Larksong Grotto Warflower

Set in Larksong Grotto near the edge of Nova Peak. Attn: @Faliya, @Skorpa, @Ayovi, @Morwenna Winsook in general <3 set likely two days after this

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He travelled hard, his conscience leading the way. He maintained a floating trot as much as he could, for the child’s comfort, stopping when her sad cries demanded some attention. He couldn’t feed her, and they could never stop for long. Her discomfort and distress were met with empathy, but shouldered in the need to put as much distance between them and warfare as he could. 

The grotto lent them a sense of temporary security; he bathed in the waters, hoping to cool glacier meltwater might chill the throbbing strip of flesh that had been covered with a thick scab of concealed blood. Every wrong move made it open and weep more blood. By now, the blood from the wound at his neck (a strip of fur and skin pulled from his jaw to his shoulder) was a long, dark, dried cranberry mess that trailed all the way down his chest and left foreleg. 

He shivered as he sat in the cold waters, dipping his shoulder in and then lifting it, to groom away some of the crusted and caked blood, in case he’d picked up dust, dirt, or debris throughout the journey that could lead to infection. The skin flap on either side of the wound had begun to harden along the edge. 

He shook the water out of his pelt and slicked away the excess with flicks of his tongue. He’d begun to shed, it seemed; he now had puffs of pale undercoat hanging from him in great tufts. 

Hey, little firestarter, He said, as he came back to where she’d been left, tucked away in a little stone alcove that would keep her protected from the wind. He grimaced. You gotta be starvin’ by now, He heaved a sigh. A problem he could not fix- but perhaps a kindly stranger might. 

He’d noticed the scents of the wolves in the area, and made plans to approach the borders- once both he and Faliya had had a chance to rest, for the first real time, from their hard journey.

He curled himself around her to keep her warm, but the alcove spared them of any drafts or drifting winds; with his tired indigo eyes looking out into the fading light, he noticed the sunset; pink skies with cotton candy clouds. 

Maybe the future would be that beautiful. He could only hope.