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 Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2012 5:56 pm
 Lungaia was weary, her muscles aching and sore, and she had never been more pleased to be hurting. Varia hadn't lied; she did run a difficult training regimen, and she was an unforgiving teacher.
There was much for Lungaia to learn about living in a pack. The warriors fought differently than she was accustomed, and they had all of these rituals and ceremonies to deal with. She thought it was all a bit silly, but no matter; it gave her a chance to unleash the violent creature within, and that was all she cared about.
Today, she was particularly sore. She had been sparring perhaps a bit more roughly than she should have been, and she felt a slight strain in her hamstring muscles, and a half dozen small wounds scattered along her flanks. They were nothing to be too concerned with, but they stung slightly and she had to take care lest they fester.
She could have visited the pack healer for this, of course, but Lungaia deeply mistrusted the idea. She had always been responsible for her own healing, and she didn't need any headdress-wearing nutjob to lay her paws on her.
She turned her way toward the den, limping slightly on her aching hind leg. She hoped Tui was nearby. She had purposely chosen her den here, near to the slave quarters, in hopes that she could keep an eye on her private slave.
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Posted: Fri Jan 27, 2012 7:57 pm
 And of course he was nearby. Of course, because when any Sister recognized him at all, the jeers and condescension that flew from their mouths bit into him as sharp as teeth. Because Iosef's children seemed to be everywhere, their pelts and faces disturbing in the oblique glances of their father that they provided; and so his best hope for the day was to hover, to lurch about in the air like a cottonwood seed, and base his day on the hope that he would see her, would feel that pull that drew the tangled strings of his life into order.
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Posted: Fri Jan 27, 2012 8:39 pm
"Ahh. Lurking, are we?" She asked, with a raised brow, as she limped forward to close the gap between them. He was stringy and sad-looking, she thought. Perhaps bringing him into this pack hadn't been such a good idea, after all.
But then, what would she have done with him? Drug him around behind her like a pet while she wandered? Because that had clearly worked so well with Gaspard.
"Lucky that you are, anyway. Come. I need your help with something."
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 5:06 pm
Oh, how could it be wrong? How could he be fooling himself when the sound of her voice unbent him, gently snapped him in the shoulder and made him look up from the deep well of his troubles? he was drawn and stringy, yes, but he'd been worse when she found him huddled out in the wilderness, and he would have been incapable of matching the gleaming, fragile smile he put forth just now. The optimism she inspired him caused a literal, physical ache in his chest; he coughed, and glanced away as a battery of disoriented blinks assailed him.
Oh, what was he...? His eartips flushed as he slunk humbly over to the faerie's side, his pale eyes shyly meeting hers with a look that was disconcertingly childlike, almost inappropriately sweet and open. "Yes?"
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 6:08 pm
Her tattered ears flicked, and she nodded back toward her den. "I've got a wound for you to help me tend," she said, baldly, as though this were part of his regular day-to-day life and not at all an unreasonable request. Why wouldn't he help her?
She grimaced as she slunk down into the narrow opening, then straightened once the den opened into a broader empty space. Here she lay down, extending her damaged leg gingerly, trying to isolate where the muscle was that was aching.
The den was larger than it needed to be, built for families. Lungaia had always found that awkward and strange. Why did there need to be so much room in a den like this? Certainly not to invite males.
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 6:23 pm
In the quiet solitude of twilight, walking placidly behind her into the den, he found he couldn't help but remember the succession of visits from Iosef that had panned out in similar fashion. And the recollection was oddly sexless, as if Lungaia had the power to wipe that part of himself clean...he allowed himself to think about that for a bare, quick moment, but it was enough to well tears up in his eyes. He shook his head, sitting rather awkwardly at her side and lowering his long nose to whiff at the bites that had pierced her leg. Only then did he feel a rising swirl of anxiety begin to coil in his belly: just what did she expect him to do? Again he cast that shy, uncertain glance her way. "What happened?"
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 6:32 pm
"Training got a bit rough, is all," she said, rotating her leg slightly to allow him access to the wounds. They were shallow, mostly, but blunt and bruised, and resting right on the inside of her hip where every movement began to ache.
"I can't reach. Just...get them clean, for me, and tell me if there's something I can't see. It feels like I've got one just inside, but I couldn't get a good look at how big it was."
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 7:23 pm
Crouching there beside her, at this angle, at these angles, he was unable to stop the shudder that clenched his muscles, opened the eye of his memory and sent him sailing to an ugly place. His breaths came shallow as he struggled, fighting his way back to what he could only hope would not be more of the same.
Her talking helped; it was only a minute or so after she stopped speaking, instead of perhaps ten, that he was able to catch his breath and look at her face again, to find where he was in time and space and reassure himself that licking wounds meant licking wounds, that he would not feel the urgent crush of terror when he tucked his mouth into the crook of her leg.
Wordlessly, his mind bent on banishing any coherent thought that reared its head, he began to clean the punctures on her thigh, his tongue methodical and soft and red. If he could just keep the panic far enough at bay, he thought, the motion should calm him.
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 7:52 pm
She relaxed, slightly. His touch was deft and gentle, but more than that it assured her that the wounds were as minor as she believed. She was a proud wolf, but pride was useless in the face of injury. How often had she left wolves to limp away after losing a fight? And how often had she come cross these same wolves later, dead or dying of infection?
...Well, perhaps not so often. She was a merciful creature.
"Thank you," she said, green eyes sliding closed.
She felt a tension, a hesitancy, but she wasn't sure why. Oh, if she could only crawl inside of his mind...
"I...can't say I've ever had a wolf help me, this way," she said, tattered ears folding back to her skull.
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