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Description
Life certainly wasn't as easy as he thought it would be when he first decided to ditch the nook and live as the king of the streets. Firstly, he wasn't really a 'king,' here. No one gave him the time of day, let alone an ounce of respect. Secondly, there was the issue of food. Very few wyngro were kind enough to share their food, and little could be found in the trash bins. Attomyk had grown thin and weak. Very, very weak. This lead to him being bullied away from whatever food he could find by other street rats.

He was laying in an alleyway, listening to the gentle footsteps of random gro passing by on the sidewalk just a few feet away. His mouth hung open slightly as his sides gently rose and fell. He couldn't breath through his nose. It was too stuffed up now. Occasionally, a pathetic little cough would interrupt his already troubled breathing. His muscles ached, longing for a soft bed and a warm blanket rather than the cold soil he'd chosen.

Deep in the back of his mind, he knew this could not go on much longer. Some small voice told him to go back to the nook, get Alma's help before he died out here, cold and alone. But his pride wouldn't allow this. If he went back now, he'd be a prime target for every wyngling in the nook. Perhaps the four who had driven him away would return to finish the job they had started. He couldn't take them on, not in this state. He would just survive on his own. He knew he could do this, he just had to try a little harder.

Reluctantly, he pushed himself up, limbs trembling from the effort. The first step was to find something to eat so his body would have more fuel to heal itself. Then he'd figure something out after that.

--

This can only end well

2/743

Description
Life certainly wasn't as easy as he thought it would be when he first decided to ditch the nook and live as the king of the streets. Firstly, he wasn't really a 'king,' here. No one gave him the time of day, let alone an ounce of respect. Secondly, there was the issue of food. Very few wyngro were kind enough to share their food, and little could be found in the trash bins. Attomyk had grown thin and weak. Very, very weak. This lead to him being bullied away from whatever food he could find by other street rats.

He was laying in an alleyway, listening to the gentle footsteps of random gro passing by on the sidewalk just a few feet away. His mouth hung open slightly as his sides gently rose and fell. He couldn't breath through his nose. It was too stuffed up now. Occasionally, a pathetic little cough would interrupt his already troubled breathing. His muscles ached, longing for a soft bed and a warm blanket rather than the cold soil he'd chosen.

Deep in the back of his mind, he knew this could not go on much longer. Some small voice told him to go back to the nook, get Alma's help before he died out here, cold and alone. But his pride wouldn't allow this. If he went back now, he'd be a prime target for every wyngling in the nook. Perhaps the four who had driven him away would return to finish the job they had started. He couldn't take them on, not in this state. He would just survive on his own. He knew he could do this, he just had to try a little harder.

Reluctantly, he pushed himself up, limbs trembling from the effort. The first step was to find something to eat so his body would have more fuel to heal itself. Then he'd figure something out after that.

--

This can only end well

2/743