Wolf RPG

He started, stirred back into wakefulness by the not-so-kindly ministrations of a raven come to pick at tattered flesh. Never in his life had he felt overcome by such a weakness as the one that plagued him now. The pain was a lingering constant, unlike the ebbing of high tide and more like a flood that pulled him further and further into awareness. He twitched and the raven sprang away, a surprised caw escaping it before it opted to take flight. The carrion creature had chosen wrongly and knew better, thinking perhaps the wolf would ensnare it.

But no thoughts crossed his mind to do so; he busied himself through the haze and nausea of discomfort. He had little concept of how badly his own injures were; even less memory of how it had come about. It was the littlest of things that came to him: the way the frost of the day now clung to his coat, the sound of his breath and the warmth it drew out from him; how the dampness left his prone form with a feeling of hot and cold. He opened his eyes — rather, tried to — and found darkness around him, though the faintest of surroundings came to him from what he could make out. The other eye he assumed was useless for the time being, cut and swollen. For now, he did not sense its absence in lieu of a flash of memory.

The cougar, his entire being seemed to prompt, and it forced him to right himself in a hurry. Though a sphinx-like sprawl was hardly a solution to his problems, yet it did not multiple them beyond the searing sensation he felt in his shoulder. Mute panic flooded his gaze as he scanned through the dim surroundings, but the feline was missing in action. This did not soothe him as much as he would have wanted, and the silent forest felt overwhelming. He breathed out hotly, the chilly air expediting the solitary plume into nothingness. Mordecai couldn't gauge the time at all, thrown off so much by the absent of sunlight; it could have easily been late afternoon or midnight for all he knew.

Then and there, he didn't realize how little he knew about a lot of things.

Harlyn wouldn't know for certain for days, but as she strode through the quiet of her woodland home, a happy contentment was upon her that made her feel confident that in a couple months, the Hollow would be welcoming a new generation. The thought caused a smile to curl across her lips as she pictured it, and though it would have been too presumptuous to thank the gods for their gift, so she simply said a prayer for the health and safety of her loved ones - including those she had yet to meet.

As fate would have it, she had whispered that prayer too late.  It was only a few minutes later that a scent came to her upon the wind.  Harlyn recognized Mordecai immediately, but before her smile could broaden even a millimeter, the rest came to her like a blast in the face.  There were other scents as well - one canine, but not wolf, and another.  Feline.  And mingled over it all was the unmistakable sting of blood.

Her heart in her throat, the druid broke into a sprint.  The trunks of trees went by in a blur, Harlyn artfully dodging them as she wove along until finally, she spotted his crumpled, mangled form.  She whined desperately as she sped to his side, slowing to a stop just before him.  "No, no no no no..." she murmured fearfully, wanting to reach for him but knowing better than to overwhelm an injured wolf even though she knew this one intimately, "Mordecai..."

In the silence that reigned in the scant minutes to follow, he assessed what he could of his situation. The difficulties therein made it increasingly troublesome to sort though and just when he thought he was making headway, the sound of rushing footfalls got his attention. He could not see their source and found that in spite of trying to hear them, he could not tell from the heaviness whether they were canine or feline.

It took him too long to figure out where it was coming, though he bared his teeth instinctively until he spied out Harlyn's figure in the gloom. She had come to a stop by then, but her anticipation was palpable. He tensed, a certain pit of discomfort pulling him to sink just a little lower to the earth. The inability to see that larger picture troubled him, but keeping his own anxiety at bay was proving to be a larger threat that he could figure.

Finally, he whined in response to her own, finally finding his voice though no real words found their way out. If the cougar was still there, he wanted to believe she would not linger. But the whining on his end was more of a comfort to reach out to her, to draw her in; trying to get a better look at her was only straining his neck.

Harlyn lowered herself instinctively at his warning growl, communicating with her posture that she was no threat to him.  He realized soon enough who it was, and her heart throbbed painfully as it went out to him.  She saw him reach for him and she crept towards him, touching her muzzle tenderly against his.

It didn't occur to her to worry that the threat might still be in the area.  Calm flooded her as she shifted gears quite suddenly.  She knew he was alive, felt confident that he was safe now that she was with him, and so the only thing left for her to do was to take care of him.  Harlyn crept even closer to him, her muzzle slipping towards his injuries as she began to inspect them, her tongue flicking out gently here and there as she went.

