YES, NAKED PRIESTLY BOY ;D -POINTS AND LAUGHS- also, he might want to bring that lamp thing to avoid stumbling over all of Alma's wood, I assume it's dark in the caves.
"I'm not a medic, either." Alma admitted, "But I was wounded before the attacks on Inferni, and Enkiel helped me then. I've picked a little up from him." She had watched the jackal tend to her wounds, but she wouldn't call herself experienced by any means. She might not be able to take care of a large wound, but something like this - that was probably easy; or at least she hoped. The mansion was farther, anyway, and she knew not whether the jackal would be awake at this time of night. With so many wounded clanmates, the man probably needed his sleep.
Once she had seen that the dusky male was following her, she turned and began to walk back to her den. Memory led her way; the caverns were dark and she was used to traveling without light. Even if light was provided, she would still rely on memory, as she'd rarely actually seen what the walls she passed looked like.
Her cave was small and dry, and held the lingering scent of wood, smoke and the hoof-based glue she used as a sealer. Stacks of it were piled up against the walls, in varying stages. Some of it still had yet to be dried, while others were just needed to be carved and shaped into bows. Beside the large pile was a chunk of smaller pieces; half-finished projects. Beads, arrows, and axe handles. Some looked as if they had no purpose at all, and had simply just been used to whittle. Not far from the wood was also some stones - chunks of rocks shaped into the head of an axe, knife or an arrowhead. Most of them, however, bore no resemblance to what they would eventually become. Bits of sinew and a jar of hoof-glue also littered the floor.
Alma drifted away from the wood and stone piles, to the back of her cave where her bed was. Fur and downy feathers lined the floor. Some of the fur was simply chunks she had torn off from her prey and had decided to keep, while others had some of the skin intact. Alma occasionally made an effort to skin her prey, but it never turned out perfectly. Her father had taught her to get the sinew from animals, not to skin them for their pelts. She had no teacher, and so it seemed whatever poor animal's hide she had gotten her hands on would always have a hole in it somewhere. Still, there were a few suitable, mostly intact - and fairly clean - pieces among the pile.
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