Inhale through the nostrils. Exhale through the lips.

It wasn't working.

Rishid tried again.

Sniffing dust-filled air through his nose, Rishid stumbled through the semi-darkness of the tombs until his legs couldn't carry him anymore. By some part of the walls, Rishid started to collapse until some remaining strength in him made him catch himself and instead lean against the wall, sliding downward against it until he sat on the cool stone floor. The coolness brought relief that he needed; it made him more alert and soothed some of the stinging that panged his body.

What was that stinging, anyway?

Rishid looked down at his body. He couldn't see much because there weren't many lit torches in this part of the tombs, but by the little light provided, he saw bits of damage done to his body. Littering his young body were lacerations, gashes, and tiny scratches, hashed through his robe and bleeding so much that even Master would've been frightened. Rishid started to lift his robe, to get a better look at the harm, when the movement of his arms sent a physical, stomach-churning agony that made Rishid cry out. Biting his tongue to prevent more screams, Rishid peeled back the sleeves of his robe and stared at his arms. The injuries on these limbs were much different from the ones on his thighs and calves; the skin was carved away by tiny bits, leaving pink flesh that looked like small bugs scurrying up his arms. Rishid poked them, a small part of his mind worrying about infection from his dirty fingers.

The exposed flesh stung.

It was so pink.

So disgusting.

Disturbing.

Raw.

Rishid breathed through his nose and out his mouth again, pressing his thumb onto one of the pink spots, harder and harder until he was starting to see white dots flashing in his eyes, and yet he still went on. He curled his thumb on the carving until his thumbnail pierced the flesh, and his entire thumb up to the first knuckle started to dig into it. Blood pooled up from the hole that he dug in the carving, and this breaths came quicker and more shallow. He plucked his thumb out of the injury, and started on another one when, in some corner of his mind, he heard a soft, mocking voice whisper to him/

"You're so unkind to yourself..."

Rishid's breathing slowly turned into spiteful, weak giggling as he dug his thumb into another skinned area on his arm. It was one more person who was unkind to him, so it didn't matter.