Heron Lake Plateau If you can use a doorknob

As the dust settled, it took what felt like forever for him to catch his breath, sputtering and coughing.  The wind had been pretty well knocked out of him and for a moment the world felt way too bright, slowly fading back to normal.  He took a moment to survey this little disaster: well, the fawn was very much dead -- in the end Quixote had landed partially on it, and it was twisted and squished in a very unnatural way.  It had probably been pretty much dead before tried to get a place on America's Funniest Home Videos.  He'd been fortunate, pretty much tripped over the damn thing where it's mom had hidden it in a patch of tall grass while she was off grazing elsewhere.

Quixote slowly pulled himself to his feet.  Everything kind of hurt, but he knew right now it was probably just going to get worse.  There was leftover adrenaline from the hunt in his system, which was probably dulling things, too.  For now, he probably looked a lot worse than he felt, mud-smeared with a new collection of scrapes and bruises.  His dark pelt did an okay job at hiding some of the dirt and blood.  Nothing fatal, as far as he knew, but the next few days weren't going to be pleasant.  It was his own fault that he'd gotten into this mess -- Quixote had been perhaps trying too hard to do everything himself, and it had started to show.  For anyone paying exceptionally close attention, he'd lost any extra weight he carried and probably looked far more fit than he did before, but it was a slightly different look than before.  You know, somewhere beneath the mud.

He looked up the slope and he could sort of see the path he'd taken -- where the wet grass from last night's rain had become a Slip N Slide, wrapping around the edge of the plateau, the scrapes and gouges where he'd tried to keep his footing, and some further smears where that was no longer a thing.  He'd probably rolled, what?  Fifteen or twenty feet?  It could have been a hell of a lot worse, and for that he was fortunate he'd been near where the lowlands came up to meet the plateau.  Not to mention, he kind of had to get back up there.

It was fairly slow going.  His legs all felt like they were stiffening up already as he dragged along the contorted and equally messy fawn.  Though his final goal was @Raven so that he could deliver the kill, he was moving slow enough that it wouldn't be much of a stretch for him to cross paths with someone else along the way as the morning started to fade towards afternoon.

Between Ceara, Towhee, Roz, Screech, and Niamh, Raven had had her hands very full these past couple of weeks. It was amusing, in a grim sort of way, how everyone seemed to go and get themselves hurt at the same time. Screech was her biggest concern. At this point, the ball was entirely in his court. There was nothing she could do as a healer that could shorten the duration of his coma or make it more likely that he might wake up. The best she could do -- and she had been doing it -- was try to keep water in him. Even that was a nearly impossible task.

She decided to take a break from things and spend some time gathering some fresh plants and herbs for her medicine stash. She'd burned up quite a bit of it treating everyone's various wounds, and there was a definite need for restocking now. She was on her way to one of her favored spots for finding plants, out near the thicket, when she spotted the stocky figure of her mate coming toward her. She noticed right away that something wasn't right, though. He was hobbling along, clearly in pain, dragging the limp corpse of a young deer in his jaws. Worry immediately gripped her heart as she rushed to meet him, and before she said the first word her eyes were already looking over him, seeking out injuries. "Qui, what happened?"

Oh, there she was!  Good.  He sat the fawn down nudging it towards Raven, I just slipped getting this for you, is all, off a cliff, but he wasn't saying that right off the bat, though he obviously hadn't just fallen on flat ground.  Their priorities seemed to pretty much be just the other person and not themselves, as he tried to will Raven into taking the fawn instead of worrying about him.   She was totally more important.  Take it, I'm sure I'll be fine.  This was also why Quixote had a scar on his muzzle and always looked like he was having a bad fur day -- if he wasn't at least half-dead it was obviously not worth the time, right?  Mister tough guy.

The dirt-covered points accurately covered bruises, weighted more to his left side than his right, mostly wrapping across his top third of his body.  His left elbow and knee were both scraped to bleeding, and the few smaller cuts farther down his legs on both sides where the fur was thin had stopped bleeding on their own fairly quickly, just leaving a few small crusted off-color patches here and there.  Though his fur had done an okay job at protecting him, beneath the grime he had collected there was a small series of cuts along the left half of his pelvis and the peak of his shoulder on the same side, likely to be added to his collection of other small scars.   Really, though, he was a complete dirtball that needed a bath.

It's probably be at least another few minutes of him not moving before he became more aware of how much it actually hurt.

