Anguish had been replaced with a steely determination, the heavy and tight knot in his chest all but suffocating. He ignored it, compartmentalizing just as he had done a thousand different times at a thousand different fights. At first it is a blind panic that guides him, pulling him away from the screams of battle and into the jungle. Away from the Mire and the hell it has brought down upon him and his family, towards the river that he knows runs through not far from here. She is across his back, limp and bleeding, lifeless. It feels wrong, so very wrong, but he tries not to think of it. Tries not to think of it until he places her on the River shore and screams for help. Screams until his voice is hoarse, thinking not of his enemies but only of any who might come and save her. He doesn’t care for his own injuries, his own exhaustion, he cares only for her. For all her anger and violence he loves her, deeply, and he cannot fathom that life without her. Loss has shadowed his life more than once, but this? This he does not know he can survive.

the sound rattles him to his bones.

it feels as though someone has splashed him in the face with ice cold water. he is no stranger to strangers pleading for help, but this is different. there is a frenzied anguish to it that he knows. deep down in his chest he knows, and the echoing screams rattle around his ears. death, or close to it.

he's heard plenty of those screams before, and they never meant anything good.

hastily, he quickens his pace — following the curve of the river just outside his former home. following the echoing screams and the smell of blood that rises like a tide. it makes his mouth go dry, terrible memories rising up even as he stumbles upon the scene. a lion stands over a lioness and it is clear both of them have been put through the wringer. they both wear blood and wounds, some more dire than others, but it is @Erna that catches his attention. the way she lays, lifeless...

a shiver runs down his spine, curly fur bristling in its wake. blue eyes look to the mire king with concern knitting his brows, the beginning twinges of panic rising like bile in his throat. what — what happened? he says, his voice a little hoarse, feeling the river sand beneath his paws slip away. and for a moment, he is back in darkstone, back in those stinking pits that housed only violence and cruelty and agony. he sees that same agony on @Alaric's face, though, and knows without needing words.

i can help, elijah says, because he can. a medic through and through, no matter how hard he fought against the label. i'm a medic. i can try. a tiny promise offered with trembling hands, if only alaric would reach out and take it.

code by lars, art by tanzani

he comes, blue eyes and pale fun, like an angel deacended from on high. A fleeting thought when he looks up, but it is replaced quickly by a frantic need for help. “please,” he rasped, his voice cracking from the strain, “please help her.” a heavy paw is draped over her leg, clinging to her, desperate to feel some signs of life. “there was so much blood…” his eyes are unfixed, staring at her but seemingly looking through her. a thousand yard stare, they might call it, as the horrors of the past hours sunk in to the crevasses of his mind. “so much fighting. she….” he chokes, and gone is the bold and brave wheat king of the mire. in his place a broken and bloodied man grasping at any shreds of hope he can find. “please…. Tell me what to do…” anything…. Anything at all…

there was so much blood.

he was expecting these words and yet they still shake him to his core. he knows, he knows, that the world is cruel and full of agony -- he knows that men are ruthless and barbaric, and wherever there were lions death would follow them. elijah knows this because he has lived it -- he is just sorry that it happened to them.

i'll do what i can, elijah murmurs, a soft promise. wouldn't he want someone to do the same for him? if it was gawain lying here? the mere thought unsettles him, more than the wounds that @Erna wears -- more than the way she lays, limp like a ragdoll. he's done this before, though. he's held his paws to horrible wounds and brought those gladiator fighters back from the brink. he can do it again, right?

breathe.

if you're able to, he starts -- sparing a quick glance to @Alaric. noting the way that the mire king, too, was beaten and bruised. we need to get the bleeding to stop. he is unaware, of course, that she isn't bleeding anymore -- it's just that there's so much blood it's hard to tell. other supplies will be needed, too, but he steps forward -- intent on assessing her.

only when he steps closer does he realize just how bad off she is. he swallows thickly, looking up to alaric -- hoping to stop him before he goes. what's her name? he asks softly. elijah knows full well he might not be able to do anything here today, but he wants to try.

code by lars, art by tanzani

he imagines he can still hear her heartbeat. he imagines it is there, beneath the flesh and blood, same as every other time he had lain his head upon her chest. Alaric thinks of it now, pictures it pumping her blood through her veins, keeping her alive. when @Elijah speaks he sounds almost underwater, because Alaric is a thousand miles away. his mind is spinning, wildly, and yet…. Yet when the medic tells him what to do he pulls himself together. Save her first, panic later. “Yes. Yes I… I can.” Alaric had no idea what the hell he was doing but he relinquished his hold on her for a second, stepping away to tear large leaves from the jungle, not even knowing if these would be enough to help. Wide-eyed he deposits them near Erna and stares at her as he presses one over the worst of the wounds on her neck. He is fumbling and inexperienced, but his voice is soft and pained when he speaks - “Erna. Her name is Erna. My wi-fe.” a tremble as he thinks of their cubs and then closes his eyes to pray for some kind of grace in this harsh world.

