Ouroboros Spine no one wakes up one day

i have a lot of muse and want to further explore this new installment of wintersbane raako's life. tags for reference. c:

ouroboros spine had become something of a refuge for him though most of his time over the course of the next couple of days have been spent flitting in and out of consciousness. when he is aware he notes the presence of @Reiko and @Easy — though if they spoke their names to him during those moments where he is awake and lucid he struggles to hold them. trying to recall how he got in this state — wounded and sore — ...or anything past those moments of awareness with the two women that tended to him dutifully is useless. it's all black. a blank canvas. all he knows now: is that he's here and injured and being tended to by two kind strangers.

there is some kind of poultice plastered to the wounds on his face and neck and it smells a little bit earthen and a little bit foul. he peers around the makeshift shelter one of them ( or perhaps both ) built around him, searching for them. he assumes they went out in search of more medicines to treat him with ...or to hunt, perhaps. but laying around like a lump on a log makes him feel restless and slowly he stretches, pushing himself to his paws. he's shaky, reminding himself of a pup getting to it's paws for the first time, but he manages and swallows, painfully as the action pulls at the wounds on his neck, taking a slow and deep breath through his nose.

he's weak from the wounds, from the lack of nourishment he needed ( spending so much time unconscious ) and he's thirsty. water, he decides will be his first order of business and he takes a few hesitant steps, testing the weight of his body on limbs that still feel a bit unsteady before heading in the direction of what he thinks — hopes, rather — is a fresh water source.

@Reiko let me know if any of these assumptions should be changed!

Easy was snoozing outside the small structure that the other woman had put together for their patient. She spent most of her days this way, and took up hunting in the evenings. The spine was not much for large game -- especially since deer seemed to navigate the terrain far more easily than she ever would. Still, they'd been able to provide food for themselves and what little they could get the male to eat.

"You're up!" she cheered when the male -- oh, why couldn't she remember his name? -- emerged from his temporary den. "Reiko says we oughta get you to drink, if we can. Think you can make it down to the water?" she asked brightly, hopping to her paws and trotting over to offer a shoulder to lean on.

the darker pelaged woman's voice — cheerful — briefly startles him and his expression turns sheepish as he looks to her wondering how he'd missed her presence the first time. he still feels a bit disoriented and assumes that's the reason. glacial gaze watches with the unsteady pace of his paws slows to a hesitant stop as she approaches him. even the smallest of actions — movements he'd once taken such advantage of — cause the wounds on his neck to hurt, thus eating and to his dismay by proxy drinking are painful. she's a chipper thing, he notes and supposes that it wasn't a bad thing. it's helped to keep his mood uplifted during those times when he was conscious ...not that having two pretty woman fawn over and nurse him back to health didn't do wonders for moral because it did.

reiko. that was the pale woman. for a moment, he contemplates how to answer her question as she offers her shoulder to lean on. though part of him is stubborn and wants to refuse it, he also knows he's weak and finds himself accepting her support. regardless, he already owes both women for coming to his rescue and probably, definitely saving his life. he gives a very small nod of his head, the trying to restrict the movement to a sharp, small bob of his head in 'yes' but it still pulls at the wounds on his neck and he winces, grimacing at the small radiation of pain.

Although she had her doubts, Easy gave a bob of her head. "Good," she said agreeably, helping to guide him down to the water's edge. The way was paved with foul mud, but not, thankfully, the kind that tried to suck you under. Still, it was slippery enough that she would've worried for him alone. "I know you can do it on your own," she volunteered with a wag of her tail. "You oughta be capable of anything if that fall didn't kick ya. Especially hurt like you were. But there's no point in tempting fate, huh? My dad liked to say: A smart wolf moves obstacles out of his path, but a wise one goes around them."

She had no idea that she now kept the company of two wolves that'd met her father. This one, however, was likely never to find out, nor to be able to tell her.

