Dawnlark Plains Got no time to waste, I'm already late

He wasn't sure how he had managed to wander down the wrong side of the mountain range. He had woken alone on the coast after his fight with that damn mouthy wolf, remembering that he had passed out before getting the chance to kill him. The beast had been angry and weak and after painfully getting to his feet, he had just moved, too out of it to really pay attention to where he was going. 

It was when the sand turned to snow-covered ground that he realized the mountains were on the wrong side, but he was too tired to be too concerned about it. He just needed to rest for a while and then he could turn himself around and go back towards the forest and his family. He stopped somewhere in the middle of the barren plains, his sore neck protesting every single movement he made. After a few minutes, He finally slid down to the ground, placing his head on his paws before closing his eyes. He tried to ignore the way the cold air made his ears throb as he prayed for any amount of sleep--just enough to give him the energy to make it home. 

@Alarian

His encounter with the grey girl has left him feeling... out of sorts. He doesn't know why it bothers him — actually, he can't figure out if it bothers him or not. It's certainly on his mind, but he can't make heads or tails of the feelings that accompany his thoughts. He'd probably do it again — but only with her, and not any time soon. It's a weird feeling, so he tries to forget it.
Apparently the best way to do that is to wander Teekons carrying a bunch of ripped up plant. He doesn't really mind carrying the bundle of herbs everywhere, though his jaws are starting to ache by the time he finds something worth dropping them for; unfortunate, then, that this particular something seems to be his very battered lover, in desperate need of medical attention. Midar, It slips from him breathlessly as he bends to scoop the herbs from where they've fallen, closing the remaining distance between them a moment later. What happened? This time his voice is muffled by his mouthful of plant, though his concern is still just as evident.

As hard as he tried, sleep evaded him, the pain far too distracting to allow him even one second of unconscious bliss. When he heard Alarian, Midar opened his eyes to glance up at him with momentary confusion. Had he wandered that close to the other man's pack without realizing it? It took him a second to register the muffled question. I had to deal with someone, he answered grumpily. Answering questions was the last thing he wanted to do right now, even if they were from the scarred male he had become infatuated with. Wincing, he adjusted a little in an attempt to find a position that eased the pain some, but the throbbing continued despite his efforts, and he gave up with a frustrated sigh as he let his head fall back down on his front legs. I'm fine. I just need sleep, and then I'll be back to normal, the beast added irritably. He was wrong of course, but too stubborn to think that he needed help.

As Midar speaks, he's overwhelmed so suddenly by a feeling that it takes him a moment to name it — what's the word? Incredulous — yeah, that describes it pretty well. This, coming from the man who'd snapped at him for sleeping a few yards from his own pack's borders! The herbs fall from his jaws again as he snaps: Are you kidding? Oh god, he's not kidding, is he? What the fuck — that's not fine! You're not fine!
Whatever Midar says after that, he doesn't listen. He snatches up a few precious pieces of the plant he'd been carrying, separating root from stem and setting it aside. He doesn't bother asking permission before he moves to clean his companion's wounds, starting with the worst of what he can access — and if he gets bitten, he gets bitten. Any other form of protest is met only with a very frustrated growl. He's in no mood for an argument right now, when all he can think about is the fact that Midar just had to go and pull this shit right now.

Why was he getting so mad? It was just a few wounds. Sure he had passed out, but he was fine now. With how upset his companion was right now, he was definitely was keeping that piece of information to himself, though. Then, Alarian was touching the deep and very painful wound on his neck, and Midar whipped his head up to snarl in response, the movement making him wince. Don't. That hurts, he snapped, trying to move away from the touch, but freezing in surprise at the growl. He glared at the other man, wondering why he was being so pushy. Midar was tired and sore, and he didn't want his tender wounds touched, but he felt too bad to do much else except grumble and snarl when whatever Alarian was doing caused more throbbing from his injuries.

In the short space between touching Midar's wound and registering his snarl, he remembers exactly how afraid he is of the man. It doesn't stop the low, agitated rumble in his own throat, nor does it stop him from resuming his cleaning when he's certain there won't be much more protest, but he feels the cold tingle in his chest and he has to acknowledge it. This is a man who could kill him — who would have, maybe, without a second thought had they met under different circumstances. And here he is, prodding his wounds.
When he's finished cleaning them, he leans down to take the roots in his mouth and starts to chew them. His muzzle wrinkles at the taste, and before long he can hardly stand to chew it anymore. Hold still, He mumbles around the gross plant paste, spitting it onto his wounds bit by bit. He spreads it with his nose, keeping his touches feather-light and trying to ignore the grossness of it all. Nevermind the fact that he can't stand the smell of blood.

