I could lie, say I like it like that ☆ O, injured

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  • When she saw the border, the girl wriggled free of lion's jaws, limping away in contempt. However, it was apparent that he'd allowed it. Declan hadn't made a miraculous escape. She hadn't come close. The fem didn't seem to care if he followed as she made a beeline toward the familiar field.

    Déjà vu. That's what she felt as she gazed absently at a flower that bloomed pristine white. It beautifully contrasted against the billowy grass as the moon beamed down on Wind Haven. The girl smiled, reminiscing on the solace the scenery had allowed her the first time she'd crossed the border. Declan desperately, more than anything, wanted to feel that once more.


    A foreign red stained her flower. She watched in dejection as the baby petals wobbled, struggling with the weight of the crimson drops.

    Drip, drip, drip, drip...

    The highlander brought a paw to her nose, stifling the considerable flow of blood that ran down her maw. She used the other to gently wipe off the petals. "I'm sorry," she whispered, sniffling at the desolated plant.

    Her apology was lost among the cricket chirps as she swallowed the lump in her throat. Declan was well aware that the tears wouldn't cease if she allowed them. Besides, crying seemed ungrateful... juvenile, really. She was home.

    Taking a shaky breath, she wandered toward camp; dainty figure screaming in protest. The feline would've looked lovely under normal circumstances, but red wasn't her color. It clashed hideously with her fur and dried in a disheveled mess. Additionally, her left paw jutted out awkwardly, making walking a difficult task. It was clear that Dec needed medical attention, but she simply wanted to sleep. To ignore it.

    The memories of her brief stay in the Exiles were repulsive. Declan hadn't understood why her typically amiable clanmates spoke with such distaste about their enemies... well.. until now. It was just... everything about that place- about them. Tytos had dragged her all the way from the safety of Wind Haven to Exiles territory.The audacity! The effort the lion had hedged just for the hell of it. Dec couldn't comprehend it. From what she saw, they all lived like that. Gawking at her pain with hungry eyes. Perhaps it made them feel something? Maybe they were too empty for love.

    Thoughts like that scared her.

    The girl sat quietly, the absent expression ever present in her eyes as she mulled over her thoughts. Declan wasn't sure how to address the pain that swelled across her form, but she figured she better try. The last thing the fem wanted to do was explain to her new friends what exactly had happened. However, It was doubtful they weren't already aware something had happened. She reeked of Exiler stench.


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  • Wash knew pain well. While the majority of what he had experienced was mental or emotional, that was not always the case. The medic has scars hidden under thick fur, memories that he would rather forget but would never be able to. But just as Declan had learned to blame a group for their beliefs, he had learned not to hate a person for what they had to do. It was a fine line to walk, sure. It made him a better doctor to try. Sometimes he failed, but they all failed and grew from it. Growth is what matters. Without it, they would be stuck in a hopeless, loveless world. Not somewhere he wants to be. Not somewhere he wants Bee to be. Nobody should be stuck in a world with people who can’t feel love, but neither should they believe that people truly can’t.

    This scene in front of him, the way it makes his stomach churn — these are exactly the things he wishes she could never see. For a moment, the lion pauses in shock, then leaps forward again, grey eyes filled with concern. He knows that stench, both the blood and what’s over it. “Are you okay?” He already shifts to pull his satchel of equipment from his side, though he doesn’t look away from where he counts her wounds.

    ooc: mobile sorry! let me know if you wanted tytos to reply first or anything! also could you list her injuries?

  • Declan flinched as Wash's concerned voice flooded her ears, bringing her back to reality. The girl's lip quivered hesitantly as she parted her maw to reply. "Yes," she spoke, not daring to look the lion in the eyes. "Just a little bit of trouble, but I'm at peace with it."

    She could justify that; It was the truth. Unlike Wash, she didn't grasp the concept of love yet - the complexity. It was love: pure and unadulterated. Or hate : the worst kind. There was no room for grey, or anything remotely morally complex. But whatever she thought about her captors didn't change the fact that Declan had forgiven them. Because it didn't matter how much it bothered her that they seemed broken. Everyone deserved forgiveness. It was a simple thing. That's what she told herself.

