Hideaway Strath You think you are
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anarchist
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#1
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For @Kynareth Deagon and @Dove
Set: set a few hours after this thread.

she managed to gather herself together after the attack.
pushing herself up as blood that had clotted upon her breast started to weep again.
Sasha stood, and walked.
her chest seemed to be pressed up against the wound, trying to spill her vital organs from it. her bones seemed to be the only things preventing that now.
she wanted to sleep.

"Ky," she breathed as she started to give up. give in.
her battered body didn't want to continue.
it wanted to be laid to rest.

but sasha did not.

she sunk to her haunches, huffing in the air the best she could against the pounding pain.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
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A fresh scent of blood reaches his nose. What is going on now? He wonders briefly as he stands, raising his nose to the air and inhaling. His brows furrow at the smell and his eyes squint is suspicion. That smells almost familiar, but blood is just blood after all. 

So with his nose continuing to sniff, he wanders towards the direction the scent is pulling him. It becomes stronger and stronger and by now he’s a bit worried it could be one of his own. One of his Saints. 

Yet upon arrive, he sees Sasha. Her pale white form slumped and wavering in place. The stark red of blood seeped into her usually beautiful fur. Then he stops so fucking fast, his eyes go wide and I’m that moment a horrid rage swells within this breast and his heart pumps it through his body like a life line. Who the fuck does he have to kill now? 

He’s done being a statue. Instead he sprints over to her side, muzzle softly lifting her drooping, tired head up. “What the fuck?!” He growls. Not necessarily at her but at the situation in general. 

Then another scent hits him once he’s upon her, so he sticks his wet nose into her fur (the non injured areas) and nuzzles around in it. This other scent is Nyra’s and once more he goes stock still. Oh. He thinks. Nyra is about to feel his teeth once more. Usually he doesn’t mind fights within the pack, but when it’s this serious and when he’s supposed to be the one killing this bitch it pisses him off to no extent. 

So he presses his chest against her, giving her a place to lean on. “You’re gonna be fine, dear.” He hums to her quickly. “Stay awake.” Then he tilts his head up and gives a series of very serious, short but plentiful howls to call Dove. She needs to work on her as soon as possible or she’ll end up dying much too quickly. Until she arrives he will stay with her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he whispers death threats to Nyra in his own mind.
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she'll make you take your clothes
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Another day, another play. How interesting this one seemed to be, this theater filled with the middle act of False Heart. The star was a gentle beautiful, frail and delicate looking. She thought the kitten was her lover but there was an air around him that the dove seemed to detect, was it she read his lines before the play never started? A shake of skull clad head cleared her mind, she had been close and her lips were not free to speak line that she was suppose to say.

Oh the director must have been upset with her, she seemed to always know everyone's lines. Everyone's but not her own, she seemed to do as she thought worked better. A script could be boring, she was very fond of the unpredictable. The Medic moved with a gliding step, appearing in front of the odd pair as if from magic or thin air. She set down the bundled rabbit skin and let its contents show, she was ready to treat this wonton thing.

A gentle smile touched her lips but that was lost behind the head of their Lord's last betrayer, the symbolism should not have been lost on the striped man. "Ah, darlin' it would seem you need some fixing up" her voice seemed like a melody and song without a tune but she looked down at desplat if medicinal herbs, she tail gave a few lazy movements. Back and forth, back and forth. She pushed Ginger and mint into a skull that belonged to a small doe, crushing them with a mushroom that she was not too sure what it would give. It was not poisonous but it would surely make the girl feel rather pleasant, she had munched on one and felt like she would float but maybe it had different effects.

She pushed the mixture to the injured woman known as Sasha and gave a smile, "for the pain." she spoke, her eyes watching the with interest. How long would it take to effect this one?
 
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anarchist
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#4
she felt like she was falling. or perhaps melting.
just as that darkness wanted to take her again, Kynareth seemed to teleport to her side.
words lost in the haze of pain. confusion. she still wasn't sure why she was attacked.

his touch. warm. hard. soft. cold.
all at once and yet in all the different places.
she leant into him a bit too much. wanting more warm. wanting him.
"hurt," she mused quietly to him. he already know but...hm. his words are soothing. gentle. but they were indeed nothings.
happy ideas, happy thoughts. another day, she might have hope, but not today. not now. 

a song flitted through the air, piercing through the thundering in her skull and making he ever so heavy lids lift to alight on...her.
Sasha's head reared up, adrenaline flooding her system as she tried to spur her body to move. the lethargic blur prevented her from doing so, and really only resulted in her collapsing more into her husband. ex husband. ah, he wouldn't know that she still claimed him right now or now. or care.

a soft whine pressed from her throat. fear. but what she was doing...her head. oh, that wasn't her head. it was someone else's. Sasha could only watch on, muted for now. the soft voice soothing. Kynareth reassuring.
a concoction was presented to her.

heterochromatic eyes glanced to the Grandmaster nervously. but he seemed calm. assured.
Sasha dipped her head to the medication, taking it all. assuming that was what was wanted of her of course.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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Kynareth doesn’t say much after a while. He mainly just jostles Sasha awake when it seems she’s slipping down his chest in a half hearted effort to actually stay awake. Yet when sweet Dove arrives she looks like a God sent from heaven — in more ways than one. She creates a concoction of whatever that is and grinds it up expertly in a deer skull, all the while Donovan dutifully watches. Then she feeds it to the half dead woman in his arms and he almost wants to scream at her to hurry up and eat it, but that would get them nowhere. 

