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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised. |
Heavy breaths gulped into his broad chest. The cold had dried his tongue and his eyes, the twisting winds only growing as he neared the looming mountains over head. The trail left behind him traversed through enough water to kill his scent and drag the trail down stream, weaving in and out of the water enough to break the footprints for anyone searching, though he was wise enough to know that from where he came wasn't a threat. Salsola, at this moment, was more a threat to him than anything else.
Blood dripped in a winding trail down his leg and seeping into the black of his linen pants, their thin fabric stuck to the wound with wet suction. The threads were filleted over the lesion, planted there by Nyx blade, and smartly so. Shaamah hadn't curled, but his leg retired from the fight early. It left him with a limp from tired and wounded muscles, that he only acknowledged as his leg nearly fell out from beneath him when he shifted his weight to it. It wasn't something he wanted to return to the Thistle Kingdom with, not while he wasn't mobile. They were shifty enough for him to want to be only at his best within their walls.
Yet, he did know of one place.
Gripping a tree, the various cuts that riddled his arm bleeding as well, though not so damaging, his eye scanned the maze of sleeping forestry. The trail hadn't changed but he was wary to walk into the area, should other's be present. It wasn't safe. The question therein lied. Safe for whom?
Dark paws took the uneven steps as he stood, a shadow against the waning sun, over the awning in the trees that he'd first stood beneath. His eyes traveled the scene. The cottage, the trail to the fallen tree, the winter gripped plants that were bare. Everything was in the same place that he had left it in. Wind claimed anything loose on his form that it could when he finally stepped from the trees and into the amber light cast by the colorful setting sky, followed by a low, winded bark.
Her scent was strong. She was bound to be here.
Blue scanned the world again, finding only the whisper of a fire's smoke trailing from her chimney. It was excuse enough to make way to the building, his uneven steps slowing his gait as he walked. A hop and a hobble was enough to keep the pressure from taking his knee out from under him, but it wasn't doing his leg any favors to be on it.
The beast reached the door, the wind curling in the small alcove created by it's frame, and the thick and heavy scent of Iron filled the rose tinted nostrils on his muzzle. It brought him to different places with each scent, and his fury for being incapacitated by that she-warrior rather than gifting Nova Scotia another grave was with him, but something else was here too. It pressed against the small of his back, tucked neatly away in the high waist of his damaged, charcoal pants.
It was his excuse for coming here, even if that hadn't been his intention.
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