As he spoke, casually brushing off his injuries and the fact that he'd obviously fallen off a fucking cliff, Raven gave him a look -- clearly unimpressed with his attempt to put her at ease. She could smell blood, its sharp and cloying fragrance easily detectable through the soft, earthy musk of his usual scent, so she wasn't deceived. One had to get up pretty early in the morning to fool a seasoned medic like her, after all. ;)

"Oh, honey," she said in a rueful tone of mixed chastisement and worry. "Thank you, but...hold still. Let me look at you." Despite the fact that her roleplayer already knew he would fuss and put up a fight like the cantankerous old man that he was, Raven nevertheless looked him over, nosing and prodding him in places where it probably hurt. She could see dark, wet streaks here and there in his sable fur, and some of them were bloody scrapes while others were only areas where he'd gotten wet somewhere along the way. She shook her head and tsked with disapproval as she took stock of his various bruises and wounds, but deep down, she was touched that he would put himself through so much to provide for her and the children that grew in her ever-widening belly.

He was, well.. Obviously not a great patient.  Really, it's not that bad, he said, even while wincing as she nosed a sore spot on his ribs, which was definitely going to cause him problems if he lay down on his side.  He grit his teeth and attempted to pretend it did nothing, but though his tough act might be totally believable from a few yards away, she was so close that every twitch and wiggle was blatantly obvious.  On the one hand, he would ordinarily do whatever she wanted, but on the other, really, it was totally supposed to be him fussing over her, not this.

He was slowly inching away when she hit the sore spots, rotating away like a clock hand.  Then, as if it would totally convince her to stop poking at him and just eat the dang fawn, I've done a lot worse before.  I think the fawn's still warm, even, you should enjoy it before it gets cold. AKA stop poking meeeeee.  Really.  Quixote apparently was not particularly fond of the more clinical side of Raven's touch, even if he normally would melt into a pile of goo otherwise.  I can just go get cleaned up and it'll be like nothing happened.  Even he knew that wasn't true, but he tried.

This is really short and crappy but it's 5am and I still haven't gone to bed. I was hell-bent on getting all my replies done and this is the last one lol.

She gave him a narrow-eyed glare, her lips set in a firm line and her ears turned backward, but the only result of her sad attempt at looking threatening was that she looked more cute than scary so it really didn't work. She poked him on the neck with her nose and said, "Quit yer fussing and let me clean you up, tough guy." She couldn't keep a straight face, though, and immediately broke into grinning snickers as she found a bloody scrape on his shoulder and gently began to lick it clean. Hell hath no stubbornness like a Redhawk in a disagreement, or something like that. There was a lot of dirt and hair stuck to the wound, but the gentle motion of her tongue washed it away so it could knit together with less risk of infection. A pointed glance from her yellow eyes indicated that she intended to do this with every other mark on his body until she was satisfied. This was her mate, her love -- she would not settle down to dine in comfort while he wandered around bleeding and bruised.

Eeek!  Yeah, you should get some sleep sometimes because sleep is, unfortunately, a good thing. :P  It totally cuts into RP time though, how dare it.

Quixote's ears tilted back as well, but he had to bite his lip to keep from saying something about Raven's totally mean expression.  He uttered a mopey whine in reply, but from the glint in his eyes it wasn't entirely serious.  Quixote cooperated a little bit better, at least for the moment.  Then she started to clean the wound at his shoulder -- again he winced.  He didn't know why he was expecting it to hurt less when Raven cleaned the wounds than if he'd done it himself, but so much for that daydream.

But let's be real, he couldn't just stand there and cooperate.  She'd maybe get to clean a couple more of his wounds before his brain had wandered off to a newly-created problem.  I'm going to have a harder time being able to hunt for you, huh?  Despite the fact they did kind of live in a not-insignificantly-sized pack, he was still doing his damnedest to take care of Raven all by himself.  The fact that he might not be able to do so tied a nice knot in his stomach.  But here he'd gone and ruined his ability to take care of her in the short term, and a low level of dread bubbled up beneath it all.  What if something else happened and he couldn't protect her as well as he otherwise would have?

As she worked, he wiggled and whined, but not nearly as disruptively as he had moments ago. For a proud, independent wolf like Quixote, she knew it was weird and uncomfortable to be cared for by another, but she couldn't just let him go off on his own without making sure he was okay and doing what she could to keep him healthy and safe. He played too significant a role in her life -- as both her friend, her mate, and the father of her puppies -- as well as in the pack, as its alpha. He was too important in too many ways; a simple scratch became something much bigger to her with someone like him.

