- Jun 9, 2022
- 571
- 291
- 63
[ Takes place directly after this thread! ]
Once all is said and done, at last, they can move. Whoever had helped (–and truly, whoever, he had not been paying attention,) didn't linger any longer.
With the nearly gut-wrenching twist of her leg, there was no denying it was broken, really. Dawnglare heaves a sigh. "So sorry to say, looks like you'll be spending quite some time with me..." and truly, he is. He's never liked sharing. Hadn't he been happy, before? Condemned to this place, and yet still, he could retain an ounce of privacy with his own den... So swiftly taken away from him with a fall, with the rumble of a monster, with... well, he still hadn't asked what had happened to her. For now, it remains a mystery to him, just as her to-be recovery time remains a mystery to her... unless she asks, that is. For now, he would spare her that sad detail. He only hopes that she isn't noisy.
A moment away from his gaze is spared as he turns to sift through his stock. Dreary face. Dreary eyes. So suddenly, a black cloud looms over his head. "How do you feel? And don't say... bad." Details, he needs details. Right now, there's only so high her feelings could go, but low lows could surely follow, deeper down than only the splinter of bone. Who's to say what truly happened out there? None but her, and the Mother of course. But today She is stubborn. Today She does not speak. Stinging nettle and bindweed are dragged to his feet, and he only hopes no other broken bones were in his near future. Stubborn, climbing vine. His very favorite for things like these, but Mother proved nearly too adept at purging them from Her land...
His ears stay pricked in case of any side effects. Hidden bumps or bruises, maybe even something hidden she's staving off? "You don't feel sick, do you?" Who knows? Who's to say? He has trusted Honeybee's words for long enough now. Though, he doesn't know what to expect as far as time for the seeds to work goes. He'd hate to have her shriek while her leg is rearranged. A glance is cast to the stick that sits abandoned at the maw of his den, then again to the apprentice in his midst.
Once all is said and done, at last, they can move. Whoever had helped (–and truly, whoever, he had not been paying attention,) didn't linger any longer.
With the nearly gut-wrenching twist of her leg, there was no denying it was broken, really. Dawnglare heaves a sigh. "So sorry to say, looks like you'll be spending quite some time with me..." and truly, he is. He's never liked sharing. Hadn't he been happy, before? Condemned to this place, and yet still, he could retain an ounce of privacy with his own den... So swiftly taken away from him with a fall, with the rumble of a monster, with... well, he still hadn't asked what had happened to her. For now, it remains a mystery to him, just as her to-be recovery time remains a mystery to her... unless she asks, that is. For now, he would spare her that sad detail. He only hopes that she isn't noisy.
A moment away from his gaze is spared as he turns to sift through his stock. Dreary face. Dreary eyes. So suddenly, a black cloud looms over his head. "How do you feel? And don't say... bad." Details, he needs details. Right now, there's only so high her feelings could go, but low lows could surely follow, deeper down than only the splinter of bone. Who's to say what truly happened out there? None but her, and the Mother of course. But today She is stubborn. Today She does not speak. Stinging nettle and bindweed are dragged to his feet, and he only hopes no other broken bones were in his near future. Stubborn, climbing vine. His very favorite for things like these, but Mother proved nearly too adept at purging them from Her land...
His ears stay pricked in case of any side effects. Hidden bumps or bruises, maybe even something hidden she's staving off? "You don't feel sick, do you?" Who knows? Who's to say? He has trusted Honeybee's words for long enough now. Though, he doesn't know what to expect as far as time for the seeds to work goes. He'd hate to have her shriek while her leg is rearranged. A glance is cast to the stick that sits abandoned at the maw of his den, then again to the apprentice in his midst.