Edited: She has a few deep punctures on her throat and the flap of skin is just about... oh, I'll say an inch long
Julooke's sides heaved with her exertion from the run. She stumbled into the lands under the rock archway, finally falling in the grass beside the beach. She tried to take in air, but as much as she needed it, she felt like she was choking. Blood poured out of her neck from the bite wound and a small piece of skin flapped open on her front left ankle. She wanted to call for her pack mates, but her lungs wouldn't allow her too. She laid down on her side, her head resting in the soft grass as she continued to try and catch her breath.
She could only hope that the male didn't follow her. She had no energy to move anymore, and there would be no way she could defend herself any longer. She was at the mercy of fate now.
thistle just so happened to be sitting outside watching the super moon when her friend came tumbling into the pack lands. thistle let loose a howl to wake the dead for her husband and she ran to her friends heaving side. by all that is holy what happened julook oh my God's who did this Thistle didn't have time to run to her den all she saw was crimson on pearl and she grasped grass to plug the wound as best she could howling once more for help she pressed hard with her muzzle crimson staining her amber fur blood red. Julooke please just hang on! this is the best I can do until someone else comes to hold it tight please hold on.
her mind was racing as she fought hard the salty tears that threatened to take over her face. She would kill whoever did this to her friend rip them apart with teeth and claws, she was scared and she was furious and that did not make a good mix.
It was the scent of blood that had alerted Ragnar first, it's metallic scent pungent and unmistakable. An otherwise everyday scent to him that he, initially did not pay much mind too even though it carried Thistle and Julookr's scent with it. He had woken some time ago to walk the borders, hoping the fresh night air might do him some good. With Ollie and Olor released from their captivity his sleeping schedule had resumed something that resembled normal. Still, sometimes sleep did not always call to him. Though the matter with Wheeling Gull Isle was far from resolved and he found himself more frusterated on that front than he had, having felt like he was speaking with a child given how many times he needed to repeat himself, Ragnar could not claim that it was anything in particular that kept him up.
Ragnar was drawn from his wandering thoughts when Thistle's howl for him shot into the night like cannon fire, breaking the serenity in which he had previously been enjoying and causing his pace to quicken to a full out run as he worked to close the distance between the two women and himself. He had subconsciously been hearing in the direction of the blood scent, thinking that maybe the women had brought down a deer or something for a midnight snack but the urgency in which his wife had called him for painted Ragnar a much grimer picture. Something was wrong. His heart beat like a war drum in his chest as he ran, a growl building within him with anticipation for what he might find. As he neared them his pace slowed, the growl lost in the column of his throat at he glimpsed down at the heavily panting, exhausted looking Julooke of whom blood was pouring out of in at least two places that he could discern. Thistle had already set to work on getting her fixed up, as eyes of Caribbean ice scoured the lands outside his borders almost dating someone or something to come near them. Who ever had done this to Julooke would die and Ragnar didn't care which pack's feelings would get hurt in the process, if any. As his black, leathery nostrils had flared he had scented a few unknown scents upon Julooke but the scent of her blood was strong enough to nearly drown them out.
Ragnar had stopped just short of asking Julooke who had done it to her, asking Thistle instead, "How can I help?" The bleeding needed to be stopped, surely, and though he was more or less useless when it came toy saving lives he was like a horse that could be led to water. If he was told what to do he could do it. Before he assisted Thistle in whatever she asked him to help with, he touched his muzzle to Julooke's cheek, meant to be comforting and reassuring as the Viking could be. "You are safe now, Julooke." Of that he promised her.
Beric had been resting near his den, curled up under a tree. He would have slept in his own den, but it was currently occupied by Claire, who had yet to be set free. Not that he minded a bit. He was peacefully snoozing when the distressed howl was sent out. His head jerked up, followed quickly by his body. He was off at a dead run towards the shore, where Thistle Cloud had sent the howl out. He couldn't get there fast enough. Had something happened to her? The smell of blood reached his nostrils before the trio came into view. His eyes took in Julooke, covered in blood and still loosing more, though Thistle was trying to stop it. For a moment, he froze. What did this to her? Why? She was so sweet, so innocent. She would have never given any one a reason to attack. Julooke, he whispered in disbelief. His eyes shot to Thistle, the begging in his eyes evident. She had to help her.
Ragnar asked what he could do to help, and Beric nodded, I'm here to help, too, he said quickly. He was no healer, and he had no idea what could be used to help, but he would do whatever Thistle commanded of him.
He was already searching for Julooke before Thistle's howl rent the night air. It wasn't like his mate to be out so late without letting Verrine know where she was going beforehand. He was almost frantic with worry. Had she wounded herself hunting? There were cougars in this region -- had she perhaps fallen foul of one of those nasty cats? Had she slipped and tumbled down a craggy slope in the hills? Countless scenarios ran through his mind, each one more terrifying than the last, so that soon his trot became a full run and he began to search outside of Stavanger's lands for her.
