Northstar Vale daimort

Blood, now half-dried and matted, appeared in various shades from crimson to mahogany - the brighter of the two clinging closer to the wound itself.

Strangely enough the pain had not set in until he'd taken notice to the blood slathered on his chest, but when it did set in, it felt as if someone had taken a nail gun to his breastbone. Any cough or heavy breathing only made things worse and while he was no stranger to injuries, evident by the many works of art scarring his body, this one was by far the worst.

So, when the pale fae offered to take look at the wound, Dagwood made no objections. He let pearly haunches fall to the earth's floor while lifting his head upward, providing plenty of room for her to inspect the parting gift left by their meal.

"No, just there" he let out in a hissed breath, unable to hide the pain any longer.