Flycatcher Downs if i ever leave, i could learn to miss you

head lifts from the curled position the petite hybrid managed to curl himself into—uncharacteristic for him who prefers to stretch outward, awkward long limbs flexing and tossed in every which direction. the discomfort he feels reflects in the closed-in posture, yet alamar untangles himself soon enough.
he’d dozed off, missed the part of jaime’s lone hunting expedition that resulted in the blood that drip drips from his forearm. the drapery across his back bristles. an accusation sits on his tongue, facial expression pinched in what would’ve been expected to come—yet a breath is exhaled, a reminder stirring in the back of his mind.
alamar gets to his feet, stay still, a whispery tone passed, as he draws in near. blue eyes inspect the injury, and his cold nose a bare brush away. it is far from the worst of which jaime has dealt with—and despite the limb and agitation, alamar knows he’ll be just fine.
i’ll make a poultice for it, when they can find the herbs necessary, spring makes it easier than winter had, but these lands are new just like the ones before. for now, just… keep it clean and rest. blue eyes shift upwards, a silent command and plead all in one. he shifts forth to go about cleaning the tender wound, careful in the administration of his licks and gentle nips on the areas farthest that have been stained.