cat scratch fever

Although he didn't want to be returning home just yet, his time in the Hallows had come to an end and he needed to return to the Armada. Despite Artorias invitation to stay, Grimshaw was eager to return and see Malachai more than anyone. He felt guilty for leaving the way that he did even if in some small percentage of a way he might have deserved it. He had been given quite a few bottles of wine to take back with them, though unfortunately he couldn't wait until he got home to pop a bottle. Grabbing a bottle from his pack, he pried the top off before continuing his journey, taking long swigs every now and then.

He was almost home when he felt the sharp claws of a familiar foe sinking into the flesh along his back, the pressure of the animals bite on his protected neck as he struggled in surprise under the massive animal. It was dark and so the prime hunting time for the feline, but usually Grim was better at noticing things before they startled him. Usually he wasn't drunk. He was lucky to be wearing him armor when the attack happened though and reached for his hunting knife quickly as he rolled, throwing the animal from his back. The claws tore across his exposed flesh, but as he pulled the blade from his bracer the cat circled him and jumped for him again, getting a second hold on the tired man. This time, the jaguar had better leverage with it's hind paws on the ground and its forepaws holding onto him tightly as the cat reached to bite him. As the fangs sunk into the flesh on his hip and it's claws bore into his sides, Grimshaw ignored the pain and struggled to free himself from the cat. He blinding swung with his blade hoping to catch the animals paws, and once he managed he quickly stood and retaliated as the cat nursed it's paw and hissed at him as he approached. Blood leaked from his wounds but he hardly noticed as he made a move on the cat now, sheathing his blade and lunging for the animal with parted jaws. They grappled for some time, earning himself a few more scratches and cuts, but finally the cat succumbed to it's demise and Grimshaw rolled off the beast.

Exhausted, Grimshaw studied the cat before turning to leave deciding that he had not the amount of energy needed to skin the animal in his current state. He hardly wanted a jaguar pelt anyway, but another drink sounded perfect. Reaching for a bottle from a pack, he took a long swig before putting it back and making his way back to the Armada. He stumbled, either from the alcohol or the blood loss, and wasn't very quiet either. His companions had already gone off ahead of him, to get his den ready for him so he could pass out when he got there. They were probably wondering where he was by now, but as he stumbled across the borders, blood just drained from his wounds. He hardly noticed though, and just wandered back to his den. Once he'd collapsed into his bed, the wolverine just stared wide eyed at him in panic before running outside and searching for any wolf. Anyone.

"Speech."

tldr injuries:
- massive claw punctures and tears down either side of his spine starting at his shoulders (where the jaguar leapt onto his back and held on) and sliding down his back
- bruising on nape underneath armor
- claw punctures and scratches on both sides at the end of his ribs
- fang punctures on right hip
- minor to moderate scratching across his chest, face, and forelimbs (nondescript)