Swiftcurrent Creek To Hold and Ocean

@Njal

Tuwawi trailed her husband's scent through a thick fog that washed over Swiftcurrent Creek. Midnight caused the scenery to be especially unsettling as whispers of other beasts moved in the windless night. Njal had evaded her since Xi'nuata's appearance at the borders, and they had been together for a brief time as the pack disposed of its villainous cougar, but long enough for Tuwawi to become fixated on the deep puncture wounds the feline had inflicted. Earlier that day she had checked in on Fox. The alpha had been easy to find... Njal not so much. Now, with few places left to look, his scent was finally picked up and it trailed straight to their den site.

Her nostrils flared as they skimmed the ground, approaching the grove of young beech trees with a hint of apprehension... no... it was guilt. She had nothing to beseech her aokkatti with. No healing herbs or food to eat. She was tardy as well, and the moon glowered down on her with a light of dissapointment. Slowly she made her way to the den, peeking into the hollowed darkness. She had done well to dig it out so that Njal may fit — as she heard his breathing coming from inside. "Njal?" she whispered, as she shuffled to the precipice of the entryway on her belly. Tendrils of scent wafted her way, including the sickly perfume of her husband's fresh blood.

The cougar was gone. In his current state, Njal could not imagine what had happened to it - he knew very little about his current status, or how weary his mind was. All he could remember was a set of flashing fangs descending upon his face; the searing pain, his body dropping. A darkness which overwhelmed his senses - save for the thought of red for that was all he could see when his eyes opened. The scent of blood, the taste of it. It was everywhere. Even when his wife had briefly tended to the wound initially, Njal was not there. He grew distant from the blow to his head and, in his stupor, urged for the woman to tend to Fox. She was the leader, she was hurt far more than him.

And then, when left alone, he dragged himself in to seclusion.

When he next woke he was home. Inside the belly of the earth and surrounded by the stale scent of old blood. His head pounded. One eye was swollen shut, so that when a figure came to pass before the den mouth, he could only see a flash of it with the opposite. In his current half-asleep state, mentally drowning the pain of his wound, Njal did not know what was out there. He curled his body parts closer, collapsing his thick legs towards his even thicker torso, like some kind of broken child trying to avoid a boogeyman. Tuwawi's voice reached him through a fog, and so he did not respond - save for a low rumble of warning.

If the cat came back, he would be sure to rip it a new hole.

At first there was silence, but a faint shuffle of his body against the Earth confirmed that he was in there — tucked away from the forest's prying eyes. Unexpectedly, a low growl accompanied his movements, which caused Tuwawi to take a step back. Did he want to be left in peace? Although the thought stung her, the fire woman could not blame him if he did. The day had been long... and their efforts draining. However, the urge to tend to her husband overcame the ember, and slowly she slipped in to the darkness of their home, all the while moving with caution as to not upset him further.

"Njal, its me," she whispered beneath baited breath, "Tuwa." Her pupils dilated like full moons to compensate for the lack of light. Yet, even then his figure was hard to see, back lit by only the smallest ray that dared trespass in the wolves' refuge. She could make out his crumpled form, and a slick wetness on his brow. Some if it was partially dried as well; caked and crumbling in an effort to heal. One of his ears was stunted, bent horribly to compensate for the pain. Even the side of his face appeared swollen. Had the cat's bottom fags gotten him too?

A heavy sigh exhaled from deep within her chest. She hurt for him. "Oh, Njal—" she cooed, loathe to see her husband in such a state, "my Palestrike." The leather on Tuwawi's nose brushed against the good side of his muzzle, testing the mountain wolf's tolerance for contact. Soft puffs of her warm breath ebbed at his fur, wanting to pull him close. Otherwise, she gave him space.

The creature outside shuffled as if taken aback by his rumbling; warned away, perhaps. But then there was a face silhouetted by the stars; it's eyes were a bright blue flash that he could see with the one eye that could still open, but it was blurry. It was confusing. His face turned and he pointed his nose towards the creature - only for it to turn familiar. The blue eyes were gone in the next second, replaced by the familiar contours of Tuwawi's face - her voice, gasping at the look of him.

"Tuwa-" Njal muttered, his teeth refusing to allow his tongue to function, for his pain made his muscles grit them tight. She breathed his name, the name only she knew, and it eased the apprehension and fear from him. But the pain remained. Even the tender touching she administered was not tender enough. He hissed a breath through those gritted teeth and pulled away from her; feeling the ache from his head reach down in to his neck, spoiling the muscles everywhere, or so it felt. Njal tried to relax. He tried to reach for her, shuffling carefully to accommodate her figure despite himself being the injured party. "-are you 'right?" He tried to query, but his northern accent coupled with the ache of his wound prevented proper speech.

