The quiet warrior understood. And her words made sense, too, even to his pain-numbed brain - that no fear was insurmountable, that it took a conscious effort, that it was better to feel that than nothing at all. It was true, that Corvus appeared to feel nothing. His flat soulless eyes seemed to crinkle in amusement in Slay's disjointed memories, mocking him at every step of the way. For now, he needed to focus on the task at hand - the seemingly endless walk to his home, to rest. He nodded silently to Cwmfen, assenting to their task.
When he thought back on it later, he honestly could not remember how he got home. His stumbling, shambling steps, pulling uncomfortably on the scabbing wounds, flashing little pinpricks of pain through his battered limbs, everything muddied his thoughts and eventually he tuned it all out. Blanked his mind, walked home in his sleep. Every so often, he would catch a faint glimmer of the raven-haired Warrior's voice, calling him forward, speaking to him of whatever she could. He would truly owe her for the effort she put forth, even thought he knew he would try to do the same for her if their roles had reversed. His bleary mind wondered offhandedly whether or not this time he spent with Cwmfen would make Cercelee jealous... She had been in the past, after all, but he had to hope she trusted him better now. As his drifting thoughts obscured his surroundings, his paws mechanically stepped one in front of the other, and before he knew it, they were standing in the shadow of the church.
Someone pounded on the door, and then it creaked open, words being exchanged throughout. Slay's fuzzy thoughts were failing him, dizzy with the lack of blood in his system. He didn't get a chance to clean up - he must look awful, he thought sadly, seeing Cercelee's panicked eyes as if from afar. It's not as bad as it looks, he wanted to reassure her, but his dry throat could barely manage a croak. Shaking his head slowly from side to side - he couldn't explain, it was too embarrassing anyway - he leaned against his mate, inhaling her delicate scent now tarnished by his blood. He didn't see her shifted very often, although he knew she had to when it came to pack meetings and "official" stuff. She was always very conscious of the fact that he did not, could not. Now by accident, he had gone halfway... he still didn't know how to push forward and attain the two-legger form, but perhaps after he had rested, she could tell him how to. He just wanted to apologize for worrying her. A low whine caught in his throat, a pitiful sound from the big male. He didn't want her to be angry.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