His words fell on her ears and she could hear the worry in them. She stopped and looked at him with a heartfelt grin, truly touched by his concern for and dedication to her. "Most of this will heal quickly," she reassured him. "As long as nothing's broken inside, you should be back to normal soon enough. I would still take it easy as much as possible for now, though, to let things heal. We've got plenty of able hunters in the pack, and I'm sure we've got some caches built up by now too." She wouldn't starve, she knew that much. Theirs was a thriving and active pack, and with the high population of game in the area, she knew the hunting was good and food was plentiful.

Yeah, but...  She'd stopped tending to him for a moment, so he unfroze and turned towards her, his ears folded back slightly, taking the half step needed so he could duck his head under hers, gently pressing his face into the fur at her throat.  Despite her assurances, he'd messed up, regardless of it being a minor problem or whatever, he still kind of was letting her down and he didn't particularly like that.  Sure, he was overreacting, but he didn't want to worry her and that's what he'd gone and done.

At least right now, the thing that hurt most was his pride.  Partially because he had an idea what his duties were and damned if he was going to feel okay shirking them, even if he really should and that it'd actually not be a problem.  It was for her and she deserved the best.  But I should be able to, it's my job.  Kind of.  Maybe it just was in his little world.  Sure, he had other duties that came with rank, but Raven was priority #1.  And everyone else has done dumb stuff lately too, or at least it felt that way.  If everyone was running off cliffs or cracking their skulls open or whatever, who was gonna hunt?  He should be better than that.

"Yeah, everyone has been trying to self-destruct lately," she said with a grin of amusement, though really it wasn't all that funny. If there hadn't been a skilled medic in the pack, things would have been a lot tougher for those who'd come to her with their various illnesses and injuries. She wasn't sure why everyone seemed to be getting hurt at the same time lately. Maybe it was just because the warm weather and good hunting had them out and about more...or something. Either way, she'd been kept more than busy these past several weeks and she hoped that folks slowed their roll a bit when she delivered her puppies. She couldn't be everywhere at once with a litter of hungry infants at her side.

"But don't let it worry you too much," she commented a moment later, as she made a few more observations of his various scrapes and cuts. There may or may not have also been an observation or two of his finely-sculpted rear. "You'll be back at it in no time. But if any of these deeper cuts starts to give you problems, you let me know, okay? Infection sucks." She bopped him lightly under the chin with her nose, a playful light in her eyes.

Was she done yet?  Okay, seemed like maybe she was.  Smirking, he retorted, Let's be real, you'll probably notice long before it bugs me.  If she wasn't going to not-so-subtly check up on his progress the next few evenings, he'd find a hat to eat.  

At least she seemed to be in a good mood, which lightened his spirits a bit as well.  He nipped at the side of her muzzle in return, So you'll have the fawn now?  After all my pain and suffering?  Most of the suffering was being poked and prodded, obviously.  He was really hopeful that part was over, though he was tempted to grab the fawn and shove it at her again, and he just might if she didn't take that prize.   And if that wasn't there, he might have tried to lure her in to some sort of game.  Hell if he knew what, though.  There was also the issue that though the dull ache from standing still wasn't too bad, once he'd get moving it'd kinda hurt again.

Shall we fade? :)

He nipped her muzzle, and she giggled. She was in a good mood today. Plus there was food. If there was any sure-fire way to make a pregnant lady happy, it was bringing her food. "Yes yes, of course," she answered in a mock exasperated tone to his question, rolling her eyes in a totally over-exaggerated manner. "But only if you'll eat it with me. You're going to need lots of energy to heal up all those bangs and scrapes. You're damaged goods, babe." The latter bit was said with a coy grin and a mischievous gleam in her eyes. She liked picking on him. Grabbing one of the limp deer's legs, she beckoned him to follow her home so they could dine together by the lake. There was an ulterior motive in her inviting him back home too: she wanted him to fill his belly and then rest to give his body a chance to recover.

Sounds good!  Feel free to archive or post+archive, whatever. XD  ONWARD TO POST-SCREECH LAND.

Normally he'd just clean up whatever leftovers there were, but he figured that it probably was big enough to share.  He'd just have to be smart to be 100% sure she got all the good parts and the bigger portion.  Obviously.  He responded with faux-indignation, And you're growing new wolves inside you!  But I guess...  Quixote started after her, cringing a little as his stiff muscles remembered they had to actually do stuff again. Horrors.

And so he'd tough-guy his way through sitting down for a meal and lazing around back at their spot.  Wasn't too bad a way to end a day, was it?  At least until he nudged Raven awake in the middle of the night, begging for something that'd either kill the pain or knock him out so he'd stop flopping around like a fish and be able to sleep.