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Entry tags:
[closed] and I think of each life as a flower
Who: Toby and Steven
When: Early Aguril
Where: Out in the wider plains
What: Aftermath of a quest
Warnings: Mild gore, Cwyld
Lion has the eye for small things hiding or fleeing in the long grass, much more than Toby does. Long after she stops seeing the little creatures, the big pink cat finds things to pounce on. She keeps an eye on him, and plans to make her own sweep through the grass before she leaves, but things have gone quieter now and it's time to calm herself with some deep breaths and take stock.
Small bodies litter the ground. The stoats and their riders were all on a scale where they could be stepped on, where she used her feet more than her hands, and she's got red-tainted-with-black blood almost coating her toes on up to her knee blades. When they were even able to find her through Steven's illusions they could barely get through her scaly hide, inflicting tiny cuts and punctures and burned strips that would normally all heal to subtle distortions on her skin within a few hours and be entirely gone with her next molt. The arrows would be the only trouble, itching and needing to be pulled free, but there was the matter of the Cwyld.
Toby's been infected; she can see the darker mottling on her scales around those sites, feel the burning sensation, and knows it's minor, the Wilders will be able to take care of this. She's pretty sure Lion's in a similar state. Steven seems worse off.
"I think it's over," she says. "You were hit a couple of times, weren't you? Let me take a look."
When: Early Aguril
Where: Out in the wider plains
What: Aftermath of a quest
Warnings: Mild gore, Cwyld
Lion has the eye for small things hiding or fleeing in the long grass, much more than Toby does. Long after she stops seeing the little creatures, the big pink cat finds things to pounce on. She keeps an eye on him, and plans to make her own sweep through the grass before she leaves, but things have gone quieter now and it's time to calm herself with some deep breaths and take stock.
Small bodies litter the ground. The stoats and their riders were all on a scale where they could be stepped on, where she used her feet more than her hands, and she's got red-tainted-with-black blood almost coating her toes on up to her knee blades. When they were even able to find her through Steven's illusions they could barely get through her scaly hide, inflicting tiny cuts and punctures and burned strips that would normally all heal to subtle distortions on her skin within a few hours and be entirely gone with her next molt. The arrows would be the only trouble, itching and needing to be pulled free, but there was the matter of the Cwyld.
Toby's been infected; she can see the darker mottling on her scales around those sites, feel the burning sensation, and knows it's minor, the Wilders will be able to take care of this. She's pretty sure Lion's in a similar state. Steven seems worse off.
"I think it's over," she says. "You were hit a couple of times, weren't you? Let me take a look."