speech

He didn’t want to admit it, but Nephthys was right, he did need a healer. He could have went to the Plains but it really was too far. He was too tired, even after resting with the red woman he found so captivating, he was still exhausted. He only knew one other healer and fortunately for her, he had plenty of fresh wounds for her to practice her skills on…maybe Ronin just had a death wish. Maybe not. The warmonger would make his way through the ashy ground slowly, limping heavily as he grimaced every couple steps. His head was held awkwardly, his neck still hurt when he moved it or held it where he normally would.

Groaning, he would stop next to the stream, where he had met Tinuviel previously. Tenderly he would ease himself to the ground, straining his neck enough so that he could lap at the cold water of the stream for a moment before turning his head painfully and calling softly for the lioness. The call ending as more of a plea than anything else. He’d seen her at the challenge and he was confident that she would know who he really was by the point…he just hoped that she wouldn’t be too salty or butt hurt over him lying about his name.

Ronin would rest, eyes remaining open as his head rested on his paws, waiting for her to either show up or ignore him- either way, he wasn't moving for a while. The warmonger would watch as blood mixed with what was left of the snow from winter.



-- please allow Tinuviel to post first--

There was a sense of disappointment that came with his loss and subsequent departure. Tinúviel had been left unbothered at the challenge, and though fights had erupted all around them, she had secured a secluded enough spot to watch the entirety of his own fight unfold. The woman, small and scarred and ferocious, had beaten him only just; it challenged her ingrained notion that men were faster and stronger, but the win had felt bittersweet. She had hoped Murik would find the strength to overcome, to be given the final surrender of a justice he felt he deserved. To no longer live the shadowy life of a rogue, self-exiled from a situation Tinúviel still did not quite understand.

Were it she, she would have tucked tail and ran. She would have given up.

When they'd first left the challenge, she had waited where he was now. The babbling of the stream had been her companion, herbs so carefully collected and tucked between her paws. But as the minutes drawled into the hours, Tinúviel felt disheartened. Of course he has other healers, she chided herself, remembering very well the way he had warned her not to give him anymore aid. He would not have so blindly thrown himself into a pride challenge if he did not have supporters, if he did not have those who would mend those broken wounds, would he? Eventually, she got up to leave, the small pouch of herbs forgotten upon the water's edge as she made her solemn journey back to the Mire.

And she was almost there when she'd heard his call.

She turned without thinking, instinct driving away any frustration or disappointment she may have felt moments before. It was a short distance back to the stream and, thankfully, as she arrived she could still see the herbs she'd so blatantly left sitting on the riverbed. And just downstream of it lay him, so broken and battered and beaten, bleeding into the melting snow. Tinúviel hastily made her way toward him, frightened that she may have been too late, that she may have lost him to unconsciousness. She could not see his eyes from here, only the gentle rise and fall of his flank with each slow breath. Murik? she begged, placing a gentle paw on his neck, careful to touch where he was not wounded.

@Ronin

He lay and waited patiently, although he could have looked around and noticed that there were fresh herbs nearby…or used his nose to realize that the lioness had in fact been waiting for him- he was just slow getting there- he did none of these things. Tired and in pain, he would simply stare off ahead, ears alert for sounds, but otherwise the only indication that he was even alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. Even when @Tinúviel did arrive, he was so zoned out, he didn’t realize she was there until a gentle paw was pressed onto his neck and he heard her voice. She was careful, not touching his wounds, but there was no way for her to know that his neck hurt from the slam he had done to his opponent. Even the gentle weight of her paw would cause him to flinch and growl softly in pain as he lifted his head. “It would seem I am in need of your ever growing skills, hmm?” He would offer a faint smile, trying to joke with her to ease the tension and her concern. He would live, he’d hurt worse than this and survived. “I hurt my neck…it hurts to move it.” He would offer, explaining the one wound that she would not be able to find visibly. For once, he hoped that a healer would offer him something for pain, he would gladly take it this time. ”Hi"

He flinched, and Tinúviel immediately recoiled, drawing her paw back in fear she had exasperated his wounds further. Silly girl, she chided seethingly, imaging the look upon the crone's face had she been here now, watching over her, reprimanding her every mistake. Murik, however, did not seem so keen on getting angry with her (something she was ever-thankful for, for had it been a year prior, she would have never even considered touching him in fear he may lash out as Viridian once had); instead, he groans, aches, battle-weary. Had she gotten to him sooner, she may have been able to ease his suffering. His wounds had long closed but in that brutal, dirty manner. His muscles strained, his flesh tattered. There was a long road ahead of him, something far outside of her current skill.

