Anthem of the Lonely
11-14-2015, 07:16 PM
With Olafur up on his shoulders Odysseus followed the smell of blood. His hackles were raised in a rigid line and his head hung low as he trailed the concerning scent. That was wolf's blood. Normally he would chalk it up to wolves being wolves and think nothing of it while hunting down the wounded in order to offer aid, but something about this situation felt different. He couldn't explain the feeling, but he couldn't shake it either. "There," Olafur murmured with a point of his finger just as the sound of sobbing reached Odysseus' ears. His apprehension grew. "Olafur...?" He glanced back at his friend. "I have the bag, Odysseus." The bag in question was a small skin stuffed to the brim with plants and mending supplies that Olafur was hugging to his chest. Respectful of the wounded wolf's space Odysseus kept his distance. Forever a low rumble, his voice rang out, "Are you alright, miss?" |