Machidael is by me!

Oh, you poor dear! The voice had drawn him out of his pained haze and back into life, along with soothing hands. Machidael found himself in the care of this earthen-hued woman, who was now hunched intently over his leg. In her hands was a needle and some kind of threat, pulled from a bag she had tossed haphazardly off to the side. Machi eyed the bag longingly and wished for some liquor, but Verenna -- he thought that was her name, anyway -- had nothing for the pain, or so she said.

Machidael would make her bring him something afterward, though, or if she refused, he'd find something himself. Having dragged himself this far south on his own strength, the rust-hued canine was almost certain he could at least scrounge a bottle of liquor from somewhere around here. But Verenna did not seem like the type to refuse. One who helps a complete stranger was the sort to run his errands. The hybrid leaned back against the old human wall and did his best not to scowl, though he glowered down at the wound. It had come far, far too close to his manhood.

Who got you like this, anyway? Verenna asked, apparently happy to chat away while she worked on his leg.

The earthen-hued half-coyote had professed to be an all-around mothering figure, capable of everything from stitching wounds to cooking meals. She was old enough to have had children, Machidael thought, but her stomach appeared taut and flat with youthfulness. Her breasts, too, were rounded and looked firm to the touch. The rusty jackal, unaccustomed to ignoring his inhibitions, made himself think of things other than her body. Though he yearned for a romp -- especially after being so rudely denied -- he could not risk offending her. She was his only ally and she'd heal his wounds, if only he could shut his mouth long enough for her to do so. Some bitch, he responded, shrugging.

Verenna, already accustomed to his words, smiled cheerily. A woman, huh? We're a crafty bunch, she said, shaking her head. Machidael glowered at her and only grunted in response. What do you do to her? Verenna asked, unmindful of his non-answer noise.

Nothing, he said. She attack. Machi still did not think he'd done anything wrong. With a hiss of pain, he slapped the earth beside in in effort not to jerk his leg away from her. Verenna chided him with a small noise and looked up at him with pretty green eyes.

Some people, she said, shaking her head. Bending back to her task, she was silent for a moment before leaning back. That one's okay. Do you want me to see to your... um, she trailed off, grinning girlishly and punctuating the statement with a giggle. She flicked at her own breast to demonstrate, and Machidael's eyes lingered on her. He glanced up toward her face to avoid staring at her hungrily, and tried to figure out if she was just playing or truly insinuating an intent.

No, Machidael said. In truth, losing the ring had been more painful than the leg wound, and he was wary of having her touch it. There was no more from Verenna, however, for she'd turned around back toward her bag, stuffing the thread and its accompanying need back into its depths.

You'll have to treat it sometime, she said. There are plants I can make a poultice from. Maybe your nipple will never be the same, but it won't get infected that way. There was that chiding, motherly tone to her voice again, and she reached out to touch his chest wound.

Grimacing, the hybrid's hand shot up and he shook his head. Too hurt, he grunted. Verenna drew her wrist from his grip, and stared at him awkwardly, a small smile playing on her lips. Machidael stared back, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Thank her? Kill her? He could only glower, wincing in pain as he dropped his arm down and the resulting jolt jostled the chest wound. Verenna pursed her lips and reached out with her hand again, albeit this time to the far side of his chest.

The poor dear, she murmured. I'll find you something for the pain, she said, and with that, the woman stood and walked away. Machidael watched her go and wondered what, besides alcohol, she might find to kill his hurts. The rust-hued hybrid did not care. He shifted his body and growled his pain aloud as he made himself horizontal. A heaving breath was taken and released in a wince as Machidael realized what a piss-poor idea that had been. He clutched at the flesh on his chest, though he was careful not to touch the fiery wound.

He slept, or must have, since he returned to consciousness with Verenna standing over him. Her ample breasts dangled and the curve of her hips tantalized him, but still he dared not even suggest an advance to her. He was at her mercy for care -- while capable of doing for himself, he could not hope to heal his wounds as cleanly as she said she could. There was a bottle of alcohol, the dust swiped off of the label, in one of her hands, and a clump of a familiar-looking plant in her hand.

She explained the necessity of drying the plant. Machidael disagreed and suggested she build a fire to dry the marijuana in a more dangerous and rudimentary fashion. Verenna declined, albeit politely, to go through all the work of building a fire when Machidael could just as well drink the liquor and enjoy his sleep. Machidael acquiesced, though he wanted to smash the liquor bottle across her face, and sullenly swigged from the bottle. He was glaring at Verenna when she reached out to take the bottle from him. Her sage-colored eyes lingered on him as she took a long swallow of the fire-water. When she was done, she smiled a coy sort of smile at him and passed the bottle back.

Her hand dropped to his uninjured leg, warm flesh against flesh, and Machidael nearly jerked with the surprise of her touch. He almost lost his grip on the bottle, but recovered. Thereafter, he set the thing aside, and stared toward Verenna as her hand crept closer to the stiffening presence between his legs. The rust-hued jackal was preparing to ask her if she wanted a fuck when she made such apparent herself by wrapping a hand around his hardness.

The jackal murmured his pleasure and arched his back, though a stab of pain reverberated through his injured chest. Her hand worked him slowly. Too slowly. Thrusting his hips in attempt to quicken her rhythm, Machi was surprised when the woman climbed over him and abruptly sat on his hips. Though her weight rested on his injured leg painfully, the shock of her warmth enveloping him chased the less powerful feeling away rather effectively, and Machidael henceforth learned sex was a potent pain relief, at least temporarily.

It wasn't until after he'd spent himself in her that the woman clambered off of him and, in the queerest thing he'd ever seen, scrambled onto her back and lifted both legs up against the wall until her butt and hips were lifted off the ground. Her legs were almost paralell with the wall, too. The fuck do? the jackal grunted, rubbing at the stickiness around his manhood.

She turned to him, her bright green eyes merry and sparkling. I want a baby, she said, flatly and as if he had no say in the matter -- and, as evident from her position, he apparently did not. Staring at her for a moment, Machidael shrugged his shoulder and almost turned away from her before she spoke again. You'll be the father, and we'll be mates, Verenna said, happily burbling her plans to him. The jackal stared at her as if she was an idiot, cocking his head to the side. He did not do a good job of keeping his derision from his face, for Verenna's countenance grew stormy. Don't you run off, she warned. I'll chase after you if I have your children. This was stated matter-of-factly, and Machidael was preparing to speak his dissent when a sudden light came to his mind.

Baby, he agreed. No baby? No mate. He pointed at his stomach to emphasize his point: he would not become her mate until she grew pregnant. He'd be able to screw her up and down the Nova Scotian coast half a year or more before she realized his lack of viability. And -- who knew? Perhaps he was not infertile after all. The hybrid rolled onto his side carefully and scrutinized the earthen hybrid. The thick womanliness of her form and prettiness of her face made such a gamble worthwhile, he thought, not considering how much her personality had began to grate on him already. Verenna smiled at him and nodded, gazing at him wistfully as she babbled how beautiful and wonderful their children would be.