Is Prip still going to be injured that Jeff needs to rescue?
Despite the moans and mumbles that he managed to utter from beneath the pile of wet wood and snow, the Valley Patriarch continued to dawdle dangerously between consciousness and a sea of black; the male could not hear much over the faint sounds he managed to gurgle, nor over the blood rushing through his ears in their efforts to sustain him. His limbs kicked and pushed to free himself, though the movements were kicks only in his own mind and no more than weak shifts of his leg in reality. Surely there was a head wound — yes, there had to be, he told himself. In his mind he forced a conversation with his own brain, determined to hold onto consciousness, if only that would keep him awake.
He knew a greater, hotter pain when something above him shifted and a patch of his fur became considerably cold, exposed to the outer world. Pripyat must have been all right, he mused, and was trying to free his father from the collapsed pile of splinters. Whatever he had moved was somewhere near his right knee, Jefferson surmised, forcing all his focus into the pain to find its source; another open wound, most likely, somewhere on his upper thigh. It felt colder, more exposed than it should, as if there was no fur, or even... skin? "Pripyat," he managed to hiss, almost scoldingly, when the boy pulled whatever-the-hell-it-was off of him and, in doing so, ripped a chuck of splintered wood straight from the flesh of the scarred man's leg. Charming.
As if the heat of the pain had woken him rather than knock him out, Jefferson began more enthusiastically aiding free himself, and with enough effort the man freed his legs and torso — with the exception of an arm. It remained unceremoniously pinned beneath a separate pile, and while Jefferson and Pripyat began pushing and pulling from there as well to free it, the cyclops attempted to flex and move his fingers on the other end with little circulation, with waning strength and a slow-growing numbness through the muscles trapped there. He assured Pripyat he would be fine, that he just needed to get out and tend to the wounds, and the boy seemed only vaguely convinced.
Jefferson himself, for whatever reason, didn't feel convinced either.
.jeffers-birdsz .ooc {font-style:italic; }
.jeffers-birdsz p {padding:2px 14px; margin:0px; text-indent:25px;}
.jeffers-birdsz b {color:#4E5145; letter-spacing:-.2px; }
.jeffers-birdsz {background-color:#CDDCE0; background-image:url(http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... dtable.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #EDF3F4; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#788E94; letter-spacing:.2px; word-spacing:.2px; line-height:16px; width:418px; text-align:justify; padding:10px 0px 115px 0px; }
.jeffers-birdsz-border {width:420px; border:1px solid #383230; margin:0 auto;}
</style>[/html]