At least, she thought, she could do this.

The mention of his neck pain quickly stirred her to grab into her pouch. She remembered from last time how Murik had show distaste toward medicines and salves for pain; she had asked around, and had managed to find some herbs that did not quite cause nearly the feeling he had described (and one Tinúviel knew well, too, for she had long used poppy seeds on herself). From her hastily-made store she pulled out long red fruits, sharp enough to make her eyes water when she pulled them close. She cut them into long, thin threads, muttering quietly as she spoke. I can apply this to your neck, it will sting at first, but then it will numb you to the pain, she informs him, before pausing, hoping to catch the corner of his gaze, I do have some seeds if it doesn't work as well as you would like. She would wait patiently for his permission before she moved further, but had both ready for whichever he might prefer; perhaps he'd want both, to have the peace of slipping into a dreamless sleep or a blissful half-consciousness.

Then, she turned to observe his wounds, dirtied and caked with dried blood and clots. Her brows knitted thoughtfully, inhaling, then speaking: Once the pain has subsided, I can clean your wounds.

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+10 Heal a character’s sickness or injury (1/2)
+5 Dry or prepare herbs for use (1/2)
+5 Teach someone basic wound care (1/2)

@Ronin

speech

His flinch would cause her to recoil, as if she had touched something that had burned her. He tried not to take offense and told himself it was only because she wished not to cause him more pain. His patience was something that he prided himself on, he knew she was still learning her trade and perhaps that helped with keeping his temper down and from snapping at her out of pain. Instead he would simply wait patiently, trying not to grit his teeth with each movement. He would certainly be sore tomorrow from this.

Mentioning his neck pain, she would pull something from her pouch, his mismatched gaze would watch curiously as she pulled out long red fruits with a terrible smell, but she cut them into long thin threads, explaining as she went. She’d apply it to his neck to help with pain. He nodded stiffly, laying his head down to give her better access. She would mention seeds and he would frown, we will see. He commented, reluctant to take the seeds that would have him slip into a restful sleep and fog his mind. He needed the sleep, but as a Rogue, he had no one to protect him and he did not trust the jungle to keep him safe.

I told you our paths would cross again. He would comment, his tone pained but amused. He could at least try to lighten the tension with some light conversation- right? She would mention that she would wait til the pain subsided before cleaning his wounds and he would roll his shoulders in a shrug. I can handle the pain, go ahead and start. He gave her permission to go ahead and start, they would be here for awhile he expected.


@Tinúviel

The crone had warned her of resistance; she might have goaded Tinúviel into shoving the seeds into Murik's mouth and forcing them down his throat. They don't know what's good for them, she imagined she would have said, and she drove away the smile that threatened to unfurl upon her lips. Instead, she relented, knowing well that she would not force him into anything he did not want, even if it may offer a sweet relief of the pain he'd endured since that challenge. She gives him a moment to change his mind, but as he continued to speak, she is assured that he is sound enough to know what he wanted. He was certainly seasoned and scarred enough to know that wounds did not often heal painlessly or politely. Mashing the red fruits into a pulp, and careful to make sure the seeds were well-strewn throughout the mixture, Tinúviel scooped a large portion of it into her paws, before pressing it through the strands of his mane and fur and rubbing it deep into the aching muscle underneath. The mixture would burn fiercely, at first, but the potent chemicals inside of it would eventually numb the flesh, and ease the tension laying deep within the muscle. It would wear off, eventually, but hopefully by that time it would be far less excruciating.