Tuwawi recoiled when Njal flinched, seething from the pain laced throughout his body like a spider's web. Her lips twisted in response, sad so see such suffering elicited from his wounds. Fox's gashes had been ugly to look at... but at least they left her mind clear to cope with the aches. Her husband was offered no such respite. Visibly feverish and agitated from his tarnished gashes, Tuwawi felt powerless as she watched him writhe uncomfortably in the home that was supposed to bring such joy; but that was now only permeated with the noxious musk of illness.

What an idiot she was. Why hadn't she learned to heal when she had the opportunity? There had been plenty of chances in life, both Kindred and Tartok alike, but Tuwawi had never bothered to pick up the skill. Surely there must be some bark or root to soothe Njal's pain? She peeked outside for the briefest of moments... but not a soul stirred. Everyone had returned to their own dens to nurse their wounds throughout the misty twilight. Even the Springtime was unforgiving... nothing was in bloom and the drab scrim of Swiftcurrent offered little comfort to the wife stationed at her husband's bedside. Her jaw clenched as she listened to his numbed words, 'Tuwa- are you 'right?' Even now, he didn't think of himself, and it spurred Tuwawi's heart to clench in agony. "Shhhh, yes, yes," she murmured, voice placid as a dove's, "you must be quiet, now." She willed him not to speak further. He must save his energy.

Gently, she left from the den, rooting around in the fog for only a few minutes. She hunted for a pile of snow, leftover from the harsher winter months, but found they had become increasingly rare. Finally locating what she sought, Tuwawi returned with a small chuck of hardened ice fixed between her jaws. She slipped through the door, and set it between Njal's feet. "Lick it if you can," she suggested, "or rest your head." As if to grant some sort of miracle, the moon's luminescence momentarily split the haze and allowed the whole of Njal's gruesome wounds to become visible. Tuwawi inhaled sharply, muscle quivering as she resisted the urge to tend to it.

He had dealt with pain before. Emotional pain, mostly, but a bit of physical. Aches of his muscles or the searing sharpness of fresh wounds - but nothing like this. This was hotter, it was throbbing and fogging his mind considerably. Even when Tuwawi spoke and then moments later slunk out of his space - he did not notice. Her voice was there, and then it wasn't. The fog of his pain was keeping him secluded from his own wife, when she was only a few feet away.

When she returned, she placed something cold upon the ground. The man did as he was told and carefully placed his head on to the chunk, but flinched and jerked away from it as soon as his skin made contact. Njal did not expect cold, not like that. He breathed through his teeth and writhed quietly, fighting the urge to pull away as he tried again and again, eager to do as Tuwa told him - knowing that she would not make him do something that was harmful. She was helping him, even if he wasn't all there mentally.

Eventually he managed to rest his head in one position, and he ignored the seeping wetness and the cold that rooted its way through his fur. Gradually his skin numbed; the bloody line on his face leaked bits of red on to the ice, diluting in the dark. "Tuwawi." Njal murmured, forgetting that he was supposed to be quiet; he moved his dimmed eyes to watch her silhouette. "When did... You get blue eyes.." The blurry good eye closed in a weary blink, as he clearly babbled on about strange things. Dizzy and concussed. "Winter is over, inn't?"

Tuwawi could only watch uncomfortably as Njal fought to place his skull on the ice, wincing and struggling to connect with its frosty touch. She, herself, was not entirely certain it would do him any good — but it was the best she had to work with. Slowly, he began to settle as the ice's effect caused his flesh to paralyze, soothing the burning heat that always accompanied deep injuries like this. Seeing him strung out... it made her, normally iron, stomach churn. Njal was supposed to be the strong one... the defender. Her foundation. Her rock. But now? Helpless didn't even begin to describe the anxiety that pumped freely through her veins; and for once the realization dawned on her that he might not be able to pull through if infection decided to run its course. Again, she considered seeking outside help, but Njal's slurred words drew her attention back.

'Tuwawi... When did... You get blue eyes..,' her stomach flipped, worried by these new hallucinations. Inwardly, Tuwawi's mind frayed — panic stricken — but outwardly her visage appeared unfazed save for the desperate hollow look in her eyes, which Njal probably wouldn't recognize. "They turned blue when I first met you," she jested, going along with his story as if to not upset him further, "My love is as deep as the sea." Tuwawi could be a steely and feral personality, but her heart melted easily for Njal. Deviating from his first sentence, her husband continued, his ability to speak declining rapidly. 'Winter is over, inn't?' he mumbled. "Yes, Spring is almost here. Soon it will be green outside," her downy voice whispered with the tone of a lullaby. Unable to resist, her tongue rolled over his good eye with warm, sweeping motions; cleaning and grooming him. Slowly she made her way to his injury... perhaps it was numb enough to attend to. However, she moved with caution... ready to retreat at the slightest sign of pain.

