The sun was up. As far as Apollo was aware of his mostly unconscious senses. The sun was filtered through the clouds above and the leaves below. This sent a faint red cast over his eyes. Almost like a candle that burned over quiet nights spent with a calligraphy pen and thickly pressed paper.
Tentatively, his eyes opened to the world. He was sitting up against a tree in a lazed position. Imprints of the tree bark were being left upon the skin under his fur, leaving small ridges in his fur that could be potentially noticeable. When he would stand, it left an uneven layer to his fur.
His gaze lingered. It took in his surroundings. By god he saw more red than normal. His eyes ought to be bleeding.
Maybe not the most important thing he should be worried about at this very moment, but a man must have priorities.
His gaze lingered. It took in his surroundings. By god he saw more red than normal. His eyes ought to be bleeding.
Maybe not the most important thing he should be worried about at this very moment, but a man must have priorities.
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