After a long, surely restless and uncomfortable sleep, Shadow awoke. Laid on his stomach in a field of slick, wet grass and harsh rocks that liked to dig into his ribs. He couldn't figure out what he was doing here. Or why his legs so desperately wanted to give out when he stood up onto his two feet.

Where was he? His swimming, blurry vision betrayed him, leaving him barely able to make out that tall, red structure on the horizon, past the water, barely visible in the dim, late lighting. He can't help but... recognize it, for some reason.

Shadow would be able to tell what it was if the world wasn't spinning on its axis, distorting his view and making him dizzy. Just what did he do to make him so weak? And worse, why can't he remember it? The hedgehog would have to figure that out later, when he didn't feel like absolute death. When trudging himself through the open field and towards the lone house nearby didn't take so much extra effort.

It was weird just how much it did. Like he did something that took a whole lot out of him, as if he'd collapse any minute now. He'd lay down anywhere near the field and just... rest there, if it weren't for how wet the grass was, or the distant, vague sound of mud splashing under his air shoes.

Sleeping in mud was like adding insult to injury. And he had enough injuries already, apparently.

Either way, despite his dignity—or what's left of it—collapse on grass is just what he did, when he was right in front of the house's porch steps. Faced with the blurry figure of someone... someone he didn't recognize on the deck.

If only he wasn't so dizzy and so damn out of it. Then, he might be able to make out the stranger's features, only merely catching their surprise when their face became clearer in his foggy, blurry eyesight. Or, before he collided harshly with the damp ground underneath. He passed out quicker than he could question it.