Luneshale Pass I've been trying to lay my head down

@Soto

The puma was gone, but it had left him with sore hips and nasty cuts on his hindquarters. Sat in the stream flowing through the pass, his expression was more somber than usual.

He was rather irritated by the situation. Yes, he was a bit out of practice, but it was not the injuries which bothered him. It was that Leandros had not been there to help the pack he had begged Kemal to return to with him. Kemal was a relatively tolerant man, but laziness was not something he could ignore; particularly when it reflected poorly on his bloodline.

Raising his head to check for the scent of the Little Lion, he hoped to get a hint of where Leandros was lounging. The wind was not in his favour today, however.

being wounded is a bad omen for them all. soto rips stalks of orchard grass from the dirt, packing them into a pile. 

he finds kemal by the banks, his expression distant as if lost in thought.

putting the bundle in front of him, soto motions to the clay nestled in the grass, and then to the stream. entrar. segundo growls over the ripple of water, goldcoin gaze peering at the fresh gash across darkened skin.

Soto comes to him. It feels strange, for they do not speak often.

The word the segundo speaks is not familiar to him, his Spanish fairly weak, so he follows the gestures instead.

Moving slow he lifts the bundle over to the clay, holding it above and glancing back to Soto as though to ask 'here?'

He hoped that this would not be much of a puzzle. Having someone witness you having to soak your sore, puma-torn ass, was already pretty embarrassing.

no, soto reaches for strong shoulder, guiding him towards the river’s banks. he places the straw and clay sidelong upon a stone, turning back to verapaz’s wounded guardian.  

at some point, every man in the cabal becomes used to close proximity, packing wounds, dragging killbrothers and drawing salves across torn flesh. soto’s seen it all, but as he glances at the startling red torn across charcoal flesh, it awakens something he has not felt stir since khusobek. 

he steps in the river, pushing kemal towards where the shallow water rises towards their hips. and it is then, again, that a profane sensation ripples through him.

distracting himself by immersing immediately in the water’s biting current, the white hot urge solidifies into something more malleable. he splashes water into the wound and inspects it grimly, motioning now for kemal to pull himself upon the stone where his wound could be packed with salve.

He got it wrong. The segundo leads him through the motions, Kemal complying without resistance. He is not one to be aware of the nuances of another's behaviour, and so he does not notice anything strange.

Wincing as water is splashed into the wound, he climbs upon the rock as instructed if only to escape the cold water. He's never liked the way it feels on torn flesh. Laying down, he splays out the primarily affected leg for better access. He wants this to be quick and easy for both of them.

His mother, sister's, and wife were the only one's to have treated Kemal's wounds in his lifetime. Each had a distinctly different way of going about it, some better than other's, but nonetheless he is tense at the idea of Soto taking care of it. Understanding it to be paranoia, he does not complain.

the ember kindling within his being would return, he knew -- but for now it hissed out a dying breath, subdued by the bite of the river's tongue.

he works. kemal spreads his limb out where soto can see it. he packs clay into its open surface and then binds it. he works as his mama did those years ago: quick, efficient, a little rough.

but that's how he knew she loved him.

when finished, kemal's wound was bandaged as best soto could manage. he searches for what to say and how to say it.

es no good. he informs kemal, voice gruff. vuelve aquí mañana por la mañana. come back here tomorrow morning. lo limpare de nuevo.

Soto treats his wound with a skill that Kemal can feel in his bones. He reminds himself that it will heal, that the Verapaz wolves are not looking to lose him to something as simple as an infection.

He can understand some of Soto's words, other's he may need to repeat to Leto or Leandros for assistance. But he gets the general idea - that's what matters. Gracias. He pulls from what little vocabulary he has to thank Soto, rising to his paws once more to make his exit.

With wounds treated, finding his brother is his next goal.

soto's single lamplight eye burns to hear his tongue upon that of kemal's mouth.

de nada. he replies as the warrior rises, purpose in his step. soto assumes he as eager to resume patrol or reunite with his brother -- a brother that was conspicuously absent when they drove the cat out.

before long he's left to his own thoughts as kemal pads away; and in those thoughts, he hears marciela's irritating voice.