Strel shrugged, knowing that there was unity in their being a bundle of misfits. That was a connection between them as well as the devotion they had to the rather lack of rules they had here. It was freedom and that was something they all supported to the last. That's what Cours was. Freedom. Freedom under a king, but that was beside the point entirely. "I did the whole family pack thing. It was no fun and look where it got me, miles away with no blood relatives," he said, laughing a bit as he stretched his arms out at the expanse around them.
Though at the mention of the hot headed white sheep, the redhead had to frown again as his look slowly shifted into one of thoughtful recollection, albeit painful recollection. "Oh, yes, there have been..." One came to mind, but only because she had been so prominent from the get go. "The first Constable was one of those, but she paid the price for it with her own reckless abandon." Svara had killed herself, the reason already lost to Strel. It would not have made a difference why, because nothing could change the fact that it had happened at all. "It was more of an attitude problem with her than disagreement, since she had helped start the pack."
Rolling his eyes, Strel sighed as he wrapped the cloth around the stranger's leg, giving a bit of a sharper tug on it than he would have otherwise. "Since you really want to know, nosey, I'll tell you." Strel tied a knot, pulling tightly on it again, more fiercely than he ought to have. "I didn't agree with 'em. They liked tradition and I wanted to use my hands and to enjoy what the humans left behind for us. That was not something they liked. I heard that someone in my pack had been attacked half to death for being caught on two legs, but that was before I was born." Admiring his handiwork, the redhead sat back on his rear, crossing his legs beneath him. "And the pack leader stole what I found for himself, though I managed to keep this thing," he said as he gestured toward his wrist. "It's honestly not that dramatic or as dramatic as you think." Truly, it was bound to happen. That and the pack frowned upon homosexuality and Strel refused to touch a woman sober.
"Depends on what you can get. Just get it cleaned out. Any cut that gets infected can start to rot you from the inside out. Just get it clean," he answered, not really sure which was better; he was no healer. Maybe he would ask Alaine what was better for cleaning a cut. And the redhead gave a short laugh, wondering what kind of boon this man could grant him. That seemed like so silly a thought. "Haha, save your boons for someone who knows what to do with them. That or keep a tally and we'll find a way to put all to use at once." For some, odd reason, that sounded rather inappropriate, but Strel could only smirk at that thought.
.sanctuary b {font-weight:bold; color:#b1f4ff; letter-spacing:.5px; }
.sanctuaryooc {font-style:italic; padding: 10px 31px 5px 31px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px;color:#4f7eba;}
.sanctuary p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 31px 5px 31px; margin:0px;}
.sanctuary {margin:0 auto; width:420px; background-color:#001650; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v368/ ... uary-2.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #052d61; padding: 0px 0px 68px 0px; font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode, sans-serif; font-size:11px; color:#a1c5f1; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;word-spacing:.5px;}
</style>
[/html]