They reached the water, at length, and Easy moved away to give him space. It was hot -- the sunlight was not particularly strong, but her coat was thick and dark. She waded into the water and laid down once more, but soon became interested in the catfish that came up to bask in the shallows. "Hungry?" she asked him, already licking her lips in anticipation.

he takes the slope with careful steps, shifting his weight to his rear legs so he didn't go toppling down it face first. he listens to her, his attention displayed by the crook of his ear in her direction, but offers no attempts to communicate verbally in return. she assures him that she knows he could do it on his own — and oddly enough he feels reassured — speaking of the fall. the fall. the injuries he bears that have nothing to do with the fall. he didn't get the injuries on his face or his neck and throat from rocks ...but of course he has no answers as to why he woke up bleeding and wounded anymore than he did for how and why he'd tumbled from the ledge — or the other wolf for the matter who'd clearly drawn the shortest stick.

he releases a soft breath, a non-verbal communication that he liked the saying she shared with him, accented by a wag of his tail. they reached the water without much trouble — well he reached it without much trouble but he suspected having her shoulder to lean on was probably a fair contributor to that fact — and he pauses at the water's edge, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls as he peers down at his distorted reflection finding that the rough looking face with icy eyes that stared back at him was just as much as a stranger as the two women that made it their mission to help him.

he tries to bow his head down towards the water instinctively and lets out a soft pant of pain and eventually lowers himself down onto the soft bank, inching closer to the water's edge with a soft huff. when close enough he leans his muzzle down and laps at the water greedily even as the pain radiates from the wounds with each swallow. but he doesn't care. he feels like a man that's been stranded in the desert for days and finally found that elusive watering hole and has realized that, by some miracle, it wasn't a mirage.

he lifts his head from the water with a ragged breath, from the need to catch it, from the pain as she calls out to him. hungry? was he? the pain stole away most of his appetite even before he realized chewing and swallowing all worked over the muscles beneath his wounds. her and reiko could heal his wounds, sure, but his psyche and the recovery speed ...that was all dependent on him so he offers her a small nod. he couldn't promise he'd eat much but eating something had to be better than nothing at all.

Easy watched the male for a moment, lapping at the water herself. It was obvious that he was in pain, but she didn't know herbs well enough to mess around with them. She might end up poisoning him instead of helping to ease his pain. Besides, he wasn't about to keel over with it -- he was probably fine.

The male's willingness to eat seemed like a good sign to her as well. Easy stood and shot him a genial smile before turning and wading a little deeper into the water. She put her face down close to the surface, so that her whiskers just barely brushed the water, and waited

and waited

... and waited some more

Snap!

Lightning-fast, she struck down, clamping her jaws around a thrashing catfish and pulling it quickly to the banks. She dropped it on the ground and then held it with one paw as she delivered two quick chomps to its head. "One for you," she sing-songed, sloshing back into the water.

he shifts and leans down to lap a few more times at the water, not desiring to make himself sick by drinking too much, too fast. drinking and eating was painful enough. throwing up? wasn't something he wanted to test. he shuffles back a bit from the bank and stretches carefully, testing the pull of muscles beneath his blue-black pelage as she pounces on her unsuspecting target. glacial gaze follows the elegant and languid movements she makes, unable to help but feel a spark of ...what? jealousy? admiration? for how easy ( ha ) she makes it look. then again, he thinks, maybe he, too, knows how to fish. did he even like fish?

just another thing on a long, tragic list of things he didn't remember.

her execution of the thrashing fish — were those whiskers? — was precise and she announces that this one was for him. he stretches a large paw towards it and drags it nearer to him, studying the scaled water prey with a micro-expression that goes from clinical to blank in a moment of seconds. was he supposed to skin it? could he eat it scales and all? he can't exactly ask her and so waits for her to catch her own meal and figures he'd just follow her lead when she begins to eat.

It's faster, this time: Easy had stolen a small chunk out of the male's fish to drop in the water. Two or three catfish came out of the murky water to try and claim it for their own; she aimed for the largest, and was soon dancing to shore with a second fish thrashing in her dripping maw. She lorded it playfully over her friend for a moment before delivering the same swift end, and then crouched over it as she bit into the soft belly and began stripping out the innards to eat like spaghetti. It wasn't the best meal, but her tail lashed in satisfaction at being able to fill her belly.

"My mom taught me to fish," she told him, chatting idly once the edge of her hunger had been ground down. "Well, she wasn't really my mom, but she was my father's mate. And she had a litter with him. I loved her very much. But she disappeared after my dad died."

