Hushed Willows Benign

She rushed towards him, presumably having noticed the cut upon his cheek from the bird's talons. For the briefest of moments and a rapid intake of breath he had to remind himself that she meant him no harm and it was out of her genuine concern for him. Though her concern capitalized upon his humiliation and he felt embarrassment burn hotter beneath the skin of his cheeks, the wound giving a dull throb of pain as he grumbled unintelligible words under his breath. “I'm fine,” He huffed softly, reaching out with the intent to touch his muzzle to her cheek. “I've suffered worse.” He attempted to brush it off with humor that poked at himself, his docked tail giving a slight twitch behind him. As far as physical pain went there would likely be nothing that could top the agony of having his tail severed. “It fought back.” Not that Buchanan hadn't expected it to. Anything with any regard for it's life was liable to fight back or flee. The owl had chosen the first.

His cheeks flushed hotter (and never was he more grateful for fur then he was in that moment) when he felt her tongue swipe across his wound. He wanted to assure her it was just a little scratch but he didn't want to seem ungrateful to her concern, either, so despite the humiliation that bubbled within him he allowed her to clean it. She pulled back, seemingly confused and he gestured flippantly to the mangled corpse near him. “I hope you can salvage some feathers from it,” He murmured quietly to her. “And-and I'm sorry if I woke you.” He was surprised the noise hadn't woken the dead, as it were. As far as presentation of his kill: they were usually a lot better.