Playing the Victim

The pain was intense, nearly too much for the beast to bear. It came in waves, near agony subsiding to dull aches, his vision growing hazy as the wounds stung and throbbed. How had he slept through the night so restfully if the pain had been so great? Perhaps he had merely gone unconscious, his body fatigued from the loss of blood, the adrenaline finally gone from his veins. Shouldn't the wounds have begun to heal at this point? Was his body growing weaker than he thought, unable to heal itself?

The wounds were worst than Bronze realized. He'd been nearly delirious during the fight, it had all happened so quickly. The brute thought he'd been lucky to escape the worst of it, but in fact he'd been at the brunt end of the battle. As the male gazed at his reflection in the still water, he wondered if he'd be able to make his way safely into the lake to wash his wounds. For now he simply was too tired to move, and decided that would need to come later. With some effort he continued to lap the refreshing liquid, gulping it down like it was air.

The scent of another grew strong in his nostrils, but his sore neck prevented him from turning to find the other in the distance. The aroma was familiar, strangely familiar. His head spun rapidly, memories flooding his mind. Of nothing in particular. Of Rakshra refusing to help, of the gleaming fangs of a stranger in the moonlight, ambushing him. And of Loccian, the female he'd been so standoffish too. A slight tilt of his head brought her into sight, his vision focusing instantaneously at her familiar face. Why had she returned? He had nothing to offer her.

"I... was ambushed. Last night." His words were gruff, coming in forced breaths from his throat. A slight gasp escaped his jaws, as though the act of breathing was far more tiresome than it should've been. His eyes scanned her, noting her posture was nonthreatening. "I remember you, Loccian," he assured her gently, voice heavy with fatigue. Why would he think she might not? She'd made a decent impression on him; and though he was growing old, and his memory wasn't as good as it had been years ago, he was not mentally deteriorating by any means. Often rage and guilt consumed him, as did confusion... but what creature was not afflicted with such things?

His hazel eyes watched her unblinkingly for a moment, alight with confused emotion. "I don't know... what happened. Or who it was. My memory of last night is foggy, to say the least." He wasn't keen on her thinking he started a fight -- he wasn't known for being a pacifist, but a hardhearted killer was not the greatest impression to make on someone who seemed as though they might be willing to help. His eyes would redirect themselves to the water, though he watched her reflection with interest. Why she had approached him, he was unsure, but he knew he was no position to push her away.