There had been trouble at the border that went on long into the night. It was some time past midnight when he dragged himself home, bruised and bloody. When he trudged up the incline to his den, fatigue dragged him down. He could barely keep his eyes open as he pushed open the main door.

A blow to his nose put blood in the offended sensor, and he couldn't smell a thing. But he didn't need scent to tell him Ignita had gotten up and was in the kitchen. Perhaps waiting for him to come home. He let the soft sound of paws guide him as he turned left instead of right.

He was so tired, so sore. All he wanted to do was curl up in her arms and sleep. His wounds could be tended tomorrow. Or was that later today at this point? He stepped quietly behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. Pulling her in close as he bent his head to the nape of her neck. He attempted to breath in her comforting scent, but all he could smell was blood as it bubbled in his nose. “My love” he whispered voice rough from lack of sleep.

She had been having trouble sleeping. Her solution? Clean and cook until she was exhausted. She had a cookbook for children currently opened on the table and had been trying to figure out what some of the words were when the noise of the warlord entering sounded. She hadn't thought anything of it at first, instead grabbing the bin of rolls she had baked and placing them on the table. Then turning back to the cook book and starting to try again.

That was until he was sneaking up behind her and grabbing her, dragging her into his chest. Her eyes widened and she tensed. His words causing her to panic slightly. Her legs began kicking as she did her best not to holler and wake the consort and her hids.

Hw realised something was wrong the moment he pulled her to him. Her body did not fit in all the right places against his. Even as he came to this realisation, the final proof came in the form of her kicking and silently struggling against him.


Amongst his surprise, and the pain if her body kicking against his newly gained bruises a thought flirted through his mind. Surprise that she, his slave, would fight against him. “Shhh” he soothed, easing his grip on her without fully releasing her. “You're alright.” He told her, voice nasely from his injuries. He pulled back fully then, letting go and letting her turn to him.

She was not experienced with fighting, nor with fighting back, every kick and struggle against him was proof of that. If he had chose he could of kept her against him longer. He was after all stronger and honestly one snap at her would of probably made her placid and pliable to him, but instead he shushed her, easing his hold.

Her ear turned back to him and a shock that he was trying to soothe her had her freezing in his arms. Though once he fully released her she was moving away a few paces. Her eyes going to his face as she turned around. He was bleeding and looked roughed up. Her ears pressed. "My apologies Master, you startled me..... come sit I'll get some water and a rag for your wounds....." She gestured to the place she had placed the still warm rolls she had made, before turning and going to get a bowl for some clean water and a rag. She hadn't meant to harm him, only for him to release her and not have him mistaking her for the Mistress. It was the last thing she wanted was the Mistress upset because he thought she was the consort and tried to express himself to her.

He rubbed a paw next to his nose, and still winced from the motion. She had calmed pretty quickly, and was jumping now to see to his needs. Still, her initial reaction surprised him. More proof that she had not been broken as well as she pretended. “You surprised me as well. Ignita stays up sometimes when I'm late home, and…” he gestured to his nose. “The result of a full sized reindeer and I butting heads.” 


She moved closer to him again, water and rag in her paw. As she raised a paw towards his face, he snatched it suddenly in his own oversized paw. It engulfed hers entirely. The difference between them in height and build was beyond shocking. “Do not fight me again, Little Fox.” He said, holding his eyes to hers for a moment of absolute seriousness, before releasing his hold on her. Back to his more agreeable side like the flip of a coin. “The reindeer got a few strikes in before I delt with it. Do you know how to attend to cuts and bruises?” He gestured to his battered ribs.

He claimed she surprised him and she gave a blush. She hadn't meant to. She'd just meant to not stir anymore trouble between the warlord and his consort. She nodded though to his explanation. She'd have to find some other way to exhaust herself next time then. She wouldn't want a repeat of this.

She made to come back and immediately start tending to his bloodied nose so maybe he would be able to smell better again, then he was snatching her paw and her ears were pressing and eyes wide. Had she done something wrong by trying to treat his wounds? Did he- oh. He commanded her not to fight him again and she pinned her ears, giving a gulp to stifle the fear that he might hit her for her stupidity earlier. But what had he expected from snatching a random kitchen girl like that? Did he not expect that she fight him to be free? Did he want her to pretend to be his wife?