    As she finally met the lion's analytical gaze, Declan gave in. The feline lifted a bloodied paw, inspecting it's odd position. "If it's not any trouble... I think my paw is broken."

    ooc: It honestly doesn't matter! I just tagged incase. (:


    -broken paw

    -bruised ribs

    -deep cut on back leg

    - various bruises and bite marks on pelt

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  • Cassiopeia never had a personal vendetta against the Exiles. Sure, they were shitty creatures in a hell-deep canyon, but she never really targeted her energy to them. Hell, having the scent on the border did nothing to stir anger or fear, just discontent that something so disgusting tainted her already troubled breathing. The persian girl approached the situation on heavy paws, crushing the grass beneath them without much thought. Honestly, once she finally came to see Declan and Wash, the girl didn't feel much different. Declan was weak and this proved it.

    "Shame. Might have to chop the damn thing off," she commented as she drew closer, single eye flitting over the battered form of the other. She once saw Declan as childish, hopeful - maybe it did hurt to see the other so broken down. Or, maybe, it hurt that she couldn't protect another creature. Declan's name was in a wash of many and in the end, didn't matter much to her. Her protective needs brushed over the idea that she should focus her time on protecting individuals, rather than simply protecting. She let out a deep huff, turning her gaze to the medically inclined Wash, "Do you need me to fetch anything?" she knew one, maybe two, remedies to help with the bite marks and scars, but honestly sending her off to find different herbs would be a lost cause.

  • Unlike a few of his clanmates, Jericho has never felt pain — well, not the physical kind, anyhow. It's strange, how over the years he's been cut, beaten, blinded, and maimed, yet all without feeling a thing. He still recalls how as a kit he'd bite his tongue til it bled and how he'd pace through his childhood home of the lighthouse with thorns jutting into his paw pads, all of which he failed to ever notice. Strange, then, how he feels so much empathy for those in suffering. There are plenty of other reasons that the little tabby became a healer — more than he can count, really; he's always thought he was born for the job — but one of them must be born from the terrible ache that pierces his heart when others writhe with injury. That kind of pain he knows well enough, the agony that has afflicted his tender heart many times and for many reasons, and he's always thought that if those two kinds of pain are anything like, then he must do all that he can to help.

    Summoned by the heavy, metallic scent that weighs in the usually-crisp halcyon valley's breeze, Jericho pads towards the trio as quickly as his three little legs will carry him. As usual his leather satchel, ever overly-large for the tiny tom, just barely grazes over the ground behind him as he treads across the soft earth with gentle yet lopsided strides. When he arrives his blind honey-golden gaze stares straight ahead at Declan with sharp focus overlaying deep pools of genuine concern, flickering about as the tabby silent performs his own assessment by reaching out with his other senses as he nears. He listens to her mention a broken paw — he'll start there. "I'll start splinting her paw, if you can tend to the cuts please," he murmurs to Wash as he takes a pace past the Canon to stand before the other feline, his tone quiet and dulled with concentration. There's still an air of soft gentleness about him in the way he moves nevertheless despite the more serious briskness with which he does so; there's a subtle confident control in how he preforms his healing duties even though his expression (always painfully open and easily-read) betrays his characteristic careful kindness and worry.

    After rifling through his items for a heartbeat, Jericho sniffs at a couple leaves and, having found what he's searching for, begins to create a poultice of comfrey and stinging nettle. With a mouthful of herbs and all of focused singularly on the wounds before him, the tabby only flicks an ear at Cass's comment in amused acknowledgement. As he begins to spread the poultice gingerly and light pressure over the paw he replies with mild reassurance, "No amputated paws here, and I... I think we have supplies covered, but thank you, Cass. I'm just, ah, applying some herbs to help mend the bone, and then I'll put it in a splint that it'll have to stay in for a while so it heals. Okay?" As he explains he's already digging once again through his items until he comes upon some cobwebs and a stick, the latter of which he carefully snaps in half to fit only the paw.

