sensitive topics explosions on tv // wound tending

[Possumscratch.]

IF I DON'T GO TO HELL
WHEN I DIE I MIGHT GO TO HEAVEN ​

---

'possum & 18 moons & trans masc & he/they & duskclan rogue ​

---

Wounds ache and burn, and Possum only flails about - quite the spectacle, truth be told. He's done if best to salvage his poor tail - the pretty white fur still marred by needle-sharp pinpricks or red and brown, tender and painful. He's never been a vain tom, but he'd always loved his tail - the only part of him kept clean. White, pure. Unbloodied.

But it's his leg that refuses to stop bothering him - that posses the most annoyance, the most frustration even past his mourning for his favorite appendage. Scratches and bitemarks litter his lombs, curtesy of the little monster he'd fought against in windclans camp - but something is wrong. He can't reach the whatever-it-is, the annoyance - far more itchy and swollen than any tick or flea the chimera has ever had lodged in his pelt. " Hey - hey you!, " comes muffled call, the black and grey tom staring at a near-mirror image face - darker where his is light, with blue where there should be gold.

" There's summat' but I can't reach the damned thing, " he grumbles, teeth flashing in an off putting grin. " Wanna' help a guy out, "

━ actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes' ━

---

M I G H T ━ G O ━ T O ━ H E A V E N , ━ B U T ━ P R O B A B L Y ━ N O T !

---

// interacting with @GHOSTMASK but no need to wait; bro has a tooth lodged in his leg wound

 

[PRIVETFROST]

Duskclan's attack had been Privetpaw's first brush with a true battle, with death and blood and fury alike. It had not been as glorious as he had spent so many hours imagining it to be - and for Duskclan, it was a resounding rout that still echoed through the days of aftermath's quietude. They had retreated, tail between their legs, and yet Privetpaw knew he would surely descend once more upon the moors. Even now did the wine-dark apprentice's injuries ache, as though billowing smoke had branded itself just beneath the sable sea of his pelt, a rippling throb yet never a sharp sting. Luck had been on his side that day, for he had simply escaped from the fight with a few grazes and quickly-concealing scrapes. He had not been like Granitepelt, wracked by his own sickness, or Rumblerain, left behind as others advanced. Padding just after Ghostmask, boyish countenance twisted into a grimace as he stared at the tooth lodged in Possum's leg, like someone had thrown a reel into the tomcat's limb and wanted to gore through the stilled waters of their flesh. Reds intermixed with the blacks of the warrior's leg seemed to swell upwards to accomodate the tooth - or, rather, was attempting to expel it outwards. Either way, it was quite an unsightly thing to behold. "You do it. You're the one he called for." He motioned with a swift roll of his shoulders in Possum's direction, the scent of the wound like a fervid ichor, a sickly sweet aroma of lingering portent.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• OOC:
  
• 
• 

  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 7 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

​