And that was when he heard Thistle's voice split the moonlit night. There was a message of panic and desperation in her howl, and Verrine knew on an instinctive level that it had everything to do with Julooke. His stomach lurched and his heart began to race as he tore across the land as fast as his legs could carry him. It was a pretty good distance, as he'd been most of the way across their packlands from where Thistle had sent up her call, but his pace chewed up the distance in mere minutes. As he drew nearer, he smelled blood -- Julooke's blood -- and immediately his hackles bristled. A snarl bubbled low in his throat as he emerged on the scene and saw his beautiful, snow-white wife laying in a heap on the ground, spattered with blood. His first instinct, the basic drive of a wolf seeing his mate in danger, was to drive the other wolves away and he very nearly did. But he managed to restrain himself and, shaking with anger and horror, crouched down beside Julooke. He kissed her face tenderly, murmuring comfortingly in her ear, "I'm here, baby. I'm here." He looked up at Thistle then, his eyes pleading. "Please…help her."
She didn't see Thistle sitting on the beach when she stumbled into the territory. She was still panicking, still fearing the male had followed her here. Thistle's voice broke through her racing thoughts, and Julooke struggled to lift her head. Did he- did he follow me? she asked about the male who attacked her, her voice thick with fear. If he did, he could attack Thistle, as well. Her friend sent out a frantic call as Julooke laid her head back down. She felt the pressure on her neck, realized Thistle was placing her paws there to stop the bleeding. She heard the questions, but struggled to answer. She hadn't known who her attacker was, but she know an important detail. White eyes, she said.
One by one, more pack mates came. With Ragnar, Beric, and Verrine here, there was no way her attacker would succeed in a fight, even if he did follow her. She let out a deep sigh before finally submitting to her exhaustion. The adrenaline that coursed through her body and allowed her to flee was now dwindling, and shock was taking over. The blood loss made her dizzy and weak, and her eyes shut softly as she slipped into unconsciousness.
Thistle listened to the gurgling words that fell out of Julooke's throat and she cried out when the blackness over took her and she snarled at everyone present, not meaning to be mean or lash out, but she needed them to be quiet so she could think then she spoke to Ragnar I need someone to hold this grass on her throat or run to the den and get me cobwebs...I just want cobwebs i'll put herbs on it to heal after i get the bleeding stopped, so take your pick but make it quick. she pressed down harder with her paw mindful to not choke her, but she needed constant pressure or she'd bleed out. I need those now if I don't have them she'll bleed out!
“No one has followed you here,” Ragnar assured Julooke just as Beric, shortly followed by Verrine approached the scene. She did not seem to be any sort of truly coherent state to effectively tell them the precise details of the one that had injured her; or perhaps she had been so hyped up on adrenaline and afraid that she didn't get a good look at him at all. White Eyes was what she had told him. White Eyes. Never before had Ragnar seen a wolf with white eyes, and while it was important, a lead even, look for a wolf with white eyes a rarity in itself he supposed, he felt like he needed more. More information. Still, a male with white eyes was enough for him to launch an investigation. “Do you remember where you were when you were attacked?” Even if he could poke around the scene of the crime he might be able to pick up their scents before they faded. He would not let the demon that had done this to Julooke get away. It didn't work like that. Trying to kill Julooke might have made him feel like a man but in reality taking a non-fighter female was cowardly and weak. They called Ragnar a demon but he had never attacked a woman or child without good reason. He knew Julooke well enough to know that she had given the monster that had done that no reason to attack her. It was Julooke, his sweet and gentle Pupsitter.
The urge to bring her justice, to avenge her attack was strong, as strong as he desire to protect her and keep her safe. “From now on no woman or child leaves these lands without a warden or someone that can protect them.” Not with some sick prowler on the lose who obviously got his kicks from trying to kill women.
Ragnar was outwardly as angry as Beric felt inside, and he agreed with his leader's order. I'll gladly escort anyone who needs to go out, he replied. He wasn't technically a warden yet, but he was a protector. His attention, while partially on Ragnar and Verrine, was still mostly on his important job of keeping Julooke's bleeding under control. Verrine was visibly upset, and Beric said the only thing that might make him feel just a fraction better. We'll find the bastard who did this, he promised. Gesturing towards Julooke, he added, His scent will still be on her. Get it. Memorize it. Beric didn't feel comfortable moving much in his current position or else he would have gotten the attacker's scent, as well.
The blackness offered a secure, comforting space to be. Julooke felt no anxiousness, no fear, no pain. She also couldn't hear those around her. The world, for all she knew, had disappeared into nothingness. She had no idea her family was scrambling around to help her, or that Beric was apparently planning a hunt for the wolf that attacked her. She was in a blissful state of unawareness.