His words spooked her, but the man could not know that. Njal drifted. There was nothing tying him down now as his brain throbbed, inflamed by the blow it had recieved. If he made it through the night without falling in to an endless sleep, it would be a miracle unto itself. If only he could see himself now! The great mountain, decimated. The proud warrior curled up like a pitiful infant in a hole. But Tuwawi was here, so he was not alone at the very least. She calmed him with her words even when they mixed and mingled in his ears, to become a mess of soft sounds. He murmured softly - perhaps parroting something she had said, but unable to enunciate. The cold seeped in to his face, his head, it seemed to soak in to every part of him.

The woman licked at his face and he felt nothing. A slick sensation, a tugging at the skin, which made him react instinctively; he flinched and scowled with half a face, while the ice numbed the rest. The moonlight outside once again grew intense - blowing in with a great gust, and bringing with it a spectre that Njal could see through one blurry eye. It was low-slung and pale like the snow, and for a moment he was lucid enough to recognize that it had legs, a face, eyes as blue as the ocean Tuwawi had described - but the moment passed too quickly. He was once again rolling in his own sea of troubles. Murmuring sad sounds while his teeth began to chatter.

We can fast forward to the next morning, if you'd like.

His body didn't respond to her touch the way Tuwawi had expected. He became slow and stunted by the pain which ravaged his body. Sounds dribbled like water from his maw incoherently, but it wasn't enough the piece words - or even syllables - together. His eyes became fixated on the moonlight pouring through the door, and so Tuwawi took the opportunity to work at the gashes on his skull and cheek, lapping at them hungrily like a mother cleaning her newborn. Despite the foul taste, she persevered, and inwardly flayed herself for not reprimanding Fox further. Neither women had realized the state Njal was in, else they might have intervened sooner.

The wounds traveled far deeper than Tuwawi had originally anticipated, and it felt like the more dead pieces she swept away, the more blood poured out. For a while things seemed futile, but soon the wound bled less, throwing a white flag to the man's persistent mate. Even if Njal struggled beneath her, she would not stop, determined to purify the marks from whatever the feline had left behind. She was unsatisfied with her work, but thought Njal could bear no more. Nothing else could be done for now, and so Tuwawi yielded, taking her place against the crook of his stomach and draping her narrow face across his back. A low whine whistled from throat as he shook, chilled by his struggle.

"Mm, Paltestrike," she whispered, barely audible, "stay with me."

Jumping ahead to morning!

A songbird whistled out a long note, welcoming the sun. A ways away, a similar creature played a note as well; and it went on like this for a few minutes, as Njal lay wearily upon the den floor. It had been a hard night. A cold night. And though he had come close to drifting in to sleep, Tuwawi roused him often enough. In the last few hours before the sun rose he did indeed fall asleep - drifting past his pain and in to the warmth of her fire, for she nestled beside him and draped her warmth around him eagerly. The bird, though. The sound of its sing-song voice roused him and he startled. The ice block previously used as a pillow was miniscule; having broken and melted in to the earth through the night. It left a slurry of chilled mud beneath his cheek that, when applied by his nodding, brought Njal to full consciousness again.

He lifted his head too quickly. The skin of his cleaned and dried face cracked and split, leaking a mixture of clear and red fluids; it stung just as much as it had in the night, although Njal's mind was clearer now. The man had not had time to dream; however, he somehow recalled a set of bright eyes watching him, and cast a nervous glance towards the den opening. Pale beams of light lingered there. His motions caused Tuwawi to shift and, with the swelling of his wounded face still preventing him from opening both eyes at once, he peered at her with a single golden iris; tired, but pleased to see her. He did not think to wake her drowsing self, as guilt welled in his chest. She had watched over him through the long night and deserved her rest.

Indeed, Tuwawi slumbered deeply upon her husband as if she were a throw, head resting heavy on his rib cage. The cloudless night had been long and sleepless for the Sveijarn woman, terrified by the prospect that is she left him drift he would not wake. Eventually Njal's breathes balanced as his fever reduced. Only then did she allow him rest — quickly accompanying him into a dreamless coma. Her efforts were rewarded when the eastern dawn peaked through the foyer. Birds sang merrily, oblivious to the night the two wolves had endured, but they were a welcome sound. Tuwawi did not hear their call for some time after Njal had roused. Between by her own struggle with the cougar, hunting for Fox, and staying up with Njal, fatigue hung heavy on her bones. Though, when she did stir, her muzzle lazily traced the crest of his shoulder, "Mm, you should have woke me," she mumbled, almost forgetting their ordeal. Suddenly, her eyes snapped awake and relief flooded her system at the sight of his single, clear, glassy eye.

"Ah, how are you feeling?" The answer would be an obvious one, but at least her spouse was out of the woods. Without waiting for him to respond, she stood up, "I will find you food," she promised. It was the least she could do... to make up for her utter incompetence.

