It was not the first time he had been thrown into the sea. Once, long ago when he was young and unaware of the horrors of the world, he along with 20 other young pups were tossed into the deep, left to die. But he had survived. Sometimes he wished he hadn't. Like now, for example.
The former Dread King groaned as he felt the sea push him again, this time onto the sandy banks of some unknown shore. He didn't dare move. He was tired, his head echoing the crashes of the waves. The knight's body was numb with cold and the pain of many open, infected wounds. It was a wonder he hadn't died again, from the scars alone.
Mordred's storm gray eyes opened for but a moment to blurriness. His eyes flickered around wildly, trying to identify where he was currently laying. It was to no avail. The skies looked like the skies back home. The sand felt the same. The caws of the seagulls were similar as well, growing louder as they approached him, thinking he was some feast from the ocean. Mordred shut his eyes then, slowly falling into unconsciousness. He was too tired to retaliate. This was what he deserved after all: a traitor's death.
As she walked thinking inwardly, she was surprised to see something buffeted by the ocean. She didn't pay attention to it too much, until it landed on the ground and then she simply stared for a moment it was a wolf, and this wolf was half dead. She strode forward and looked at him as he looked around, only to succumb to darkness. She bent her nose forward and ran it across his fur, trying to detect a heartbeat, and when she found one she backed up and lifting her muzzle to the sky she called out to her husband Ragnar. She would help this wolf, but she didn't know if her husband would want her to waste resources, so she waited and watched to make sure he didn't fall into anymore hurt. Chasing the seagulls away as they landed near.
At first, Ragnar did not identify it as canine for the curve of the creature's spine was to him. He didn't pin it as aquatic per say but initially Ragnar mistook it as a meal. A gift of meat from the Gods that had washed up upon their shore. As he slowed his approach, sensing no danger, he had began to plan out how much of the creature he would ration for Julooke, wanting to offer the heavily pregnant woman something as her Jarl. To let her know that he hadn't forgotten about her and that he anticipated the arrival of her family with Verrine. Ragnar liked children, only, he wasn't exactly sure how to best deal with small ones which was his present issue with his own, currently.
The closer Ragnar drew his mistake began to dawn on him as the dark mass began to take the form of a canine. For a dark instant the Viking considered dining upon it anyway, but dispelled those thoughts quickly. He wasn't that desperate, and was in no rush to add 'cannibal' to his growing list of names he'd been called in his life. Is it dead? Ragnar asked his wife without feeling, ready to let the sea claim it once more if it was.
But he was mistaken, it was not some scavenger, but a wolf, who howled for someone. His nose was clogged, so he couldn't tell who or where this wolf came from, but he assumed a pack by the sea shore, if he was discovered this quickly.
As another wolf came closer and spoke in a deep, clear voice, the former King stirred. His eyes fluttered open again and he took a deep breath before he felt something rising in his throat. Mordred coughed up a mix of sea water and blood, hacking piteously. "N..........no........" he answered weakly. He wasn't dead yet, somehow.
She went ot speak to her husband, but then the creature before them spoke first. Well no he isn't. She realized the delicate way she was going to have to speak and she motioned her husband to follow her a bit a ways from the body on the shore, out of hearing distance, but she could still watch him.
As they stood a distance away she spoke softly I was going to heal him, but decided to wait for your opinion on the matter. I was looking him over, he will take much of my stores and I will have to make another run to get more, and that is if I can even find them. Unless I give him rudimentary care, which will heal him, but only just. We have Julooke's children coming, your own children perhaps in the future, plus we have colds and sicknesses to contend with when winter breaks upon us. So what would you like me to do? I would rather not leave him here to die, but I know our pack comes first. I don't have much time he is knocking at death's door as we take the time to speak. She grew quiet then and waited silently, wanting so badly to heal him, but knowing that it would seriously cut into her stores and then if something should happen with Julooke or Nerian or one of the babes she maybe unable to fix them completely. She could do a piss poor job of healing him, so that he healed, but scarred and he would be in a lot of pain without pain lessening herbs.
