Ankyra Sound VIII. Standing in the back door crying, now you're going to need a friend.

moss. stop bleeding. he took this information and kept it for posterity's sake, all while stretching and seizing a clump of the greenery between his teeth. the position he entered next was. . .quite awkward, to say the least. but there was no time to balk, no time to be overly modest or a prude. he shoved the moss between the young woman's legs—trying desperately not to breathe in—and tucked it snugly there.

surya retreated, fighting every instinct to lick the blood from his nose. he swiped a paw over his muzzle instead, then again, then placed it against the moss. the plant was gathering blood quite quickly; before long, it was half-soaked, the crimson overtaking its vibrant verdance.

but it did seem to be working. he took it away after a while, doing the awkward ritual of replacing it with another clump, then took the bloodied bit to the pool. he rinsed it and himself, bristling at the dark cloud that rose up in the water.

he needed to leave before long—before whatever trouble had found aphrodite took her too far away.