Chapter Text
If you were to ask the gray-haired cookie wandering through the woods, he would've told you that the night was freezing cold, with almost no light filtering through the branches. A quick observation of the area would quickly tell you that he was wrong; the night air was pleasantly cool, and while it was weeks away from a full moon, there was certainly enough light to navigate by. Of course, this assumes you would have been able to ask that cookie what he thought of the night. If he had seen anyone approach him, there was a good chance that he'd run off, and an even better chance that he'd leave felled trees and panicked howls in his wake.
Constantly avoiding others and living on the run was hard enough for Werewolf Cookie. And doing all of that while famished, fatigued, and feverish was clearly taking its toll.
Werewolf crashed against one of the trees, exhaustion finally overcoming him. A shaky hand pawed at the tree trunk until it got a solid hold, supporting the cookie’s body as he sank to the ground. His breaths came out in heavy, labored pants, and his face felt uncomfortably warm and damp. He considered taking off his cloak and exposing himself to the cold air to try and cool off. His worn old tank top and pants didn't provide or hold much warmth on their own, so just taking off the thick, warm cloak would do it. Unfortunately, his thought process was far from its most rational, and he couldn't fathom the idea of taking the cloak off without dropping it on the ground and losing it. Even in his feverish haze, he knew it would be a bad idea to abandon the only defense he had against the unforgiving cold. Thus, the cloak stayed. Werewolf hoped that keeping himself warm would push his fever until it broke on its own, and he'd awaken rested and lucid.
With that sorted out, a new problem presented itself: where, exactly, to rest. The need for shelter was hardwired into him, and he had learned from experience that sleeping on the ground would just invite trouble. He didn't like being attacked in his sleep normally, but with how horrible he felt, an ambush was the last thing he needed. This was usually the point where he would retreat to a cave or a wide patch of underbrush, but it was kind of difficult to do so when there weren't any in close proximity. It was rare to find a forest with nothing but trees, and yet that was exactly the kind of forest Werewolf had found himself in.
It looked like the only way to go was up. And what better place to go up than the very tree he was leaning against? He turned to face the trunk and, scowling with determination, began to scramble up it. His hands scratched at the bark like claws, desperately trying to get purchase on the rough surface. It strained his hands and feet to try and clamber up the tree with no holds, but the branches were just a couple feet up, the branches were this close, if he could just reach up and grab one and pull -- !
Werewolf fell to the ground with a heavy thud. His usual strength and agility weren't with him tonight, and he'd completely misjudged how far away those branches had been. For about a minute, he just lay on the ground, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. So, climbing a tree to sleep tonight probably wasn't going to work. There was no shelter in this forest other than the treetops, and since those weren't available to him… Slowly, he brought his aching body upwards, and stood on his feet. He bent his knees into a crouch -- standing might be more than he could handle right now. Weary and unfocused, Werewolf tried to stay alert and keep watch for any danger.
A part of him hoped that nothing would happen, that there was nothing in the forest that would take interest in him, and he'd be able to rest. Part of him tried to rationalize that thought: with the huge commotion he'd made earlier, any wildlife with sense would've heard the falling trees and gotten away. But the larger part of him knew that was just a fantasy, that something would come to find and attack him sooner or later. He wouldn't be safe, he wouldn't be able to rest.
He didn't have that kind of luck.