Hushed Willows Necation

Warbone had a lot on his mind, and was reminded for the thousandth time why he had been a lone wolf. He did not belong as a subordinate, and alphaship came with a political realm that he was not keen on immersing himself in, but had regardless. Octavia, in particular, was a confusing fixture in his life, but he could not ignore the possessive protectiveness he felt towards her, or the vengeance he would enact in honor of her name. Just as he was thinking this, the cool afternoon light shifted against the earth, and he noticed a wolverine foraging in the shaded underbrush. Normally Warbone might have left the animal be— not particularly interested in the fractional competition it presented— but in that moment, he sought to relieve the stress on his mind through his usual outlet of violence.

The action was made all the more satisfying by the delusion that he was descending upon Reek, and after a short scuffle, Warbone was a little worse for wear, but stood triumphantly gory over the deceased. He licking his bloodied chops, and then swathed his tongue over a wound he had gotten on his chest; not yet concerned with the thinner, miscellaneous scratches that bled across his muzzle and forelegs.

*flings Trick into almost every thread XD*

After his little talk with a scruffy stranger, Trick returned to The Peek. His "home". yeck, the word alone all sent shivers down his spine. But, he had to rise in the ranks, and for that he had to socialize. For a higher rank meant he would gain more trust from others inside the pack. That would come in handy when he would destroy their lives. 

He crossed the border of The Peek, watching the weeping Willows as the wind played with their long, branch like arms as always. The rustling sound was lonely, sad. He sighed. He let his head drop, his tail almost dragging over the floor, wiping up the morning dew. This all changed when he heard the sounds of battle. His mind went to Kunkun, the little hunter girl. Had she gotten herself in trouble with one of the predators that lived here? Should he warn the others? He was already too late, the sound of growls and heavy breathing dying out, disappearing into the silence. Was she dead? He grabbed a fortunate branch of the Belladonna plant, made sure he would consume nothing himself, keeping his tongue away from the poison. He ran as fast as his agile body could, passing the willows who were now just laughing at him. 

It had been a false alarm though, for what he saw next was not a damsel in distress at all. It was Warbone, the brute, a dead body next to him. He was just licking his chops, as if he wasn't bleeding at all. Trick dropped the Belladonna, spit on it after to get the gruesome taste off his teeth. King! King! He called out, trotting at a fast pace to his "leader".

You are wounded! He exclaimed, his nose sniffing him from top to bottom to find the worst wound. Tell me, where do you feel the most pain? He asked, acting as if he were truly concerned. It was impossible to read him though, his face not showing and his voice not trembling as if he were lying. 

The green eyes were the first thing that stuck out to Warbone, and as his violent delirium ebbed, he could make out the exact form of Trick before him, babbling with concern. The wolf blinked, withdrawing himself from the mood to battle, and he looked at the dark wolf's face for a while before speaking. "Just some scratches," he mumbled, lifting one broad shoulder in a shrug. His chest stung the most, but he didn't say. The wounds to his muzzle and forelegs seemed non-threatening and miniscule by comparison, though everything about him seemed to shine red in the dappled light. He looked down to what Trick had dropped. A plant he recognized— not by name, but by its use. "What were you doing?" he asked, not asking about the plant specifically as his muzzle shifted back to look at the apple-eyed male.

Trick sighed. How this man resembled his brother was way too bizar, way too complicated. Oh yeah, just some scratches. he repeated the brute sarcastically, his head shaking as he did. He was dripping red. If it were Trick, he would've been bleeding to death right now. Heck, if it had been Kunkun she would've been dead. That would at least teach her that the little ones couldn't fight. They shouldn't fight. How could she even think about trying to be a mercenary? No muscles, and even lesser brain, Trick thought as he walked around his alpha, making notes of the smaller, actual "scratches" and the wound on his chest. That would scar up awfully if not treated, he knew.

Before he could leave to find something, just anything he could use in this damned place, he was asked a question. Should he lie? Should he partly lie? Oh, the choices! Sounds of battle brought me to believe Kunkun was in danger. He said, not lying for a change. As you can see, I'm no big guy like you, so I brought some poison- He pointed now at the belladonna with his muzzle that was still on the ground, exactly where he had left it. To poison the attacker with! He was twisting the truth, but he only swapped Kunkun and the attacker. Details didn't matter after all.

You want scars or not? He asked, looking at his wounds, then back at his face, avoiding any kind of eye contact. He hoped Warbone still remembered he was a healer, hoped he had made some impression on the brute.

He was a little bemused by the trickster's sarcastic (and ironic) show of concern, but he remembered that he had proclaimed to be a lover of sorts, so he supposed this made sense. He listened carefully to the male's response as to why he had been toting a poisonous plant, but he found nothing wrong with it— ignoring the convolution of it and the other questions that now needed answering— and decided to respond only with a mildly affirming nod.