Then he was letting her go and she was pulling her paw back to keep from touching the massive beast in front of her. Should she ask now? Then he was asking and she took a moment to steady her voice and breath. "Let me clean them and if they need stitching I can do that.... I don't know herbs other than kitchen herbs but I can try.... or I can get Lord Ollie if it pleases you more Master." She dropped her eyes to his ribs and started to gently dab away the blood and clean the wounds she could get to once he agreed to let her.

Obedience was a necessity, though he understood that this instance had been his fault. That didn’t mean he wanted her to get any ideas. Until/if she learned what she needed to and passed on to a higher rank, she belonged to him. Body and soul. And there were going to be some awkward instances in between that time. “You’ll do fine.” He told her as she suggested getting Ollie. She moved to begin dabbing the cloth to his ribs, and he bit back a wince. He was going to feel every aspect of this tomorrow.

“I’ll try not to make that mistake again.” He conceded, as close as he would get to an apology.

"Speech"

She continued working to clean the wounds she could see and reach from the dirt and grit. She had a feeling if she was too harsh with her cleaning he might bite her with those massive fangs. So she tried to be easy about it but some of his wounds needed a harsher clean than a gentle dabbing. She worked quietly, only stopping to give him a small ask of lowering his head so she could reach his nose.

He told her it wouldn't happen again but she had doubts. If he mistook her once it was bound to happen again. Maybe she should get a bell to attach to her neck or a bow, she hadn't seen the consort wear anything but that simple gold thing on her neck so it might help. She didn't want to talk about it really though. "Hold this rag to your nose while I find the suture kit please.... there's a pretty big gash on your ribs and I dont know if it will heal without a stitching to hold it together..." she waited for him to take the rag then moved to the hall and went for the emergency medical kit. She was quite so as not to wake the children. Returning once she had it and moving to take the rag bag and clean it in the bowl of water.

She really wasn't equipped to make this perfect but this would do for now she figured. Hopefully his nose had stopped bleeding now.

He held the rag up to his nose. Touching anything to it hurt like a bitch, and he scowled against the rag. But otherwise, he didn’t complain. It wasn’t his first nasty injury, and it would be far from his last. It wasn’t his worst by far. She mentioned stitches and he gave a soft sigh. Perhaps her administration wouldn’t be as bad as Ignita’s first lot.

She trotted out of the den, and something in him itched to stop her. Perhaps he was just being a moody old ass. He’d already frightened her once for the evening. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pains of his body until he heard the light shuffle step of her return. He slowly pulled an eye open and looked at her. “Well?” he said softly, some of that grump leaking through. “They won't stitch themselves.”


"Speech"

He spoke and she pinned her ears at his words, an apology slipping out as a reflex from years of abuse by more than cruel masters. "Sorry master, I didn't mean to take so long...." Then she was sitting beside him and opening the kit. The dim light from the stove made it harder to see but she was used to this sort of thing. She pulled out the needle and thread and used her paws to thread it as quickly as possible, before looking back at the kit. Ollie had said the kits had Antiseptic in them. Should she? She didn't want him to grouch and go to Ollie or take it out on her if he got an infection. A quick decision and she was pouring some of the antiseptic on the large gash before she set about stitching it closed. The stitching she knew wouldn't be perfect and he might have a bit of raised flesh after it healed but at least the skin would be held together. She was silent while she worked and when she finished she nipped the end of the thread with her teeth before she started cleaning the mess up quickly and quietly. "Should do master, just don't strain it and the stitches wont pop.... we can take them out in about a week and a half if everything goes correctly...." She had heard the spiel enough and lived with stitches multiple times to know how long to leave them in. She turned and stared ridding the contents of the dirty water she had used to clean his gashes and skin. It should be a wonder how she knew but if someone looked close enough at her own scars except the one on her nose they would find the same type of ametuer stitch wounds. The only one that had been professionally sewn on her was the nose. Not even where her tail used to be was it saved the treatment of raised scaring and shitty suturing. She made to go wash her paws so she could continue working on her baking and book reading. "Speech"

He pulled the now bloody rag from his nose and twitched his muzzle a few times. It hurt, and it would be smarting for a few days. There was no getting around that. There was no getting around hiding this from Ignita, either. What would she say to the mess the Reindeer had left him in? He winced a few times as she pulled the needle through his flesh, but otherwise said nothing more while she worked.

It wasn’t until she got up to deal with the dirty water that he asked, somewhat mildly. “What were you doing up?” in the confusion of mixing her up, he’d almost forgotten to ask. But it was rather odd to have the slave sneaking around through the den when his family was asleep and he was out.


