Lips Of An Angel
07-15-2013, 06:18 PM
The answer was barely on his lips before the grey wolf, with a shader of form and a dimming of his eyes, came crashing, toppling to the ground. Orica almost let out a yipe at the shock of it. He felt the very ground beneath her shiver under his mass. But far more than just the fear of the sound, was the fear for he male. She lept up at once, already at his side. Was-was he dead? The thought threatened to wring the first real tear from the child. She wanted to call out his name - but she didn't know it. Instead she gasped mutely and brought her frame to hang over his - one forepaw on each side of his massive neck. She willed herself to stop trembling and lowered a white fluffed ear to the male's throat. At first she could hear nothing but her own thumping heartbeat ... but then he closes her eyes and truly listened. She presses the side of her face into his neck fur, searching for the slightest sound. At last she heard it - soft, lethargic, but just barely there. He was still alive - But of course there was no promise he'd remain so! Orica hitched up her fore paws and took two leaping strides back towards the stream before she halted. She was doing it again. No questions asked, no thought given, just jumping in to healing mode. She turned back around, her jaws slightly parted as she looked at the prone form of the unnamed male. Was it right? He-he had done her a great service, but did that change who he was and what he'd done? Orica had not been allowed to see the bodies but she knew of the rogues that Glaciem had killed - Sixx who had been impaled on a pine branch by Awaken. The she-wolf caught ripping into a new member that Gargoyle had turned into road kill. If her father had been here ... he would've said the male deserved death. He would've taken that neck in his jaws and been done with it - if not for punishment for past kills, then for the sake of avoiding future ones. But he saved my life, Orica tried to reason. But the tones of her father rang back that if the males intentions here had indeed been pure, then was it not better to let him pass on in this state? For a time Orica hung in indecision, with the willow boughs swaying around her. Then, with a slight tuck of her tail she left. . . . Time passed slowly in the grove. Afternoon had come had was leaving now. The sky had not yet been tipped by a sunset's fire, but it was turning that deep, glorious blue that only comes at the end of the day. The willow trees rustled an shushed one another with ever twist of the breeze. But the silence was broken, or rather just bent, with the sound of pawsteps. The little girl of ebony and ivor came running at an easy lope, looking rather comical. She was burdened not only a moss covered, wether beaten leather sack, but with a pair of five foot long leafy stalks. The plants were known as Indian tobacco or roman torch or, more commonly, as mullien and their wonderfully soft, fuzzy leaves -some as long as Orica's head- were perfect for carrying water. The girl had to keep her pace even so as not to let too many water droplets shake off. As for the bag at her side it was her medics bag stuffed to the brim with everything she might need (during her earlier run she'd taken it off to help her speed). With these treasures in tow, the pup returned to te male's side. Much more quickly and deftly now did she mash up the plantain and dandelion and lick it into the swollen wound. She cared less about appearances now and more about getting as much of the good stuff on his belly as she could. When that was done, she picked the mullien stalks up again and nosed them against the wound. She hopped over the male and started trying to roll him onto his belly so that the herbs would be pressed on tightly - but the was no good. She tried and she tried- using first her nose and then trying to get a shoulder under him, and then grabbing a mouthful of his flank and trying to pull him over. Nothing. So she gave up -that- idea. Only now did she check for a heartbeat a second time, and finding it, found the encouragement she needed to keep going. A rock! That was what she needed! Another wolf probably would've laughed to see the little healer pushed along a grey stone the size of a dogs head but the humor was lost on Orica. She was grave and worried and completely given over to the nursing drive. The rock against the male's belly -did- work. It kept the wet stalks pressed close, which helped to keep the wound cool and patched. But as for the male himself ... Orica ran quick as a fairie back to the little woodland stream. Without a thought she dunked her head in, letting the water cling to her ever tuft if fur. She lapped at the tiny waterfall - holding as much water in her mouth as was possible for an animal without real cheeks. She rubbed her wet fur against the male's skull, trying to revive him. Her touched her brow to the side of his face and paused, whether or not any signs came, her next mice was to drape her muzzle next to his. Had she been so close to a male for any reason but healing she'd be blushing herself into Sunday, but this was different. There was no hesitation as she nosed his lips aside and sought to tilt his chin a bit. She let her meager portion of water trickle down, licking at the very fangs of the killer to try to encourage him, even unconsciously, to drink. Even if most of the water was wasted on the ground it didn't matter. Orica would take as many trips to the stream and back as was needed. The coming of the night didn't matter. She was staying put. This male, even if he came to soon, had lost a lot of blood and his strength would need building up. |
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