I can stay and watch over you, she offered finally, perhaps hoping to offer him some sort of surrender, though with how little and inexperienced she was, she could understand further reluctance. When the salve was finally worked into the remainder of his skin, she quickly wiped her paws clean with some leaves strewn about the ground; her tongues stung and numbed where the salve too had been worked between her toes, but the next part of her work did not require such careful dexterity. When she returned to his side, she settled at his flank, pausing once more to allow him to speak. I told you our paths would cross again. A small smile finally broke her focused façade, and wordlessly, she reached forward and began to carefully groom around his wounds, clearing away dried blood and dirt, even if it caused them to bleed a little more again. The smell of him enveloped her entirely, his warmth far more fervent than it usually was, given his injuries (though Tinúviel feared of fever, always, and kept a keen watch on his reactions). She is cautious, pausing every few moments, and moving with a careful grace. I wish it were under better circumstances, she whispered between her groomings.

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+10 Heal a character’s sickness or injury (2/2)
+5 Dry or prepare herbs for use (2/2)
+5 Teach someone basic wound care (2/2)

@Ronin

speech


With his permission, she would start to apply the herbs, massaging them into his mane. It stung, as if he were being stung by dozens of bees and while his lip would twitch, threatening to pull up in a grimace of pain, he kept his teeth covered, wincing now and then. He was a good guinea pig, he remained still despite the pain, resting his head on his paws to make it easier for her and more comfortable for him. He would sigh with relief as the numbing herbs began to take effect, weaving deep into his muscles and he assumed making them relax.

Her next words would come as a shock to him, brow rising slightly, he kept his eyes closed, however, forcing himself to not look her up and down. She was small, though he didn’t want to doubt her abilities to handle herself, he was unsure if she would be able to successfully watch over him. Its okay, I don’t want to trouble you with that. I’d hate for you to get hurt trying to protect me. He rumbled, chuckling softly. He truly didn’t want her to get hurt, he also didn’t want her missing from the Mire too long- what if someone went looking for her? He didn’t want to deal with that headache.

As she cleaned her paws and moved to clean the wounds at his flank, he would turn his head on his paws so he could look at her, the movement stiff, but not as painful. That salve you used is nice… once it sinks in. He commented, hind muscles twitching uncontrollably now and again as she cleaned at the wounds, causing some to bleed again. Her whispered words were not lost on him, in fact, he even smiled at the thought. Maybe one day we will. It was not a promise, but perhaps a hope? He didn’t always want to call on her just for her medical services. She was nice to talk to as well, but there was a sadness that reflected in his eyes. He hoped for no animosity between them, but he also knew what game he played and it pitted him against the flighty woman that was helping him. For now, I fear this is the best we get… He frowned. I’ll challenge again eventually…maybe in the spring. He spoke as if it were natural, his thoughts of chaos and war.


@Tinúviel

He was indeed a good patient, and for that she was thankful. It allowed her to work with focus, determination; each motion she made deliberate and purposeful, each gentle caress matched with the pressure needed to make sure the medicine was fully effective. And when she was done, she felt relief in the way he seemed to ease. However, his continued stubbornness causes her lips to press together firmly, her brows to knit with concern. She may not be capable of defending him in a fight, but certainly they were safe here, weren't they? Wouldn't it be an awful turn of luck to have an enemy come across them here, now? You're not being actively hunted down, are you? she asked quietly, though the slightest hint of a girlish laugh trailed her question, a momentary of delightful bliss between the awkwardness of a blossoming friendship, a reluctance long to let go. Were I a better healer, I'd force you to stay here until you were well. Were she the old crone who had taught her, she would have tied his ankles to the nearest tree and threatened him with leeching.

Despite her delight in the salve having worked, a soft noise of protest exhaled from her lips as he moved, and reopened the wounds she had just tended to. They would likely not stop bleeding until she'd packed them, however. They won't stop bleeding unless your body calms, she informed him, sparing a quick glance in his direction, Even if we find a more secluded spot, you should rest. There is an unusual sternness in her tone, an adoption borne from the crone's thorough teachings. And while the latter had been content to force her patients into what she wanted, Tinúviel often chose the route of pacifism, and speaking a language @Ronin might like better. If we don't get these wounds healed timely— she cautioned, running her tongue across his blood-stained fur, —then you won't get to challenge again anytime soon.