As the woman's eyes opened to a heavy lidded expression, Njal watched her. He drank her in as quickly as his one eye would allow. Studying the glow of her tan fur with the subdued morning light, and the way it played so carefully across the ruddy red of her neck. She looked exhausted, and a part of him was reeling from the guilt that rose to greet her tired eyes. Despite the ache in his face, the feeling of fluid soaking in to his fur and the drying mud upon his cheek, he was content. As pleasant as could be expected, really. As long as she was close by Njal could get through this. For now, Tuwawi would be the rock. "Ah, how are you feeling?" Her sleepy voice intoned a question, as subdued as the pale light at the door. Yet before he could respond - and he was ready to, with his tender face slipping open in a meek little smile - she was slipping away from him. Scampering for the entryway to fetch him breakfast.

Njal reached out suddenly with his legs and trapped whatever part of her he could latch upon. "Don't-" He pleaded quickly, with the words whistling from his lips, slurred and sleepy just like her own. He tugged at her, hoping she would come back to his side. "I can eat later." Truthfully, the man had no appetite. The thought of food only made the chasm of his stomach feel more hollow, and his tongue stale with the memory of cougar blood. Njal nestled his healthy cheek against her ruddy fur, and found himself shivering slightly with the effort. "See? I'm cold," He tugged a little harder, pulling her down to his level once more. "Stay."

When they had rested properly, then maybe the man would be up for finding food. The rest of the pack was no doubt recuperating after the ordeal as well; hopefully Njal and the other gamekeeper wannabees had done enough hard work in the previous days to keep the pack fed, or else they would be in for a tough spring - how unheard of. Spring was meant for life. Njal looked to Tuwawi as this thought came to his mind, blurry though it was, and found himself smiling weakly.

MY HEART. my poor heart. you are putting it through the ringer.

The Northerner's wife made a beeline for the door, rushing to find Njal any fiber of meat to sate his hunger and give him energy, unaware that his stomach retched with discomfort at the thought of food. Unexpectedly, his limbs clasped her hind, willing Tuwawi not to leave his side — and who was she to disagree? The look on his face was heartbreaking. A turbulent mixture spiked by his disfiguring injury. Despite this he seemed in good spirits, even when he pressed his face against her leg a small smile managed to slip forth. 'Don't —' he pleaded, 'I can eat later. See? I'm cold. Stay.' Tuwawi blinked a few times, stupefied by his request; unsure if she should do what he wanted, or what he needed. Luckily this time, they were one in the same.

Her expression, still spun with worry, softened as her gaze traced his tired eyes. She slumped to the ground and shuffled back to his side, intertwining their limbs until they became ensnared in each other's embrace. Gently, Tuwawi groomed the hair across his nape before settling her skull over one of Njal's forelegs. Indeed, he was chilled — a vast difference from the fever that riddled him the night prior. "I will stay," she mumbled, dreams finding her easily in the dim, warm light that flooded their den. But they would not take her yet.

For now she could only reflect on the thought of losing Njal to something other than wanderlust. Admittedly, the scarlet woman had never considered it before — and it frightened her. Where Njal thought of Spring and life, Tuwawi could only ruminate over death. This sentiment mirrored itself upon her face, and cast a pall over her brows. Fear didn't even begin to touch the subject... and what if they had children? What then? Tuwawi had always thought herself a strong woman, but now she was shrouded in doubt. Yet the glow in her husband's watchful eyes helped deter this fear and keep her grounded.

Fondly, the ember licked at his sturdy paw while her silver eyes welled. Yet, the tears were blinked away as her motions slowed to a stop... sleep taking her once again.

His paws wrapped around her rear and each tug brought her closer; then as Tuwawi turned to regard him, she looked a bit shocked. But the expression slid away moments later, as she came to crumble next to him. Her head rested upon his own paws and, this time, the man would be the lookout. Tuwawi drifted off quickly but the pain in Njal's face kept him from doing the same. Instead he took to watching her - monitoring her rhythmic breaths, the rise and fall of her torso. His eyes (or rather, eye, as one was still swollen shut) trailed across the contours of her face and along the ruddy red cape of her spine. Njal's gaze halted at the den mouth, where light continued to glimmer just out of reach. A feeling of dread sparked in the pit of his belly, then. A strange apprehension that made little sense to the weary man. He stared at the particles of dust that drifted there and, somehow, expected something else. Gradually Njal's head began to lower, until he was nestled with his chin against his wife's smooth shoulders; he carefully rooted his face there, folding upon her with a manner of care to prevent waking her, and there he sat. He did not sleep, as the strange sense of being watched refused to budge from his mind. Njal would stay like that for hours until Tuwawi woke again, and the two of them would go on a search for food and herbs.

[finish!]