    The way Declan speaks of her... 'bit of trouble' is incredibly mature, but Jeri can't help but see a bit of himself in her. He remembers his home being attacked by BloodClan as a child — losing his sight and his leg in the process and never being able to blame them, instead simply feeling scared of them. He grew out of that fear after meeting Dusk, of course, but forgiving came long before forgetting. Maybe she's foolish like him for seeing that good in people; he only hopes she doesn't blame herself. That weight is another familiar one, and one that is difficult to bear. He doesn't pry at the girl any further — he'll leave that much to his clanmates, who he's sure will at one point or another. All Jericho can do attempt to bring relief and comfort, and that's exactly what he wishes for any of the Haveners. With a light touch he aims to bring a stick to one side of her paw and wrap it with cobwebs, just tight enough to be snug without applying a terribly painful amount of pressure. He raises the other half of the broken stick to the opposite side and does the same to create a makeshift splint, about as good as they get in the wild. "Oh, here — I'll get you some poppy seeds as well. Ah, we'll get you fixed up and then you should rest." He nudges a leaf with a couple of small, black seeds towards the injured Havener, just enough to ease the pain. He can only imagine she's tired enough anyways. With the paw at least taken care of Jericho exhales lightly, raises his head unseeingly to over a weakly warm smile, and then returns to his duty as he digs through his satchel to retrieve his the next supplies.

    oh, to see without my eyes

    t.h.e.. f.i.r.s.t.. t.i.m.e.. t.h.a.t.. y.o.u.. k.i.s.s.e.d.. m.e

    jericho — wind haven — vicar general & abbottags

    The post was edited 1 time, last by jeri ().


    The Exiles had hurt Aradia too, but not at all similar to the way that they had hurt Declan.

    For all her life, Aradia had experienced nothing but hostility and a lack of love. Neither of her two fathers had given her a second glance. And so, her heart grew colder until it was reduced to nothing.

    When the kitsune turned on the path of murder, she found herself at the edge of the Exiles' territory. Where her father, Bill Cipher, had once ruled. The head of the snake that was the evil in every member. She had, stupidly, expected him to approve of her for following in his footsteps in a way - partaking in evil herself. But even worse than that, she had hoped to find some sort of love, some sense of belonging with her father.

    Of course, she didn't know that was what she was looking for, because love meant nothing to her. It still didn't, she was too empty for love, as Declan feared. But she felt it in the disappointment that struck deep within her when her father utterly rejected her. Spat on the ground she walked for even attempting for a minute to strike some sort of connection with him.

    And with that, she left once more, returning to her life on the roam, with nothing to hold onto. No love. Only hate as she killed more and more. As Declan feared, she thrived, found enjoyment in the pain of others.

    That was how the Exiles had hurt her. By making her just like them.

    But that was years ago, and Aradia didn't feel grudges anymore. She didn't even remember nor care what her father looked like. She was alive and here, that was what mattered. Her bloodthirstiness remained though, that couldn't be shaken over the years.

    The Guardian approached the group of Haveners at the edge of the territory, surrounding Declan in the darkness. The kitsune stopped beside Cassiopeia, eyeing Declan, who had just barely managed to return with the skin on her back. Aradia licked her snout as she watched the girl's blood dripping from her wounds, flicking her tails in interest.




  • Her eyes narrowed in a mildly horrified expression as Cass commented on the state of her paw. She opened her mouth to reply in worry, before deciding to opt for an uncharacteristically bleak stare- one that betrayed just how dull the girl felt. Though, admittedly, it surprised her to hear the woman offer help.

    As Jericho arrived, Declan sensed his worry, desperately swallowing the persistent lump in her throat. And it wasn't due to the pain...no, she attributed it to the passion. The shock she felt as her clanmates cared. It was completely alien. All Dec could manage was a bit of grateful nodding a Jeri explained her condition in such an optimistic manner. As he finished, she scooped up poppy seeds with an amiable look on her maw. "Thank you... It's so appreciated. Really."

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  • "Do ya need another medic or anything I can get?" came the voice of the brown tabby as he padded over with haste. He was a bit late, yes, but he had to finish up some prior business before he procrastinated on it even further. His hazel gaze fell across this strange's figure, examining the wounds, how fast the blood flow was, or if there were any other underlying issues he could spot. With both Wash and Jeri here, he knew this lass was in good hands.

    Quite a few injuries were occurring over the past few weeks, some more severe than others. While no one had yet to actually die on them, he would have to knock on wood to ensure that streak was kept. Viktor had never suffered from any horrid injuries himself, the worst being a deep gash he got on his leg awhile back. The healer supposed that was what his young self got for harassing a badger. He tended to learn things the hard way growing up for that was the best way to learn. "If you would like some water or some ice to help with any soreness, I'm your guy," he meowed, flashing Declan a warm smile.