02-10-2010, 07:05 PM
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This won't be nearly as long as my response in Hunger... XD; WC: 687 WoD: Taradiddle: A petty falsehood; a fib. ~ Her body was begging for rest, for the fae to allow her eyelids to fall and bring her body into the blanket of sleep. But a blinding light cut into her desired tranquility, blinding her and giving her no relief. The kick that Ghita had sustained to her shoulder had resulted in a deep, albeit short cut, luckily straying away from major veins. All the same, the Italian fae wasn't a beauty to behold, with the rusty liquid having spared no time in staining the fur beneath her shoulder. Brow knitted just above her eyes, Ghita realized that she knew next to nothing about healing or medicine, and was thoroughly clueless in this situation. The best she knew to do was to start cleaning the fur below her wound, wiping away the crust until her fur was wet, but clean. Keeping her distance from the cut, Ghita's first instinct was to leave it well alone. After all, the blow was certain to raise swelling around the area, and was already painful to limp on. Dragging herself back to the first floor, the fae pressed her injured shoulder onto the ground, hiding the wound from immediate view. Of course, the action was rather pointless, as the scent of rust coated the air around her heavily enough already, but pride played a role in her behavior. Almost hoping that the injury would magically melt away overnight, Ghita's cranium dropped onto her chest, closing her optics in hope that sleep would arrive soon. Sleep wasn't the next thing to greet her, however. A stark contrast to what she was expecting, a high-pitched whisper called in her native language, the scent already dictating who has the misfortune of hearing Ghita's exclamations. Of all of her kin, it was Cambria that she wished wouldn't have to see her aunt injured, however minutely. Cringing, she turned her cranium slowly towards the stairs, knowing that her niece's chestnut pelt would be just a few feet away. "Dannazione" Unprepared for the panic that Cambria so obviously displayed, Ghita couldn't help but gulp and cringe, grinding her ivories together. "Cambria, sto bene ...." As usual, her native language always managed to calm her, letting the situation melt away for the moment into something certainly more favorable. As Cambria ran away, however, a completely unexpected response, Ghita couldn't help but flick her ear, confused as to just what her niece would be up to. The bad aunt she frequently was, the fae had no clue that Cambria had been learning the art of healing, and so was thoroughly shocked when the child returned, arms burdened with strange and different items. Studying her niece with kind turquoises, Ghita let an embarrassed chuckle slide from her lungs, trying to shake off the situation. "Non è successo niente, Cambria. Solo un groviglio di piccole dimensioni con un cervo, qualcosa che la tua vecchia zia avrebbe dovuto sapere meglio da fare ..." Not above letting a small taradiddle slip from her lips, the aunt tried to tell Cambria that nothing was really wrong, although she knew that her blood tainted the air and now a small spot on the stair. When Ghita finally noticed Cambria's keen optics searching her for the wound, the aunt finally gave in, rolling over to expose the cut. "Ero a caccia con Flayra oggi, e le cose stavano andando bene fino a quando il cervo spaventato. Ho appena ricevuto tagliato un po ', ma io sono davvero bene." Shrugging with her good shoulder, it was apparent that Ghita was unaware of the risks involved - ones that Cambria would know all too well. Ghita knew of packs and herds, their movements and their habits - also when to strike and bring an animal down. But Cambria knew more of the subtler arts - one of immense value to any and all packs, one that could be transferred easily from location to location. "Cambria, che stai tenendo?" Unfamiliar with the supplies that her niece held, Ghita couldn't help but feel skittish, wondering just what these items in her niece's hands were. |