He watched as Alarian reached down to gather something in his mouth to begin chewing. Had he not been so relieved that the cleaning was done and that the other man had finally stopped touching his injuries, he may have been curious. But then he moved back towards his neck, demanding that the beast stay still. A disgruntled glare was his only response before he let his head fall once more, finally yielding out of sheer exhaustion. He wanted to argue, but he just didn't have anymore energy left to protest. Besides, Midar wasn't completely blind to the fact that he was trying to help him, he just thought it unnecessary. He had been hurt before. No one had been there to clean or tend to his head wound the day he had woken alone at the bottom of a mountain without his memories, so why was this any different?

When he's done spreading the paste, he wipes the last of it from his muzzle with one foreleg and returns to grooming Midar. This time he avoids the male's wounds, focused on gently cleaning and soothing his lover. He doesn't say anything, or try to touch him too much for fear of jostling his wounds, but he lingers near as he grooms him. It occurs to him that Midar is very lucky for these circumstances; lucky he'd been on his way home with herbs, lucky he'd decided to detour to work out his strange feelings. He resists the urge to voice this thought. He'll bring it up later, perhaps — or not at all, if only to very thoroughly avoid any mention of his recent activities.

He was relieved again when it seemed Alarian was done applying whatever it was that he had been chewing. The comforting grooming was unexpected, especially given the way Midar had snarled at the other man in response to his trying to help. He wasn't very good accepting help, no matter how bad he might need it. But, he had helped Midar when most would have cowered away or taken advantage. So, he lifted his head slowly to look Alarian. Thank you, he offered quietly, too tired to really care about his pride. His head felt heavy, and he let it fall back down on his legs. He still very much wanted to sleep, and it was becoming harder to fight against his heavy eyelids, but he was starting to become aware of the openness of the plains and felt uncomfortable sleeping, which seemed weird since he had practically been begging for it before; yet another reason he owed his companion his gratitude.

Truth be told, he's still mad as hell; he wants nothing more than to start yelling, listing off all the reasons why this is stupid and Midar is stupid — but he can't, and he won't. Not yet anyway. Each time his gaze passes over his companion's wounds, he imagines the pain he must be in, and the thought makes his chest ache. He's done a lot of selfish things, but he dislikes the idea of adding yelling at his wounded lover to the list. Even if Midar sort of deserves it. He sucks in a breath when the other speaks, torn between irritation and guilt. You're welcome, He says softly between grooming, then pauses altogether to add: You should come home with me. I have poppy seeds there — for pain.

Midar thought he might say yes to just about anything that would relieve the pain at this point, although he dreaded having to get back up and move again. But, they were probably a couple days from Alarian's pack, and he was almost certain he'd be a pretty shitty traveling companion even if he tried to keep his pain-fueled bad mood to himself. Midar also really wasn't sure how welcoming the other man's pack would be. Most wolves weren't comfortable letting strange, injured wolves leech off of their resources. He shifted his head a little so that he could look at the other man, studying him curiously for a few seconds before speaking. I can just wait here for you to go and come back, he suggested hesitantly, even though that wasn't really what he wanted. I'll be fine. That would probably be the easiest for Alarian; the injured beast would just slow him down and potentially make things difficult for him with his pack. Surely, he could survive on his own here for a couple days. He'd be fine--He'd find somewhere more protected to sleep, and he'd be fine.

He can't help but frown at the suggestion, disliking the idea of leaving his lover alone for several days in this state. His first instinct is to be irritated with the whole thing, but — he can see his point, kind of. Even if the idea makes him very nervous. No doubt Midar is safe from infection for the time being, but he isn't safe from the world, and that thought quickly brings bile up his throat. He swallows it back along with the urge to tell Midar to just quit using the word fine if he doesn't know what the hell it means.
Let me hunt for you first, He says, swallowing again. His mouth suddenly feels dry. And um — get you somewhere safer. His stomach twists uncomfortably as he imagines all the ways this could go wrong, and he almost wants to insist that Midar come with him instead. But now that he thinks about it, it's likely too far; he can't be certain the journey wouldn't be more detrimental to his companion than it's worth. It seems there's no right decision here, and it's a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.

He could tell the other man was unhappy with his suggestion, which wasn't surprising. But instead of arguing, he offered to help him further. But, he was trying to make things easier for Alarian, not create more work for him, and hunting for Midar as well as helping him move somewhere safer was definitely more work than taking him home. Not to mention, he inwardly balked a little at needing someone to hunt for him, even with the throbbing in his neck and ears making him wish someone would just knock him out and give him some relief--he could push through it if he really needed to, though. He had a feeling his companion would continue to press him to accept some kind of help, not matter what he said or how many times he assured him that he was fine. No, I don't want you to have to do all of that, he said, stiffly shaking his head. I'll go with you if that's easier. I feel fine enough to travel; I...just may be a little slower than normal, the beast quickly added. He slowly and painfully raised himself into a sitting position in an attempt to reiterate that he could do this.

