Foul Temper

Sirius sat. there was a limit you could push your healer, and he knew he had reached it. He might be a bastard, but he wasn’t always an idiot. He glared at her, sweat trickling down between his muzzle as he fought the pain. He hated his injury so much in that moment, hated it perhaps more then he had hated almost anything else. The feeling of weakness was almost unbearable to the infallible giant.

“If you think i’m going to let you go out there on your own” he said quietly. “You don’t know me very well at all.” what was she planning to do, go out in the name of Ashen, trade for supplies? He had already made enemies. “What do you have to offer that they would want? No, better to come at them from a vantage of strength. The wolves in this land have little reason to love us, nor us them, and everyone is short with the volcano. I’ve been building a cache of emergency supplies in the Sea’s plains, take everything from there, and i’ll rebuilt it after I'm healed. In the meantime, I'll send Bast and Marshal out hunting every spare moment they have.”

His second front leg gave out, just a twitch, just for a moment, and slipped forward before he locked it under him with a soft growl, shoving himself back up to full height. He sweat pooled around his face, and he ignored it, locking his limbs to hide their trembling.