The Jarl was silent as Thistle spoke, barely hiding his scowl. Of course she would want to heal him. It was her nature — a nature that the two did not share with one another. I will not waste resources cached for our pack on a half drowned, trespassing stranger. Whether Thistle agreed or disagreed with him Ragnar did not care. His word was final on it. She would not waste their stores on a stranger of whom there was no guarantee he would live anyway, or even if he did live no guarantee that he would stay. That Ragnar would let him stay. It was pointless, in Ragnar's eyes. A child, Ragnar would have not been able to say 'no' too but a child the dark mass was not. He was likely older than Ragnar. His death was probably inevitable, anyway. You do not have to heal him. Not even meagerly. Our pack comes first, our subordinates, our family comes first. You can let him die. Or let the sea claim him. He glimpsed back towards the dark mass on their sands and let out a snort. But you'll do what you want anyway, He knew her, and he knew that she would do what she thought was right even if it meant defying her. And he would let her because he loved her. It would piss him off but he would get over it and they both knew that. If you must heal him you will use the minimal amount of your medicines that you can. I do not care if it is not enough. Perhaps it shouldn't have washed up on our shores. His life means nothing to me. When he is well enough he will willingly leave our lands or I will kill him myself. Those were Ragnar's conditions. They were harsh but he was a harsh man and with Winter fast approaching and the birth of children quickly on their way he had no tolerance for sharing — something that he did not do well to begin with.
It was survival of the fittest and he planned on making sure that he and Stavanger Bay survived.
Mordred dragged himself upwards, limbs trembling at the effort. The wounds were infected, salt rimming the edges, but he ignored the pain for the moment, the only thing inhibiting his movement was the numbness created by the cold sea. When he was successful in raising himself from the sand, he bent his head towards the male, thanking him respectfully. "Thank you, sir."
Thistle gave her husband a small look and licked his muzzle. I will only use the minimum Ragnar. One dose of jopi weed, one does of aloe, and seaweed to bind and he should be good. Fresh water to clean it. I will not use more than that I promise. You knew i was healer when you married me husband. her lips twitched into a small smile at him as she turned away to growl in frustration at the wolf standing to his feet. if you rip your sides open and bleed everywhere I do not want to hear a word. Come with me. You need cleaned up and then you best be ready to do some hard work on your healing, cause you need to be able bodied as quick as you can. She tilted her head and motioned for him to follow her, giving her husband one last look, before she continued on.
It does not mean you have to heal everyone, wife, In fact, her main concern should have rested within the Bay and that was it. If Ragnar had the ability to do more than field surgery (which was shoddy at best) he certainly wouldn't have wasted his talents on strangers. Floki didn't. Then again, they were hard men and Ragnar, well he was heartless. Call for me when he is ready to talk. If he has nothing to contribute to this pack I don't want him eating up our stores of food as well as taking up our medicine. Ragnar told his Queen wife, fixing her in a piercing stare. Do not wait, either. If I have not heard anything in a week I will take matters into my own hands. We are not a charity pack. He warned her and with that he leaned forth to offer her a kiss before he disappeared into the heart of Stavanger Bay.
He was going to respond, saying that he was the least bit grateful that the platinum male allowed him to leave and be healed, but was too tired for any more words. He was given food and sanctuary for a week, and if he wasn't healed by then, he would be chased out. Or killed. He thought, from the sight of this male, that it would be the latter.
The Dread Knight wearily followed his healer and savior, feeling blazing pain on his legs, side, face, chest....hell he was hurt everywhere. It would take a while for him to get better, and he hoped it was sooner rather than later...
Thistle licked the side of her husband's muzzle and then walked away with the limping behemoth trailing behind her. She dug into a cache of medicinal herbs as the traveled. She grasped one jopi week, one small aloe plant and some seaweed. She motioned the male Mordred to Bandingjar Halda, the capitives hold in common tongue, knowing no where else to put him. She then waited for him to lay down before she would begin to clean the numerous wounds and use what she could to clean and soothe.