He blinks, immediately torn between confusion and agitation. What? Hey — no, lay back down! His ears flatten, gaze sharpening, and again he has to swallow the urge to yell. He's not entirely sure what's going through Midar's head right now, but it's safe to say he's fairly baffled — and in absolutely no mood to try and figure it out. Are you just disagreeing with me to be difficult now? He asks, voice dripping irritation. If you're so bent on doing the opposite of what I want you to do, here's a suggestion: keep telling me you're fine and whatever you do, don't shut up.

He ignored the command, disregarding it because now that he was up, it wasn't so bad. Really. He glared at Alarian as he spoke the snarky words. Midar could tell the other man was getting irritated with him, but he really wasn't trying to be difficult. His last statement really pushed the beast's buttons, though, and he wanted to return the favor. I wasn't disagreeing to be difficult. I was trying to make things easier, he replied first, a little indignantly. And, I'll stop telling you I'm fine when you start believing it, because I am fine. The last bit was said purely out of spite even though it was true. He was fine. Still, he was hurting, and he really didn't want to fight with the one wolf he actually gave some kind of a shit about. His face lost any annoyance, and he looked at his companion with only exhaustion on his face. I don't want to fight with you, okay. I'm tired and in pain, so just tell me what you want from me. He looked away from the other wolf then, feeling a little too exposed and almost wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

The sparks of agitation within him threaten to build to a raging flame for a moment under the heat of his lover's words, but he quickly sucks in a breath to calm himself. It's quite a bit of effort, though, and he still finds himself gritting his teeth at the words I am fine. Obviously the man isn't fine, and all of this would be so much easier if he'd just admit it. But no; they get to do this.
Midar's next words are like a bucket of ice-water down his back. The anger melts from him immediately, replaced by a cold guilty panicky feeling that he doesn't like very much at all. I want you to not be hurt! He snaps, voice breaking; all the bite in his tone has been replaced with rawness, and the would-be anger comes out sounding more like fear, worry, desperation. His breath hitches and the guilt is suddenly overwhelming. Slowly, tentatively, he reaches out to press his muzzle to Midar's cheek if he's allowed, at a loss for words now.

The amount of emotion in Alarian's voice made Midar turn his head back to look at him. The words had been shaky and worried, and his chest tightened in response. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, the tension leaving his shoulders with a quiet sigh. Yeah, I'd kind of like that too, he murmured. He would make the same decision again, though. That wolf had slighted him and his family, and so he deserved to pay with his blood. Really he deserved to pay with his life, but the beast would have to wait a while before he could seek out that debt. So, I'll do whatever you think is best without any complaints, he offered next, opening his eyes to look at his companion. Well, maybe not without any complaints, but definitely a much smaller amount.

He doesn't realize he hasn't been thinking clearly until he calms down, soothed by Midar's response to his touch, and it occurs to him quite suddenly that he's not handling this well at all. Still, he's relieved by his companion's next words; to be fair, he is a little more qualified as a medic to make these decisions. He takes in a slow, deep breath, thinking for a moment.
I'm sorry I snapped, He starts when he thinks he knows what to do, pulling away slightly to meet Midar's gaze. Let me take you halfway — to somewhere safer. You won't have to travel as far, and I can get back to you quickly. And I won't have to explain this mess to Valette. He keeps that part to himself, mostly because he knows once it comes up he won't be able to let go of the fact that Midar more or less did this to himself. He'll save that can of worms for later.

He nodded once at Alarian's apology, finding it easy to forgive him given that he was only trying to help. When he suggested that they only travel a little closer to his pack and to somewhere a little safer, he slowly forced himself to his feet, trying to hide just how painful it was and probably failing. When he had steadied himself enough to speak, he turned back to his companion. Alright, lead the way, Midar said, the strain and exhaustion making the words come out a little less sure than he had intended. Traveling was really the last thing he wanted to do, but the other man was right, he needed to move somewhere safer and if they moved closer to his home, then he could leave and come back in less time. Gathering the last of his resolve, he looked to the scarred male and nodded, ensuring him that he was ready to move.

His heart lurches painfully to see his lover struggling just to stand, but he tries to keep the emotion from his expression. Instead he puts on his best this is fine, everything is fine face and gestures for Midar to follow him. He keeps his pace slow, and he stops often to check on the other — whether it's appreciated or not. And he tries very, very hard not to think about Saarthal.