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Things had not been well for Trent. He'd been feeling nauseous and pained for days now. Ever since that strange encounter before he'd come here. Meeting Sebastian had spun Trent's world around, and he'd been injected with all this new information. Truth was, the thought of becoming a vicious flesh-eating werewolf wasn't exactly something Trent aspired. The thought horrified him, especially when he considered the pain that no doubt came paired with the shift. The sickening cracks of Sebastian's bones were still fresh on his mind.
What was worse, Trent hadn't yet found a pack. He'd expected it to be a piece of cake, but of course that had been another one of his dumb assumptions. His mother always did tell him he had to stop living in a fantasy world. Now he was going to pay for it, no doubt.
Pain shot through Trent's back as he trotted through the forest and he sank to the ground near a tall tree, curled himself up at its base. I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die... But why did it feel like he was dying so damned much?
Fear ruled over the coyote-wolf hybrid, and he could hear bones crack. The sound was disgusting, especially because he knew these were his bones, and Trent's bony chest heaved, what little contents his stomach contained unhappy with their host's changes. Unable to contain himself and save what nutrients they might've provided him, Trent threw up, still curled up beneath the tree.
Laying in a puddle of his own stomach contents with his head while his body felt like it was tearing at the seams, Trent wasn't sure he could've felt any less dignified. Drool and vomit dribbled off his chin as his body convulsed and he kept himself clenched in a ball while he screamed for his life. He probably would've screamed a plea not to die, but since he could feel nothing but mind-numbing fear and what felt like pain, it came out as nothing more than a loud, nonsensical screaming.