Tourniquet

N/A · 11-21-2020, 02:39 AM

Sleep was a luxury Azriel had never had a plethora of. His brain simply did not let the striped brute rest, the gears constantly turning in his mind, finding something to focus on even in the still silence of the night. The only times he had ever found a restful night’s sleep were the nights he had shared with his lovely companion, or more recently, the one they had shared together with their newest confidant. In fact, it was Fel who kept him awake now, his mind playing back every touch and taste, every laugh or word she spoke, every smile and every grin and every sound. She was a drug and he was becoming addicted. It was a dangerous situation to navigate, one he hadn’t had to with Sibyl. He peered over at the sleeping woman beside him in the darkness of their den. He envied her ability to find comfort and rest wherever she was. Sibyl was a wolf of simple means, and as such was often happy or satisfied. Not him. Azriel could not be satisfied.

He lay on his back, staring blankly up at the rocky ceiling overhead while listening to the odd bird start singing outside. The world was still dark, but he knew morning would be approaching soon enough. A heavy sigh left the man. Another night wasted on pockets of sleep and rumination... Although it hadn’t been entirely wasted, he supposed. Azriel had spent the earlier evening wandering around the edges of the Aerie lands, hoping to catch sight of Fel somewhere on her own turf. Although not stupid enough to try trespassing, he had been close enough to smell the woodsmoke coming from somewhere within. A bonfire or celebration, perhaps? He could only speculate; but perhaps he’d ask the shadowed fae the next time she returned to them. Fel had an obnoxious habit of leading this dual lifestyle with them while also keeping them in the dark in matters of her pack life. It was frustrating to say the least, but whatever she was juggling in her private affairs, it had her crawling back to them in the worst state Azriel had ever seen her in. What had Fel gotten herself into?

Deciding that slumber was a pipe dream at this point, Azriel carefully extricated himself from the bed and padded as silently as he could outside for a drink. He peered back at Sibyl, watching her for a moment to make sure he hadn’t woken her up, then emerged out into the darkness of the early morning. The cool autumn air greeted him, sending a chill through him—but what froze him in his tracks was the black form of a smaller wolf resting on a rock just outside their den. Steel grey eyes focused through the dark to her, spotting the two gorgeous garnets he’d become intimately familiar with first. When had she gotten here? How had he not heard her? Truly Fel possessed a particular set of skills, and impressive ones at that. The corners of his lips curling up in a small smile, the dark-furred brute walked slowly over to where she was lying. There was no hesitation in his approach, no caution anymore as he acknowledged her as he would Sibyl.

The first thing he noticed was her expression. Fel looked empty, her wide-eyed stare vacant and emotionless. If he hadn’t seen her chest rising and falling with each breath, Azriel might have mistaken her for a corpse. The second thing he noticed was the blood; the metallic tang in the air making his nose wrinkle. She was bleeding? Had she been attacked? A defensive anxiousness rose in the brute. If someone had hurt Fel... Suppressing the urge to growl at his own thoughts and conspiracies, Azriel instead moved to lie down beside Fel, sliding close to her on the rock the way he had done with her only days before. He offered his larger, muscles form for her to press and lean into, his bushy tail curling around to try and find hers. It was cold out and he didn’t know how long she’d been here alone, but she would need warmth and, judging by the look on her face, someone to at least be with.

“You can come inside, you know. The door is always open to you. It’s a damn sight more comfortable and warm than this rock,” said Azriel in a low, calm voice after a moment of peaceful silence. He turned his eyes from Fel down to the trail of dark blood on the rock leading to her leg. “Do you want to talk about it, or forget about it?” With the obsidian femme, it was impossible to tell if she would want to vent her frustrations, take them out on him and Sibyl in the loveliest of ways, or merely ignore them. He gestured with his snout to her injury. Azriel slowly lowered his muzzle to her leg, waiting to see if she’d pull away or reject his offer to clean her wound before attempting to clean the cut with a few gentle licks of his broad tongue.

"Speech" | Thoughts

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