04-03-2010, 07:03 PM
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OOC Notes: Unless you have anything else in mind, do you want to call this post the last one?
Wc: 400
The cut on her chest was producing a slow-moving river of crimson, tarnishing the brown fur that the fae usually sported, causing the raw skin to pronounce itself beyond the flow. However, it wasn't pain that kept the proud fae down, the fact that that Ghita had let herself cause the inexcusable fault, and the loss of their prey; that was what made Ghita lie down and wallow in her pity.
Blinking in surprise at Flayra's insistence, for a moment it looked like Ghita would snap at the younger wolfess in defense of her own tattered pride. There was no way that the woman thought she needed help standing, after all, it was only a chest wound, but the blood loss could quickly become dangerous with such a deep cut.
Glaring in the general direction of the manor, the fae sighed, trying to defend herself against Flayra's aid. "It's only a scratch, I'm fine." But her tone was weary, the usual zest not apparent, and the fae found her body quickly being lifted to her paws. It took a few moments for the woman to become steady once more, but after she did, the Italian wolfess shook her pelt, keeping the foreleg closest to the injury off the ground as she moved, also dislodging Flayra's arm. "Thanks. I'm okay now."
Pausing, the fae looked around at her surroundings, noting with some despair that the deer she tried to take down was long gone, a subtle trail of crimson indicating where it had run. But even Ghita, foolish and headstrong as she could sometimes be, knew when to call it a day, and certainly the fae wasn't up for another blow like that. Sighing, she turned her head back to Flayra, a half-smile that didn't quite reach her eyes on her face. "Perhaps another day. I'm going to head up to the manor and get some rest. I'll be fine getting there on my own, but thank you."
Her paws began the long trek back to the manor now, weight unevenly distributed throughout her gait. Her left foreleg left strong divets that pockmarked the snow, while her right forepaw barely even made a mark. Every few feet or so, another bead of crimson fell to the ground, a pure cranberry amidst the ivory snowflakes, until the pattern of her exhausted and disgraced walk finally took her to the manor once more.
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OOC Notes: Unless you have anything else in mind, do you want to call this post the last one?
Wc: 400
The cut on her chest was producing a slow-moving river of crimson, tarnishing the brown fur that the fae usually sported, causing the raw skin to pronounce itself beyond the flow. However, it wasn't pain that kept the proud fae down, the fact that that Ghita had let herself cause the inexcusable fault, and the loss of their prey; that was what made Ghita lie down and wallow in her pity.
Blinking in surprise at Flayra's insistence, for a moment it looked like Ghita would snap at the younger wolfess in defense of her own tattered pride. There was no way that the woman thought she needed help standing, after all, it was only a chest wound, but the blood loss could quickly become dangerous with such a deep cut.
Glaring in the general direction of the manor, the fae sighed, trying to defend herself against Flayra's aid. "It's only a scratch, I'm fine." But her tone was weary, the usual zest not apparent, and the fae found her body quickly being lifted to her paws. It took a few moments for the woman to become steady once more, but after she did, the Italian wolfess shook her pelt, keeping the foreleg closest to the injury off the ground as she moved, also dislodging Flayra's arm. "Thanks. I'm okay now."
Pausing, the fae looked around at her surroundings, noting with some despair that the deer she tried to take down was long gone, a subtle trail of crimson indicating where it had run. But even Ghita, foolish and headstrong as she could sometimes be, knew when to call it a day, and certainly the fae wasn't up for another blow like that. Sighing, she turned her head back to Flayra, a half-smile that didn't quite reach her eyes on her face. "Perhaps another day. I'm going to head up to the manor and get some rest. I'll be fine getting there on my own, but thank you."
Her paws began the long trek back to the manor now, weight unevenly distributed throughout her gait. Her left foreleg left strong divets that pockmarked the snow, while her right forepaw barely even made a mark. Every few feet or so, another bead of crimson fell to the ground, a pure cranberry amidst the ivory snowflakes, until the pattern of her exhausted and disgraced walk finally took her to the manor once more.