A lot of wolves had. It made her a bit sad to think about, but she had been working hard to live in the present, and so she did not appear to be affected too badly by the topic.

"I'm sorry I can't remember your name," she told him, remembering the night they'd spent together in the woods. He had been a great comfort to her. "I was going by Blackbear still back then, remember? But Easy is my real name. That's what my dad always called me."

'raako' watches her strip out it's innards and he copies her actions on his own catfish with only the briefest moment of hesitation. using his neck muscles ( which was unavoidable ) caused him pain but he pushes through it because he has to. the only alternative is death and though there'd been a point in which he'd accepted it as gracefully as one could before reiko'd found him ...the truth is he's rescinded that acceptance. he isn't ready to die. 'raako' eats, scrunching his face at the taste — he's not a real big fan, apparently — as she fills the silence with one-sided conversation and though he can't really participate beyond gestures, and a few vocalizations he gives her his rapt attention all the same.

he eats what he can — which isn't as much as he should be eating for his size — and noses the rest away from him, salmon pink tongue darting out to draw across his jowls in an attempt to clean them. he makes a small, morose and apologetic noise when she tells him that the woman she saw as her mother left after her father died. that probably had been a painful thing to come to terms with, he assumes, but one of the blissful things of not being able to remember anything was that he couldn't exactly sympathize ( though he could've very easily if he hadn't lost his memory ).

she apologizes for not being able to remember his name and he lets out a small churr that is meant to be a laugh — broken quickly by the radiation of pain it causes from his wounds that is followed by a visceral reaction that closely resembles a cringe mixed with a flash of pain. he settles for a small shake of his head and shrug. 'i can't remember it either so don't feel bad'. perhaps a form of repentance for the time he spent as a child pretending that he couldn't remember his family; forgetting those that he loved: relmyna, hydra, astara. his daughter, quellcrist.

blackbear. from her words, it's easy to tell that they knew each other but his memory is a void. try as he might to recall he comes up empty pawed all the same. he shakes his head 'no', wishing he could bring himself to form the words to assure her that it's not personal: he doesn't remember anything.

When he finished with his own fish, Easy stole the remains and bolted that down, too. She wasn't terribly hungry, but fish was only good for so long, and she didn't want it to go to waste. Besides, one never knew when they might get their next meal. "I'll get you something hot blooded, next time," she told him, her voice teasing even though she knew that catfish was not everyone's favorite meal. She preferred other things herself, but beggers couldn't be choosers.

He didn't remember her name any better than she remembered his. This bothered Easy only a little, and she soon shook off the discomfort with more idle flirting. "That's alright," she told him. "You were gallant enough that night to make up for your forgetfullness. Although, I'd rather be cleaning treesap from your pelt than blood and scabs." Her eyes twinkled merrily at this to show that she didn't really mind; she hoped that someone would be willing to do it for her, should she ever have need of it.

it's disorienting to not remember because he knows there should be memories — he didn't just spring into existence a fully grown male, after all — but he 'raako' can't claim that theres any sorrow at the lack of them. can't miss what you can't remember and that was the simple and clinical truth of it. he doesn't try to respond to her verbally, sensing that he wouldn't be able to by the pain that he feels just swallowing. there are some noises that he can make that don't hurt as bad as others ...and for now 'raako' seeks to stick with those, trusting his body language and micro-expressions to do the talking for him.

she speaks of the night they spent together, claiming he was gallant ...a good thing, he surmises; and mentions she'd rather clean up tree sap than blood and scabs. admittedly, he would rather that too given the circumstances. regardless and unfortunately, her recollection does not jog his memory. he makes a small noise that he hopes conveys his gratitude to her and creeps again towards the bank to take another drink of the water, discreetly hoping to wash some of the fish taste out of his mouth.

The male let her teasing roll like water off a duck's back, but Easy wasn't going to let his lack of reaction keep her from looking for one. It was in her nature to tease and joke, and she figured he could use some levity while he was recovering.

While he went to drink, she lounged on the banks enjoying the sunlight, sprawled on her side with only her head erect, although her eyes were half-lidded and not at all watchful. Her ears, however, swivelled endlessly to follow the noises of the birds and the breeze, and anything else that might be coming toward them. Her nose catalogued the different scents that drifted toward them, and besides -- even injured, the male was as impressive a specimen as she was. Who was going to bother the two of them?