She emerged in his field of view fully, hovering low to the ground as she filled the scene. Gradually, he delved back to lying prone so she could better check over him, as he knew that would be the first thing she would do. In a matter of moments, he felt the warm press of her tongue gently cleaning his wounds, and felt it sting all the same as she deftly cleared those wounds of debris.

"Cougar must be gone," he surmised, voice low and quiet. It felt as though it had its own disuse too, but he attributed that to the time he had lost. His mouth felt dry. "Guess I was more trouble than I was worth." And those words sounded smug even to him, but it was for her sake... and his own. Mordecai knew it had been a close call and as it were in the expanse of the wilderness they lived in, nothing was guaranteed.

"How bad is it?"

Harlyn received no protest as she began to tentatively clean his wounds, and so she continued with more confidence. Hearing him speak was a relief even though his words were ominous. He confirmed her assumption that a cougar was to blame for his injuries, but it didn't explain the other scent of something canine. She dismissed it though, guessing it was unrelated and thus inconsequential.

"What was it doing here? Trying to raid our caches?" she asked between licks. The alpha knew cats, knew that they kept to themselves for the most part unless threatened. And Mordecai was certainly not stupid enough to aggravate one without cause.

"I think it was chasing an injured coyote," he answered, thankful to hear her queries in place of something else.  Not that he anticipated her chiding him, but at the same time quarreling with a cougar wasn't exactly the most intelligent thing any one of them could do.  Then again, it had never been in his playbook to do anything quite that hazardous.  "I didn't know it was there until it showed up," he went on to say, feature contorting with the passage of pain.

She didn't answer him in regards to his own injuries, so he was left to assume he wasn't as bad as off as he could have been.  Weary, in pain, but conscious.  It certainty beat out feeling life ebbing out of him, and naturally it was a definite win over not feeling anything at all again.

Chasing a coyote? Harlyn furrowed her brow thoughtfully. Yes, that would explain the odd scent of an other that she had caught. It troubled her that a cat would hunt a coyote at all, especially when it had instead attacked her partner - perhaps it had a taste for canine blood. More than that though, she was bothered that the spirits had seen fit to force such terrible luck on them. Mordecai had simply been n the wrong place at the wrong time, and he had been mauled for it.

Harlyn cleaned his wounds tenderly and quietly for a few minutes longer before she stopped and looked at him. "You're lucky that you're not in too bad of shape," she said, "Quite unlucky to have been attacked at all, but still." she sucked in a steadying breath before her mind could go too far towards what might have happened his bad luck not run out.

"We'll need a bit more though," she murmured finally, forcing the anxiety from her voice. As a healer, she was quite used to keeping her calm in dire situations. Not that Mordecai's was too dire, but without medical attention and protection, it could be.

"You need medicine," the alpha said after a beat, "I won't leave you alone like this. I can call someone? Or help you to shelter?"

Her words were more soothing than he could have expected, though it did not entirely quell the stress he felt over it all. She didn't delve into details, but he'd take being told he wasn't that bad off as a good thing rather than a bad. Still, being at the receiving end of that sort of pain told him it was bad enough; for it to be worse he may as well have been lying there half-conscious and completely unaware of any sort of presence around him. There was no telling how long he had been forged into that position either — all of it in hindsight now as quickly becoming a blur as the silence of the situation lingered with the absence of her voice.

But Harlyn chimed back in, the murmuring of her voice only a brief gleaming thread that she was still making decisions as things unfolded. Knowing full and well that she wouldn't leave him alone, he mustered to draw himself back into a semi-upright position, carefully aware of the tension and pain that rolled through his shoulder. "I think I can manage," he said, teeth gritting. The ground felt uncertain beneath him, but he wasn't sure if that was just lingering disorientation or the gravity of what he intended to do. When he did make for the attempt to rise, it was a shaky sort as he combated with not placing weight on the injured leg. It was a slow rise, and he was stubborn enough to try.

Mordecai insisted that he could manage, leaving Harlyn to bite back her negation.  Even though she'd suggested it, she hadn't really wanted him to opt for that plan.  He was weak - he'd lost a lot of blood and was likely hurting far worse than he would ever let on.  It was with trepidation that she watched him pull himself to his paws.  She stepped back to give him room to stand, but was right at his side the moment she wouldn't be a hindrance but a help to him.  She pressed herself to his side so that he could lean his weight on her and waited for him to steady himself against her before attempting to move forward.

