Bramblepoint The view from halfway down

Njord quickly worked, with an unpracticed touch, to field dress Bronco’s wounds. A paw atop the moss… some firm pressure… the actions only known to the red-tail from time as a patient, himself.

However, the injuries to the other man’s face were open and severe. Would placing a foreign substance, like moss, help or hinder? As he tried to reach a conclusion, the fallen soldier cracked a joke – something Njord recognized all too well as a distraction from his creeping mortality.

Njord’s wry chuckle entertained the humor. “Och,” Njord retorted with a roughhewn Scottish burr. “If ye pull through this Ah’ll call ye whatever ye fancy,” he promised as he began to tend to Bronco’s face by lightly setting fresh moss. “Chief. Red Skull. Leannan,” Njord jeered to keep the man’s mind off of his pain.

Others? he managed to ask.

“Dinna fash, they all got away,” Njord’s voice fell quiet. It was a half-truth – the fate of his daughter and the white wolf was yet to be seen. He had to trust that she was alright. Certainly, the coyote and pup had managed to get away, too. “Tha cat’s been chased off, bloodied an’ scairt,” he said, assured. "We'll no be seein' him again any time soon." 

Then, Njord sobered and his voice welled with emotion. “T’was my daughter ye helped. Ah cannae thank ye enough.” Without Bronco’s strength, there was no chance that the tiger could have been injured to such a degree. It was likely that Seal, Shard, Njord would have all perished.

His focus racked to the present. Njord looked around. They were alone, but Moonspear’s ally, Brecheliant, was nearby. The man shouldn't, and couldn't, be moved. Njord mumbled to himself before he tipped back his head and howled for aid.

"Stay with me, dinnae fall asleep," he chided. "Tell me yer name."