Smoke on the Wind

Conor Soul · 01-02-2011, 06:03 PM

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There would always be the quiet desire to close his eyes when he brought so much carnal misery to explode in another, but the canine’s attentive gaze remained open and utterly focused on stretching the small, black limb out perfectly. Fingers and strength was carefully calculated, for he did not want to risk having to go through several attempts to set the broken bone properly because he misjudged the pressure needed. It was not until now that it dawned on the Dahlian creature that he had only treated canidae in the past. Bone structure would not be so different though, and he did not fear he would run into complications of any sorts. The pumpkin wolf was confident in his field, and the injury remained quite simple. It was extremely painful and would take some extra time to heal, but this was not a serious case.

There was the sound of hard mass cracking apart through immerse unnatural pressure from a creature’s milky white fangs. Purple orbs could not abandon the task, but he knew that it was the sound of the stick snapping in half. Setting the bone did not take long, and the yearling remained by the cat’s side, grazing the scene with silence as the tortured feline drew deep breaths in pursuit of a high that could be acquired in some degree by fat amounts of air. The smile had fled when concentration had dominated his face, but it was slowly creeping back as he looked the slick black limb over. Fingers had already confirmed what his eyes believed they saw; that the bone had been set right. Turning slightly, the coin painted man with the soft eyes brought attention to the medicine bag, finally.

A few folded layers of cloth were gently put down on the cold earth. They could have been used as bandaged if he just decided to rip them up, but there were already premade rolls to take from here, and he always carried two around with him. One could not anticipate urgent accidents. Fetching one of the light gray rolls of cloth, he laid it on top of the cloth to ensure that no amount of snow could soak into the temperate fabric. The canine then turned to the small bobcat; feeling strangely touched by the feline’s words as they were spoken softly by a voice that left no doubt that it was heartfelt. The young Dahlian had managed to resist so far, but his self-discipline was wearing thin now, and he finally lifted a hand, slowly, and reached to pat the black, silky fur. ”It’s my pleasure,” he replied, his compassionate smile growing the slightest bit.

It was not over though, and the male returned to the injured leg, carefully lifting the cat’s front leg up slightly while holding the lengthy stick with two flexible fingers of that same hand, against the side where the angle had turned before he set it straight. Conor’s remaining hand applied the bandage, making firm, but not too much, as the limb would soon swell properly and therefore it was important that he did not put the bandage too tight. This was something he had done many times, and it did not take long before the cat’s limb was wrapped with light cloth. The wolf shrugged, knowing well that it probably looked a silly for the pitch black feline to have a leg screaming with another colour, but he doubted the smaller animal would file a complaint for that. What was vanity in this situation?

He did not pack the rest of the cloth back into the leather back immediately. There was no urgency in this scene any longer, but he wondered if the cat was aware that it was no way he would allow it to reclaim its solitude just yet. It was a patient of his now, and while he was not certain if the cat would appreciate his concern to this coming extent, he would not leave it until the leg had gotten at least a few days, maybe a week. Much could go wrong still if the feline managed to continue on his own. The wolf doubted it though, as the cat was not in a shape to be able to hunt for itself. ”What is your name?” the lavender eyed asked kindly, desiring to learn the name of this creature. He had anticipated more trouble from the animal, but he had been proven wrong. A cat’s intelligence should not be underestimated, and the Dahlian was surprise he had done so, even after communicating a little with the Japanese woman’s feline companion.

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