still holding onto the rock was because he wasn't falling yet, but how long would that last? He had tried to pull himself up, but the cold wind was blowing from a direction that only pushed him down. By now, deep grooves where his claws had originally gripped the rock had become long and thick, as if gravity itself had grabbed him by the tail and was trying to pull him into the dark maw of the ravine.

He felt weak now, tired, his muscles locked and cold, but he was starting to feel warm. A lazy feeling filled him as warmth bloomed into the numb parts. He felt sleepy, but he needed to hold on. Slowly, ever so slowly, almost like the wind and snow was toying with him, his claws slipped. Suddenly, he was flying. Flying so so fast, but couldn't figure out which direction, and then it dawned on him. It dawned on him the split-second before he hit the jagged spires of rock and ice at the bottom of the ravine the he wasn't in flight.