Swiftcurrent Creek To Hold and Ocean

We can fast forward to the next morning, if you'd like.

His body didn't respond to her touch the way Tuwawi had expected. He became slow and stunted by the pain which ravaged his body. Sounds dribbled like water from his maw incoherently, but it wasn't enough the piece words - or even syllables - together. His eyes became fixated on the moonlight pouring through the door, and so Tuwawi took the opportunity to work at the gashes on his skull and cheek, lapping at them hungrily like a mother cleaning her newborn. Despite the foul taste, she persevered, and inwardly flayed herself for not reprimanding Fox further. Neither women had realized the state Njal was in, else they might have intervened sooner.

The wounds traveled far deeper than Tuwawi had originally anticipated, and it felt like the more dead pieces she swept away, the more blood poured out. For a while things seemed futile, but soon the wound bled less, throwing a white flag to the man's persistent mate. Even if Njal struggled beneath her, she would not stop, determined to purify the marks from whatever the feline had left behind. She was unsatisfied with her work, but thought Njal could bear no more. Nothing else could be done for now, and so Tuwawi yielded, taking her place against the crook of his stomach and draping her narrow face across his back. A low whine whistled from throat as he shook, chilled by his struggle.

"Mm, Paltestrike," she whispered, barely audible, "stay with me."