Swiftcurrent Creek [m] I wouldn't front the scene if you paid me

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Eye gore :x

Her first instinct had been to hide the extent of her injury. Adrenaline kept her numbed in the immediate aftermath; anger kept her defiant. When she was sure that @Akavir was alright, Mae had wasted no time in forging a path back to Swiftcurrent Creek.

She hadn't bothered to wipe the blood or the mud from her eyes. Some part of her knew already that it would make no difference.

Mae wasn't sure when it started to hurt. She knew only that by the time the earth felt familiar beneath her paws and the breeze smelled of her pack, her face felt a mess of stinging and throbbing and bleeding. And it was. She kept her face turned slightly away even now, but if her father caught a glimpse of it he would see, beneath the mud, the red ruin that her eyes had become. The giant's claws had cut deeply, and the muck of the wetlands was already working its way into her bloodstream. Her eyelids were puffy, reddening.

She wanted to sleep.

She said nothing as she crossed the borders. There was nothing to say. Neither would she call for a healer; she didn't want anyone touching her, at least not anyone she didn't know. Not now.

Mae had fled form him—no sooner had the behemoth of a man drug himself away from the scene of his crime, Akavir was keen to look her over, to see what the man had done—

—but she was gone. He tore after her, only now feeling the press of the fight—the adrenaline leaving his body, his muscles stiffening.

Blood—maybe it was just mud?—trailed to the creek. He finally caught up to her—champagne eyes intent upon her, his form swerving to cut before her, to see what had been inflicted. “Let me see,” he urged, his tone gruff as he battled between the demand of a father desperate for his child to be okay and the assumption she would resist—as she always did.

She heard his footsteps before she heard him speak. Her own stride halted; for a moment she hesitated. It wasn't that she didn't trust him. It was only that she didn't want him to blame himself for this, too. And she knew that he would, when he took in the full measure of what had been lost.

You won't like it, She warned in a wavering, gravelly voice. As hard as she tried to maintain her stoicism, it was beginning to fail. Mae took in a breath and turned her face toward him — or a rough approximation of where she knew he was. Only scent and sound guided her now. It was nearly enough. But it would never be the same.

She hid from him, it seemed. His lips pressed together at her words, bracing himself. Of course, it still felt like a sucker punch to the gut when she did turn to him—to show him. He swallowed thickly, managing to hold back the strangled growl that wished to escape him—of only for her benefit.

“Let me take you to Arlette,” he spoke, instead, his tone and words eerily calm, despite the anger he felt coursing over him like a tidal wave. If he had known this is what had happened to Mae… He never would have let that man go so unscathed.

An eye for a goddamn eye.

Mae stiffened at his words, immediately taking a step back as panic took hold of her. No, The word was nearly a growl. I'll clean it up myself.

In no world would she allow the pale healer to touch her. Not for any particular hatred of her, but for lack of trust. Only a few were allowed that privilege, all considered family. Arlette was not among them.

Standing in front of one you love and having them make such a ridiculous decision that was so detrimental to their health was an entire new low for him—he had thought ‘helpless’ and ‘worthless’ was a primary feeling when he couldn’t protect his loved ones… But it turned out, it was an entire new level of sadness when he had the ability to do something to help—and it was refused.

He blinked—a moment passing, his jaw ticking. This was where tough love could enter—could it not? Did he raise his voice? Try to Alpha-hole an order on her?

Fuck, was he above knocking her out and dragging her to Arlette?

But he knew to do any of this—not only would she likely close the door she had only begun to creak open for him, but it was likely she would flee—and he knew, in her state, that would be a death sentence.

“Let me try to wash it,” he rumbled—a plea. “The river.”