Survival [open]

[attr="class","pltxt"]Morax did not know how he got here. He did not know where he was.

But anywhere was better than where he had been.

The young male hacked and coughed, water expelling from his lungs as the surf washed his tired body up along the southern coast. Morax had fought his hardest against the current, swimming several miles out into the ocean before realizing there was no land anywhere in sight. But by then, he had been in too deep. He had known before setting out that there was either a guaranteed death behind him, or the possibility of life somewhere out in the ocean. He chose life, time and time again.

Unfortunately, for several hours the brute thought he would succumb to death no matter what. The swells grew stronger and waves started to crash above his head, pulling him under and churning him beneath the water in an attempt to take him down with the undertow. And fought he did, stretching back to the cusp of the water and breathing in once more. The cycle went on repeat until finally, the male let exhaustion overtake him. He did not know how much longer he drifted or at what point he ended up here. All he could do was give thanks that the universe had not seen fit to take him from the earth just yet. But still, his lungs burned from prolonged exposure to salt water, his throat raw from the scratchy mineral tearing it to shreds, and a hunger unlike anything the brute ever experienced coursed through him. He needed to find water, shelter, and more than anything, food. Morax knew well enough that he was not strong enough to hunt in his current condition. He would have to accept either the picked over remains of another's kill or home for some edible plant life to tide him over until he could get his feet back under him once more. But there was one thing the brute knew.

He had survived.