smile like you mean it
04-22-2014, 12:11 PM
With winter heavy on the air, Altavro was finally doing better than he had been at the start of the season. The infected wounds had healed up almost entirely with a lot rest and herbal treatments at the paws of Erani, and now that autumn was beginning to draw to a close, Altavro was able to wander again. He had taken advantage of this to stretch his legs and wander a little bit away from Valhalla's lands. Walking, with his softened muscles, was a good distraction from how much all of the laceration itched. They were almost healed, and were proving to look pretty nasty in terms of scarring up. The pink lines marred the fur across much of his back and hindquarters, and unlike his healer mark, the fur had yet to grow back over the wounds. There was still a little bit of scabbing marking many of the wounds, but they had improved vastly since his arrival on Valhallan soil. Ears twitching, Altavro settled back on his haunches, claws curling into the soil as he resisted the urge to scratch yet again. Gods above, this itched. But he knew that if he succumbed to the urge and scratched, he would be much more likely to find his wounds infected yet again. As a Nomad, he should have known better than to let them get infected, but he had allowed it to happen once, and he would never live it down if it happened again. So he would have to deal with the itchiness, and just distract himself somehow. Run, perhaps? But he had been immobile for long enough that Altavro didn't fancy the idea of going for a needless race against himself. This was terrible, Altavro thought irritably, ears pinning back against his skull for a long moment. Never again was he going to be this stupid, proud or not. All the newfangled pack mentalities in the world would not stop him from getting his wounds treated as he ought when he could not take care of them himself. Speech, |