Overture Downs Let's raise some hell, shall we?

however mad the cat had been, however sick with bloodthirst, it still proved to be just a feline: cursed to forfeit any task that took even a fraction more than they were willing to give. stigmata panted, watching manically when it had at last fled, and he remained tense even long after he was sure the hellion would not return. the warhoud turned to regard indra uneasily, noticing that she and her charge were injured but not near death's door. the acrid tang of blood permeated the air, and he knew that the two of them must return to lost creek at once.

she asked of his status, which served only as a painful reminder that she shouldn't care for him - and he shouldn't care for her - leaving him in arcane silence for a brief pause. he was hurt, but his wounds were thin; hidden by slick, dark fur, and it would take a little while before he would finally be able to feel the aches of his several cat-scratches past the receding flush of adrenaline. "i am intact," he breathed, glancing over his shoulder.

stigmata looked back to indra, and he felt his steely composure rust slightly at the sight of her. bloodied. wincing. their eyes met, and he saw in her face what he knew must be reflected upon his own: a terrible yearning to comfort the other.

he swallowed, wondering if he should escort her, but then he thought better of it. he decided to keep his distance. "turn for the hollow. i will make sure you are not followed," he told the redleafs, remaining stone on the spot until they had both gone from his sights. he followed, distantly, making sure they were returned safely to their domain before returning silently - achingly - back the way he had come.