(M? for gore?) - River of Blood

Chardonnay Chartreuse · 05-22-2011, 05:53 PM

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Apologies for the late reply, and thanks for you patience =D.

Word Count: 700+

Chardonnay Chartreuse

The heady smell of blood was strong, permeating the air in intoxicating waves that had masked the scent of the young wolf who was brave enough, or just foolish, to approach the coywolf when he had just killed. From the small size of youth, he did not pose much a threat, yet that did not mean anything. If it had been a much larger wolf who was not at all inclined towards mercy, Chardonnay knew that a mistake like the one he had committed by not remaining alert might well have been his last. Back at home, under the circumstances he had left, it certainly would have been. Usually Chardonnay was not so careless, but since having been put his turbulent past and family behind him, he had not needed to be as vigilant. Still, it was stupidity of his part that he had relaxed his guard, enough to allow a youngster slip past unnoticed, in area occupied by wolves. He should have realized that the hunt would without a doubt attract unwanted attention. It was now all done and over with; crying over spilled milk was useless and never did anyone any good. What mattered most was not the past but consequences, in the form of the youngster, that it had brought about.

As his yellow orbs, narrowed with suspicion, rested upon the newcomer, the coywolf drew in a breath through flared nostrils, ignoring the blood scent, to obtain further information. While confirming that the one was indeed alone and not a decoy for a hidden gang come to rob him of his newly acquired prey, it could not be missed that he was a member of a local pack; therefore. If the boy had been a loner, Chardonnay would have ignored him and gone on his way, yet he was not, and the coywolf knew that it was not wise to readily dismiss a pack wolf. He had no intention of raising their ire and calling attention to himself when there was no quarrel. Picking fights on their home turf was to have a death wish. Even so, he had no intention of giving way to the pack wolf; this was neutral territory and they were both equals here. Neither of them was dominate over each other, and Chardonnay intended to keep it that way by making it clear to the youngling that he would find no free meal. After all, as a pack member the youth had a support system, one that Chardonnay had no access to.

A warning forming in is head died before it passed into the air when Chardonnay discerned the real reason why the other had come to him. One hand was held up, accompanied by a pleading and hurt expression, in the universal plea for help and assistance. Chartreuse eyes scanned the limb, look for any major damage and the wolf was relieved when he found it to be whole and unbroken. A closer look was required to examine for any minor injuries and to deal with infection. Chartreuse had a small supply of herbs and bandages exactly for this purpose, herbs that he had gathered himself in his travels. He knew enough about the medical arts to treat whatever hurts or ailments with confidence but was by no means an expert. He usually only carried supplies to treat for immediate and minor injuries, trusting he could the necessary items, wood for splints and herbs that dealt with the more serious concerns.

With a sigh, the coywolf placed the goat on a nearby rock, ruefully eyeing the amount of dirt and blood on the wool had acculmulated in a short amount of time, before turning his attention to the pouches attatched to his belt. Each were decorated with their own colours and patterns to distinguish them for each other just as much to attract the eye, if not more so. Selecting one, he loosed the leather cord binding it and opened it with two fingers to inspect the contents. Satisfied, he took it from its place on the belt and went over to the carcass. There was no hope of recovering the skin to it’s former snowiness, but while it had other uses, there was always time to acquire another one. Grabbing the edge of the pelt, he deftly slid his knife under the skin and peeled back a portion from the meat. Removing a small strip, he turned back to the wolf and approached him, posture relaxed and non-threatening.

“I’m assuming you are wanting help with that,” he said, nodding at the wounded hand. He crouched in front of the young wolf and, white teeth flashing, gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "My name is Chardonnay,", he said, to break the ice. Palm facing upwards, he stretched his hand out between the two of them and asked, “May I take a look?” Fairly confident the that injury was within his minor healing abilities to treat, Chardonnay did not want his new companion to feel pressured to show the vulnerability. After all, they were complete strangers, and physical appearances told nothing about intent.

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