Still, she still has that gaping wound on her chest and her eyelids are getting heavy. Kyn looks expectantly over at the curly tailed enchantress. “Are you going to dress her wound? She’s bleeding a lot, Dove.” He doesn’t say it in a rude way, rather he’s confused to her method because he himself is not a medic.
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she'll make you take your clothes
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Fear, that was the theme of the music that backed the scene. It coarsed through the audience creating gasps just as the fair lady showed her performance of said emotion, how interesting. She did not react like the rest, even though in the script it had said Fear with a capital F. Even though this feeling gripped her, did hell of her heart rate, she waa obedient. A trait that those with domesticated blood had burned into their bones, she took the medicine like a good little girl. 

The kitten had his lines to say, confusion filling his tone and Dove did not follow her own papers, another frustrating growl by the director. She was suppose to explain that this was to help the woman calm, and take pain away but that was tedious instead.. "Kitten.." She spoke softly. Looking at him with a smile in her eyes, shaking her head before turning back to the one called Sasha. 

She grabbled a few herbs, one to help the blood flow slow and another for infections. She put them in the now empty bowl before dipping cobwebs in the mixture, she drew closer to the star of the play before looking to the kitten. A sign to make sure she did not back up, it was then she packed this mixture into the wound at her chest. She plugged the hole, a quick fix that would need to be replaced within a few hours. Her head tilted at the pretty little thing, had the medicine started to effect her? Oh, she was so curious but she could not say so. Mustn't worry her dear kitten lord.
 
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anarchist
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#7
that shit tasted rank.
at first, it was like nothing, but then the dreaded aftertaste. burning her tongue, clogging it with its dirty flavour. she'd rather eat her own shit that that stuff again.

her face contorted to show displeasure, but she couldn't do much else. it woke her up though, so that was something.
oh. her wound. her soft-pink tongue snaked out to lick the blood that had staled on her fur. washing the bad taste away.
Dove approached Sasha, obviously wanting to treat the wound. she stopped licking the blood, letting her do so.
could she go to sleep yet?
her soft eyes turned to Kynareth. asking. almost begging. stay with me.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
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Kynareth’s worried inquiry at his medic results in a less than satisfactory answer from the Priestess. A simple word that says many things on its own — Kitten. She says to him as a way of saying Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. So with that he huffs a short breath through his wet nose and doesn’t say one more word. Eyes dutifully watching the pale, wolfdog mix another concoction of herbs and other miscellaneous shit he knows very little about. She does just as he asked before, packs her wounds and stops the bleeding as much as she’s able to. 

It satisfies him meagerly and only satiates his worry a pinch. But he trusts Dove and is very confident that she knows what she’s doing, especially after watching her fix himself, Nyra, and Derg up. She’s a reputable woman and he forces himself not to worry. At this point he almost suspects that she might be using some higher power to heal all of them. But will he ever know? Probably not.

But then he can’t help but smile as he watches as a face of disgust overcomes Sasha’s face. Yet she’s quickly meeting his gaze and his smile falls at her silent plea. He hates being sappy in front of his pack, so he settles for a silent promise on his eyes back to her. Hopefully she’ll get better quick and Donovan is itching to settle his teeth into Nyra’s pelt.
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anarchist
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#9
Closing this up

fuck. she wasn't going to live. surely.
her tongue burned. her throat burned.
this was awful.

she couldn't hear them anymore. their voices were foreign. lost in the haze.
light flashed across her vision, causing to jerk her head up. except, there was no light. not really. it was her mind, the drugs Dove gave her.
more visions came. came and went. Dove packed her wounds, and Sasha barely moved aside from the rare jerk of the chin as different colours flashed before her.

then, she was being pulled, dragged. she kicked and screamed. he was going to eat her! no. no he wasn't. his tongue soothed her cheek. safe.
soon, when Kynareth deposited Sasha in Dove's medical den, she fell asleep.
and all was quiet again.
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Ah, so the drugs has come roaring. The skull wearing witch watched the woman as she jerked up her head, moved in rather uneven movements. So this one did not react well to the hallucinations, this intrigued her but she would keep her emotions hidden within her mind. 

When the girl started to scream, it was clear she could no see and if she could.. oh what did she think, that the big bad kitten would eat her? Now that would be a sight, what an interesting way to bind a spirit. A soothing lick and she was quiet again, she watches the girl carefully. Repacking the wound she had thrashed without thought of pain or damage, it would be easier to let this one alone in this state but she followed the stripped man. Ending up in her den, a place of comfort and perhaps nightmares.