If It Wasn't For Bad Luck

The violet man didn't feel as the brindled woman pushed his guts back into place and stitched him shut. He hadn't felt when she plucked the elk tines from his body either. Merrick didn't feel anything and it was probably a good thing. The only thing he did feel was when a paw began to fidget with his talons. How did he feel that and not his intestines being replaced? Who knew? He felt it though and the brute's mismatched eyes slowly drifted open.

A groan pulled from the man and he blinked his eyes. It felt like they were full of sand. So did his throat, for that matter. Merrick coughed and the tightening of his belly as he did so brought a white hot flare of pain throughout his entire body. It sucked the air right from his lungs and a loud gasp followed. He tried hard to stay still, but his chest rose and fell rather quickly as he worked his way through the pain. An uncharacteristic whine pulled from the brute's tight throat and he rested his head back against the furs once more.

"Kee...Keelin," he choked out, still rather delirious from blood loss and pain. His throat was so, so dry. What had happened? Merrick vaguely remembered his trek back to Elysium, but he wasn't sure if the injuries had been real. Lifting his head again, the man looked down at his side, noting the sutures and the slicked back fur around the wounds. He groaned again, gently putting his head back down. What a fucking mess. As soon as he was healed, he was going to murder every elk that he could get his paws on. That was a promise.

"Merrick Mendacium"