"I'm sure there's somewhere close where we can tuck you away," she murmured, putting her nose and ears to work, looking for the smell of dank air or the sound of hollow, echoing spaces that might suggest a cave was nearby.  Harlyn had never been much of a hunter (except for when it came to plants) but fortune was on their side when after ten minutes or so the ground suddenly gave way underneath the tangled roots of a thick-trunked tree, leaving an empty space beneath (like this - I can't do imagery tonight).

"There we go... How about we stuff you in there?" she said, trying to mask her relief with humor.  She could tell by his labored breathing and the slow, stumbling step that he was not doing well.  She needed him down and resting, and she needed herself out and fetching herbs that would help him heal.  In truth, Harlyn was still displeased with having to leave him by himself, but the time had passed now for her to fetch someone to watch over him.  She needed to go, and she needed to go quickly.

He had lost a lot of blood; a fact that lingered somewhere in his mind as he had slowly righted himself. He didn't see it in the darkness that had surrounded them, but he felt it beneath the worn pads of his feet. And there was Harlyn, right as his side as they began a tedious venture into the woods around them. Mordecai let her guide him, wholly trusting her instincts as they slipped back into more familiar locales within the Hollow's proper claim. He did not entire pay them mind as they passed what could have easily been landmarks known by their own wolves and the grove that eventually rose up was one that he did not recognize. Truthfully, other than the sound of his own shaky breath and the sound of their footfalls, he had a lucid grasp on what was going on. Instinct drove him to find somewhere safer.

She saw the hollowed trunk and its twisted and torn up network of roots long before he did. And with that subtle, reassuring guidance he found himself directed more than led to settle in the open mass therein, doing so gladly. There was a sharp intake of breath as he settled down to the cool earth, his limbs not entirely willing to cooperate with what he thought they needed to do. Much in the same way he heard the humor in her tone but could not muster a response that befit their usual banter; his head sank between his legs as the rejoinder. Where he thought he had felt weary and indisposed before was nothing compared to the lack of strength he found now, and the gravity of the situation came to settle on his shoulders unseen and heavy.

The smile upon her muzzle didn't fade, even as she realized that the Ostrega had barely any grasp on the words she had spoken.  She helped him into the shelter and nuzzled his ear tenderly as he laid his head down.  Though it was her job to stay strong and confident in the face of such dire situations, the alpha let slip a very soft whine as her muzzle slipped down against his cheek and she murmured softly, "I love you, Mordecai."

They were words she hadn't allowed herself to say since the first time she'd uttered them when they had been dismissed for a different topic.  Her tongue glanced upon his soft fur briefly before she turned and sped off into the trees, leaving behind her sentiment and worry and letting determined intent fill every nook and cranny of her self.

Harlyn sped along the crests and nooks of the Hollow, her nose twitching fiercely as she sought what she needed to save her partner's - no, her mate's life.  Maybe they hadn't defined it in so many words yet, and maybe it was too soon to tell for certain, but her heart knew she was carrying his children and even more, it had known long before that what he was to her.  Finding the right herbs was not so easy as it had been for her to find the den to hide Mordecai in.  Nevertheless, it was with a mouthful of roots and leaves that she returned to his side, worry etched upon her every feature in spite of herself.

If there was perhaps one thing that he would hear clearly, it was her murmured voice telling him that she loved him. He had no doubts of that; her actions had spoken loud and clear to him where he lacked in words. It wasn't a difficult thing to repeat, no, but he hadn't. Instead he had led his actions speak for him over time, as he had been keen to follow her and the dreams that she had, and had not been inclined to leave her side since. He had opted to settle and this situation was just one of many probable events that could happen to any of them. Yet before he could nudge her reassuringly, she had spirited away into the darkness.

So he drifted instead, entangled in the threads of consciousness by a throbbing shoulder and a searing head wound that seemed to go much further than his head really was. Keeping himself calm was a bit easier away from the scene of his feline altercation, but Mordecai still felt the press of worry in his body as though it could prompt him to rise up and suss out the feline. If anything he presumed it was long gone, off somewhere to nurse its wounds. It had probably caught up with that coyote, keen on a meal that wouldn't fight it like a wolf pack would.

His working eye was half-lidded in thought when Harlyn came to return, and opened fully on fact that she startled him. But recognition struck in the next moment and he found himself trying to greet her with the reassurance he did not get to in time; his tail wagged wearily against the ground. He was still there, nothing bad had happened to him in her departure.

He was safe - a fact that brought a smile to her lips.  It was short-lived though as she spied the feeble wave of his tail that was all the "welcome back" he apparently could muster.  Harlyn pushed her concern for that off and set to work, creeping up beside him and dropping her bundle within his reach.  She pushed them apart with her muzzle and nudged a few of the greens closer to him.