At the mention of scarring, Warbone shrugged. Scars were a way of life; trophies, even. "Most of the blood belongs to the wolverine. You waste your worry," the titan responded lightly, settling on the fond tone he reserved only for his packmates. "But if you must treat me then fine," he relented, and not without a firm grump returned to his voice. The tall wolf sat, blinking slowly as he patiently waited for Trick to begin whatever ritual he had for (to him) minor wounds.

Trick watched his wounds carefully, knowing not what he could use best. Chervil root could help, but so could many other herbs. Shit, if only this had happened after he had gathered some herbs and cobwebs. He had to act fast too, for if the wound got infected, it could be fatal. In some way that'd be a good thing -for him-, but not so soon. Besides, he would probably be cursed at, for he had presented himself as a healer, and a healer was to be expected to treat others. He had to help the brute.

I do not waste my worry. He denied. Infected wounds, even the smallest ones... It's not a pretty picture. He commented. He had seen them before. It had made one vomit, but luckily Trick had a stronger stomach. He had not helped the poor guy, simply because he was being so rude about it all. And then it died. Fortunately, Warbone was wiser than him. Perhaps he liked scars, but infected scars were not the way to go. Not even for fashion. I have to, my king. Don't want you dying on us because you were too stoic to let me heal you. Now he had it! Marigold! It had to be here somewhere. Maybe he could find some comfrey too, just for the roots of course.

He sighed and turned his back on Warbone. This could take a while. Give me a few minutes. He called out over his shoulder. Just- just stay there! He continued. Maybe half an hour... He whispered after, but it was mostly because he had to find cobwebs too.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled to Trick's continued insistence, though he had already agreed to the treatment. Warbone's ears lifted at the mention of the wait, and he thought he didn't mind as it gave him time to come down further from the high of his violent kill. "I will be here," he assured the inky ravenwolf, moving forward to give him a fond lick on the forehead before watching him disappear into the undergrowth. He appreciated all his wolves, no matter the amount of time they had been with him, he saw them all as companions. His loved ones. Until further notice...

He watched the spot Trick had disappeared for a while, before turning to the dead wolverine. He sniffed the brown body, nosing it a few times before taking a decent bite of it. Wolverine certainly had a harsher taste than normal prey— harnessing the distinct tang of a born predator— so while he did not particularly enjoy the meat, he felt it should not go completely to waste. After eating his fill, he lay down a few feet away, and began to lick his scratched forelegs clean.

Trick sighed at the brute his words. It wasn't convincing he did this because he wanted it, but maybe more because Trick could convince pretty well. Before he could turn to find his marigold and comfrey root though, Warbone stepped forward to lick him. Yeck, physical touching. Trick had never understood why this whole body thing was still a thing. He hated using body language to express himself - not that he couldn't do it-, mostly because he was so well spoken. The fur on his forehead stood up in a comical way and as soon as he bowed to his alpha and turned, he used his paw to stroke it down again. He disappeared into the rich bushes of the forest, his nose sniffing out the herbs he needed.

It took around 10 minutes for him to find the marigold he needed and he gently picked them, placing a few on top of each other to create a a stash that he could easily recognize from afar. It was harder though to find the purple comfrey flowers and even harder to dig them up. He chose the smaller plants, because then he could get the whole root out easier and faster, but it still took him some time. He carried three of the roots in his mouth to the stash of marigold and placed them there. Next, he took a branch he found on the ground and stuck it into the biggest cobweb he could find. This didn't have to be as much as the herbs, for really only the wound on his alpha his chest would have to be covered.

After around maybe 40 minutes, he came with a mouth full of herbs and the branch with the cobweb. He placed them proud on the ground and waited for Warbone to come over to him.

Warbone was asleep when Trick returned, but woke swiftly as the dark male began to settle with the herbs. The alpha yawned, blinking sleep from his eyes before turning an expectant gaze on Trick. He waited. And then waited a beat longer, before realizing that instead of depositing everything near him, Trick expected the "injured" male to come to him. The wolf was a bit surprised, but he was no slouch, and would ignore the oddity of the small situation for now. He groaned, pushing himself to his large feet and plodding sluggishly to the healer. Giving the herbs a quick once over, he dropped to the ground before him and fell lazily to his side, leaving his scratched chest and legs free for examination and treatment.

Had Trick noticed his king was sleeping, he would've come closer, but alas. He saw the massive copper body of Warbone approach and lay limp on the ground before him. Trick sighed, getting ready for some heavy chewing and spending quite some time to heal one that did not matter to this world. He supposed he would start with the Marigold, and so took the herbs he had gathered in his mouth and chew. It tasted like plant -duuhuuh- though it almost tasted like nothing to the healer.

After a few minutes of chewing, he gave the alpha a look as to say; May I? Thoughts and opinions changed like the weather, and so he silently asked once again.