"I'm going to have to call you something," she said at length, her eyes focusing on him once more. "At least until you're well enough to remind me of your name. What do you think of Blue? Since you're kind of blue-black in places, and you've got those pretty blue eyes. Or we could call you Treesap, for old time's sake." The second name was obviously a jest, but she was open to trying out other things if he seemed not to appreciate either one.

his attention drifts, gaze staring absently across the water to settle on nothing in particular on the opposite bank. the thousand yard stare is too easy for him to accomplish without trying, the disassociation carrying him far away from the bank with easy. it is only when she speaks that he rouses from it and it takes him a few seconds to focus and decipher her words. names. she was talking about names. no. not names. his name. he can't muster the ability to form the words to tell her that he didn't even remember it and thus any name would be better than having nothing. her first suggestion appears based on the undertone color of his fur or his eyes.

the second option appears based on their last meeting when, according to her, she cleaned tree sap from his fur. he lets out a soft, near inaudible snort. treesap wasn't his first choice in potential names to call him, though blue wasn't hateful, he supposed. still, he peers over his shoulder at her with a slow turn of his head to avoid disrupting his wounds. what else d'you got?

A laugh escaped her at the reaction she got. She imagined he seemed somewhat perturbed, but amused enough that she went on. "Handsome? Fluffbutt? McLovin?" she suggested, a wicked gleam in her pumpkin gaze. But she was swiftly back to business, as she really did want to have something to call him. "What about Panther? It's a good, strong name. I'm afraid I don't know many names like what some wolves have. Tom and Valette and Aditya and the like. Sound-names. We always did word names in my family. Or hey -- there's Mirza. It's my brother's middle name, but he wouldn't mind of you borrowed it. It means prince."

She watched him carefully through this speech, looking for signs of partiality. Personally, she liked the idea of Panther, but she was willing to continue the brainstorming session.

her next three suggestions are largely amusing to him but definitely not names he wanted others calling him — though handsome wasn't terrible ( a compliment even ) ...it made for a strange name and given the state of his wounded face he isn't so sure it applies to him or if it ever did. he draws in a contemplative breath as she throws the name 'panther' out next. he agrees that it does sound stalwart, regal but not ostentatious; which was good because if there was ever a part of him that thought he was 'royal' had disappeared like smoke with his memories. it would all take some getting used to: learning who he was ...or, if his memories never return who he is now.

nailing down a name sounded like a good start to that daunting path. mirza didn't sound bad, either, but he isn't sure that 'prince' fits him. but maybe it did? that plaguing uncertainty makes its pesky presence known again and his ears flutter back to rest at half mast atop his skull as he contemplates. in the end, he lets out a small uncertain chirrup to communicate that he'd like for her to be the one to choose which name she thought fit him best: panther or mirza — which was the only likely option anyway given his current inability to communicate verbally.

He didn't seem wholly against either of the last two options. Easy was swift to nip the deliberations in the bud. "Panther it is," she decided, glad to have that squared away. It was a lot easier than referring to him as the male in her head all the time. "At least until you're healed enough to tell me your real name," she added, having still not cottoned on to the fact that he'd forgotten most everything about himself. She had no experience with those sort of head injuries and thus, had no idea it was even in the realm of possibilities.

Satisfied with their short jaunt, Easy stood and stretched, tail wagging idly. She padded toward the male to give his wounds a perfuntuory sniff, but everything seemed to be in order to her. "Ready to head back?" she asked him, thinking that the walk down and then back up again would be quite enough exercise for him, considering the extent of his injuries.

panther, it was decided. panther gives a soft, affirmative nod of his head at the new name: so it shall be. panther offers her a small, terse smile that doesn't touch his eyes and could be perceived as 'sad' as she speaks that 'panther' will suffice until he can give her his actual name. without the ability to currently communicate to her verbally that he doesn't know his name, panther has no choice but to allow her to stay under that impression. he doesn't linger long upon that thought for very long — after all, he can't miss what he doesn't remember and there's little use weeping over spilled milk. instead, he turns his focus to her question and eyes the path pack over his shoulder. with a small, strained breath he pushes himself — slowly — to his paws and makes a noise of confirmation: yes, lets head back.