"You eat these," Harlyn instructed softly, but firmly.  The rest she took up in her jaws and began to chew into a pulp that she intended to spread upon the gashes on his face and shoulder.  There wouldn't be any part of this that he didn't dislike, but she would not be allowing him to skip a single step of it.

He shifted as she drew nearer again, better preparing himself for the ordeal that was ahead. It was half an attempt to make her job easier, but also to try and make himself more comfortable. The former was easier to do than the latter, but he anticipated that his own body would not appreciate the shuffling of limbs and the resettling he made. In that time she had laid out for him a simple task, though he could not help but regard the bundle of dried and faded greens before him curiously for a few moments. He drew in the mismatched scent of them, snorting at her words but far from defiant.

Mordecai did as he was told, though he found the dryness that crept in his mouth following the gathering of such herbs to be unpleasant; the leaves and stringy strands of whatever else there was did not sate his desire to be rid of pain. His face expressed this, contorting sourly for a moment in spite of the pain that followed the reaction. He didn't chew them up for too long, instead taking the atypical manly approach to it by slamming them down and wolfishly scraping his tongue with his teeth.

"Awful," he told her, fighting the urge to let his features turn sour. "How do you even," he went on, but did not finish as though the tone would be enough flourish to get his point across. He had never thought to ask Blue Willow such things when she had instructed him once upon a time to do the same, but then again at least the herbs had been in season. For all he knew, they weren't even the same ones.

Harlyn chewed while Mordecai took his medicine.  As expected, his face contorted with disgust at the taste of them and like the professional she was, she merely gazed at him with a pitying glance instead of smirking.  Shuffling closer, she murmured through the pulp upon her tongue, "Don't thank me yet..."

Not bothering to warn him of the sting, she stroked her tongue against his torn skin to spread the chewed mixture of herbs into his lacerations.  She braced herself for any protest and would give him a moment if he pulled away, but the medic was not to be deterred for too long.  She would persist until every cut had a decent helping smeared across it.  Then, and only then, he could rest.  Until she needed to reapply it, anyway.

And as he soon discovered, he had reason not to thank her yet. He had expected a warning from her, some sort of obvious sign beyond her mashing and gnawing of the weary plants that would throw up flags to brace himself for a healing assault. It happened so quickly that he gave little consideration over his own reaction; the curling of his lips for a flash of teeth, the recoil away from her. But it was only passing, as Mordecai would not strike like a snake too ungrateful for her aid. Instead his teeth set evenly and the curl of a snarl unspoken dissipated. His ears splayed with mute apology, and he allowed her to continue.

Mordecai did not need to be told twice, or given explanation of what would happen if he did not let her tend to his wounds. Nor did he want to try and assess for himself the extent of such. Keeping himself conscious could have been considered a minor feat, though even had he been out cold the gentlest of her ministrations would have brought him to. Quietly, perhaps even solemnly, he drew his splayed ears back against the curve of his skull.

As expected, Mordecai jerked away from her at first and bared his teeth.  She gazed calmly at him, but did not move forward again until he settled down again, at which point she set to work covering his wounds with the medicinal paste.  She worked as quickly as she could, not wanting to leave him in discomfort for longer than she needed to.  He had plenty of that ahead of him without her sticking her tongue into his gashes.

Harlyn nudged his cheek gently when she finished to let him know it was over.  She ran her tongue along her own teeth then to clean them of debris.  The flavor of these was not much better than the ones she'd made him ingest, but the medic was accustomed to it after so many years.  She nuzzled his ears softly, growling so gently it was like a purr.  There was nothing left for him to do but sleep.  She was there to watch over him, and she was not about to be leaving any time soon.

In the minutes that passed as she worked, he felt a spread of warmth overtake him. The probing and near constant efforts of her cleaning felt dulled; he himself felt lulled into an unheard cadence that dared to swiftly whisk him away to sleep. While he knew it was no doubt something he had ingested from her stock, he still fought it for as long as he could. But by the time she had caressed his cheek and teased the finer hairs of his ear, he had relaxed and had slowly brought his gradually heavy head to rest along a foreleg. Still, as an eyelid drooped sharply, he found himself fighting the desire to sleep, as though some part of him was innately hard-wired to stay alert. This battle was one that he ultimately lost, and the embrace of warmth from his partner finally pulled him into the rest that was much needed.