"Speech"

Speech // thought

She had waited for as long as she could for him. But sleep inevitably took her into its thrall before he arrived from his late patrol. Suddenly her hackles started to rise and a smell that alarmed her broke through her dreams and made her open her eyes into the darkened den. She watched Teegra, from the pile of furs, enter the den and slip by her and hear Bas whispering to the slave.

Ignita smelled blood. Teegra seemed fine. She heard Bas's tone about it not stitching themselves. She quietly and silently extricated herself from the pile of puppies and lingered in the darkness, watching as Teegra stitched up some of Bas's wounds.

That particular task had been part of Iggy's first trials with him. She had been the only one to stitch him up... up until now. Conveniently forgetting that perhaps he had received a few stitches before he met her and of course, Oleander's had a few stitches on him here and there. She could only remember that she had been the only one he had allowed to stitch him up, to care for him, she had been the only one he had been the most vulnerable with.

She watched as the girl diligently set about her work, and just as she finished and Bas inquired of the slave, the Consort walked out of the shadows. She softly padded toward Bas and tenderly looked at the slave's work. The stitches were tight and raised. Her golden eyes peered carefully into his. Accusing? Concern? Judgement? It was difficult even for her to decide.

"What happened?" She asked quietly, wondering why he hadn't woke her... Why the slave was here in these dark hours at night...

As she went about discarding the now dirty water and washing her paws off to cleanse them of the blood and other such contaminants, she heard the noise of someone else joining them in the kitchen. A glance told her it was the consort as Basilisk asked his question of her. She turned her eye back to her paws and cleaning them as she answered. She wasn't even aware the consort might think she had done something. "I couldn't sleep, so I figured my time was better spent exhausting myself trying to figure out this introduction to baking book my lord..... There are fresh rolls on the table, though the bottoms may be slightly burnt...." She stood from the sink then and moved to fetch the first aid kit and put it back together the way she found it. The question from the consort seemed to be more for the warlord to answer so she left it at that. No use in angering the mistress of the house. It took her a few moments to put everything back but once she did she moved to put it back where she had found it. That was the last thing she needed was for the children to get a hold of it and decide to play doctor on her or worse, each other. The ruling pair would really have her head then. She was quick to putting the kit away and returning, taking her position in front of the cookbook once more. Intro to baking it was called. She had taken it from the study the warlord had made for them to study and learn to cook in, and had every intention to return it first thing in the morning. She brought her paw up and quietly flipped the page. The picture showed some sort of rolled sweet with what looked like icing and dark flecks on it. Okay she could do that. The first word wasn't easy to read but she pressed on anyway. Seemed like some sort of breakfast sweet, the children might like that. "Speech"

Basilisk frowned towards the space Ignita suddenly occupied. He had not seen nor heard the door to their room open and close across the hallway, yet there she stood. She was not usually so quiet, but perhaps his injuries had knocked with his sensors. He still couldn’t scent her.

She stopped before him, and he could see a few emotions flicking in her gaze. Worry, most of all. Teegra answered him, and Ignita nudged him for an answer as well. “A reindeer was posturing at our borders, so I dealt with it.” He explained, his voice still nasally from his blocked nose. There was still blood in his coat, and the fresh stitches in his skin. He wasn’t sure when he would get his sense of smell back, but he would hate to be nose blind like Teegra.


"Speech"

Speech // thought

Perhaps he had been too focused on his injuries and the slave before to notice her, or perhaps she had been practicing tiptoeing around light-sleeping babies for a few months now, slipping in and out of the den so as not to disturb naps and the like.

Her assessment of the sutures was critical. She didn't know if she wanted to say something about them. To say they were too tight and should be redone would punish both Teegra and Basilisk. To say nothing would result in raised scars like her own first attempt upon his belly. But they were done now. Though she couldn't help the stab of wanting to speak up, punish them both for their time together, punish them for hiding away from her, for connecting. But she had promised to endure this business, and it was hardly fair to the girl.

She had to smirk at how his voice sounded, mild amusement breaking through the jealousy. She hated this strange feeling, she didn't know how to get around it, the strain, the accusations, the uncomfortable wall rising between them.

"They smell wonderful, Teegra," Ignita commented absently instead, her eyes still roving over her warlord's gruesome stitches. The cooking buns were a quaint smell under the scent of blood and antiseptic.

In the span of the slave leaving and before her returning Ignita had run her paw over his cheek fur, unmarred by wounds, and murmured, "Why didn't you wake me? I thought you only let me treat you." She would have more words for Teegra as her eyes watched the slave return and work on the book.