the man leaves, heading further inland to gather some supplies. whatever @Alaric is able to bring back will not be enough to truly help the lioness -- she is in terrible shape, and elijah isn't sure if his own cache would even be enough. when alaric steps away, though, elijah takes his place -- settling in at the woman's side. delicate paws sweep across her ruined frame, assessing the biggest points of damage. whoever, or whatever, she had fought... it had not been kind.

only now does he realize that something is amiss. being so close, he can feel the way that her lungs do not expand. nervously, a paw comes to rest at the hollow of her throat, and feels no pulse there either. oh, no. his heart sinks at the slow realization -- it might already be too late. still, when alaric returns, elijah offers a small nod of his head, pulling the gathered leaves and assortment of herbs close to him.

ears twitch as alaric offers his wife's name. erna, elijah repeats -- a quiet prayer, shared between the two of them and any spirits who may be listening. @Erna. maybe it would not be too late? maybe he could help? it's all he's ever wanted to do. with trembling hands, the little medic gets to work and he hopes. he hopes.

master medic perk:

Rolling 1d2: 2

1 = erna lives
2 = erna dies

code by lars, art by tanzani

if he listened to reason, alaric already knew what the outcome would be. if he listened to fact and reality, he knew. denial, maybe, or unreasonable hope -- whatever it was he clung to it even as he had carried his wife's lifeless body through the rainforest.

he wasn't ready to let go. he wasn't ready to face this... not again.

watching the small medic work alaric knew, and yet he whispered over and over "please. please. please. erna, please." as his heart wrenched ever so painfully in his chest. oh if his family could see him now, how shamed he would be. tears tracking down his cheeks as he prayed for his wife to survive this, for a miracle to find him in the midst of chaos.

fear and sorrow swell and grow as he watches, begging for a sign and seeing... seeing nothing. no rise and fall of her chest, no gasping breath.

no heartbeat.

alaric remembers it... the steady thump that had all but connected with his when they lay together. the way it would race with his touch, and how that had made him feel powerful. for she, his erna, was a force to be reckoned with. she was bold and fierce and strong and yet she was his.

"no," he whispers, as the minutes tick past, as he sees the dawning horror and realization on the small medic's face. anguish marks his own handsome features as the wheat king moves to drag his tongue across her face, to send her in to the next world with his kiss upon her cheek.

the wheat king's words were not meant for him, and yet still elijah listens to each pain-filled syllable. his paws tremble where they work, not faltering but only just. being in this position is never easy but he does his best, ignoring the other man's anguish. he cannot imagine what he would do if it were gawain here instead. the thought tears at him but his paws work tirelessly, trying to coax life back into her.

it does not work, though.

it does not work.

ears cup back as he concentrates, not wanting to admit defeat, but — it is clear that she is beyond saving. it was as if he tossed a coin in the air and called out the wrong side. elijah does his best but clearly it is not enough. maybe other medic might have been able to breathe life back into her, but here today, she remains limp and lifeless before him.

slowly, his gaze moves from her to @Alaric, tears welling in his eyes. he might not know either of these lions ( and if he did, perhaps he would not feel such sympathy ) but grief is a thing to be shared and there is a hopelessness in his chest that curls tight around his innards and squeezes. stupid boy, what have you done?

i'm so sorry, he says softly, voice barely above a whisper. hoarse and terrible, as if saying the words will be the final nail in her coffin. i don't think there's anything else i can do. gently, respectfully, elijah seeks to move back a step — still here, but wanting to give alaric whatever room he needed.

code by lars, art by tanzani

there is a deep ache in his chest that he feels to his very bones. it has been years since he has felt it, but alaric remembers it well. once he had listened to the dying screams of his wife and children, when he had fallen to the strength of a healthier king. it was not a sound he would ever forget -- it was a pain he was now reliving. "damnit erna," he whispered, as tears fell quietly down his cheeks and grief clenched at his heart. "what the fuck am i supposed to do now?" empty, stricken, a voice lacking of any true bite or emotion. he seems to almost forget the tiny medic, until his whispered apology sinks in to his mind. "please," he shakes his head, but his gaze does not move from the deathly still body of his wife. she is a disaster, caked in mud and blood, and there again is that wayward through -- she must be clean. clean her, and she will be okay. but, of course, she wouldn't. a shudder runs through his body as he drags a paw along her leg, feeling her too cold flesh beneath his touch. "please don't apologize. th-thank you. thank you for trying." humbled, broken, a mere shell of his usual self, alaric finally looks at elijah and aches even more to see his grief mirrored on another face. he has no right to ask, but he does anyway -- "could you... help me clean her. please." as he scoops to pick her up, ignoring the pathetic shake in his legs. -exit w/elijah to clean body?- @Elijah