The Sentinels heart in hand

done editing yey 

something is amiss. 

deirdre felt it in the pit of her stomach; and so she began to run, ignoring her exhaustion, ignoring her hunger which was surely less than that of any other, ignoring her aching limbs to resolve this feeling. she smelt before she saw, as any animal born for the hunt would smell a wound that festered. it was simply easy to find the source of it, because the source was alone, and the source was of her own blood. 

she did not realize she was standing o'er him now, did not quite know how she had gotten to where she was to suddenly above him. deirdre found the injury without any difficulty, so adept at this aspect of it she had become. though surely even one not skilled in this would know; a hunter would know perhaps even sooner than a healer when it came to matters of infection. 

it was an ugly wound, and it wept at her in colors of red and yellow. deirdre was an open book, and frowned at face of it. constantine, you should have gone to eilidh! she chastised gently--for she was but an apprentice... but even still, eilidh had been able to teach her how to heal without herbs of the earth. the sea was bountiful. the sea would give them what they needed when the forest could not. 

it was then she noted lucani there, who had certainly been here the whole time and that she had utterly missed in her worry. lucani, came her anxious breath--constantine could have gone to this handsome woman as well, and had not! surely he overestimated himself, or else thought his wound such a little thing that it would do him no good at all to see any. but eilidh and she were his sisters; why did he not seek them for a glance? perhaps he might be ashamed to show such a thing to lucani, but to them? and as lucani moved toward his upper body, deirdre followed suit. 

but he was on the ground, could he even hear her? are you with us, constantine? she asked, looking to his face, drawing near to it to observe his features.