book 5: wounds

He tenses. Jael can’t blame him, but she stills too. Her breath catching in her throat, but the dog doesn’t balk. Waiting out his tension. Gilgamesh lets her in, and she would take that with near religious reverence. Raw and tender and hurting.

Weight on her shoulder, solid. More solid than she anticipated. Tenderly, Jael traces his jawline with her muzzle. There’s so much blood, but he’s hurting in other ways she needs to tend to first. As he slips from her side, Jael moves about the room. The little brown healer had left the bathroom fairly stocked with supplies. A curved needle, one she recognized as her own craftsmanship, and some salvaged line.

It wouldn’t be fine. She knows that much. A bottle of pirate hooch to soothe the pain— Jael isn’t a healer. With a wet rag and a touch so blisteringly tender it could have melted the walls, she begins to clean the wound. Methodical, an eye for detail, but she’s trying not to hurt him further.

“It’s going to take some time to stitch up. I’m sorry.” A little whimper in her voice, reaching to nose worriedly at his cheek. Modesty had done a number on him. Jael is apologetic… she feels responsible.