05-01-2020, 12:47 AM
[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]Does it hurt?
It does, in another form, another place, somewhere he cannot reach. He would take the pain from her if he only could.
Both sage and unholy martyr look down on the kitten with a softness that breaks the hard lines of his features, sets the deep brown of his eyes ablaze with a need to gather her up and take her away from all the things that hurt her. If only he knew that this was Trygve's doing, that Brandykit was not the only one torn by his claws and his anger - then perhaps the child would be home already, if only to face his mother's dismay and grandfather's stern correction. He wouldn't be capable of anger, he knows, but perhaps the single eye bearing down on the child with solemn disappointment would be enough to seal away the child's wild nature for a few months more.
"Don't cry," his low rumble of a voice rolls in the back of his throat, a paw extending to take hold of the injured limb that Eulia held close. "...Don't cry." It is Roan's turn to treat a wound, only because Ahab wished to tend Brandykit - but the infection on the bun wound weeps in a way that concerns him, and it reeks in a way that leads him to believe the young Sage should not work on it alone.
In another time, another place - you lost your leg, for this sort of thing.
"Roan, we need to remove the adhesive and disinfect. Get her to calm down." It's a humble attempt at treating the child with an amount of warmth and empathy - never once had he been treated with this much care, and embodying the image of a calming figure is difficult when performed for the first time. He sits, holds out a paw and gestures for the apprentices' pouch. He ought to start carrying one himself, when injuries seemed so common; but the thought does not occur to him as he contemplates what they'd need to tend the wound.
It hurts. He feels the ache in his arm, his punctured nerves. Never would he let her endure the same pain. "Child," Ahab offers a low hum, lowering his head closer to Eulia's height, "I need you to be brave for me. Can you do that?"
It does, in another form, another place, somewhere he cannot reach. He would take the pain from her if he only could.
Both sage and unholy martyr look down on the kitten with a softness that breaks the hard lines of his features, sets the deep brown of his eyes ablaze with a need to gather her up and take her away from all the things that hurt her. If only he knew that this was Trygve's doing, that Brandykit was not the only one torn by his claws and his anger - then perhaps the child would be home already, if only to face his mother's dismay and grandfather's stern correction. He wouldn't be capable of anger, he knows, but perhaps the single eye bearing down on the child with solemn disappointment would be enough to seal away the child's wild nature for a few months more.
"Don't cry," his low rumble of a voice rolls in the back of his throat, a paw extending to take hold of the injured limb that Eulia held close. "...Don't cry." It is Roan's turn to treat a wound, only because Ahab wished to tend Brandykit - but the infection on the bun wound weeps in a way that concerns him, and it reeks in a way that leads him to believe the young Sage should not work on it alone.
In another time, another place - you lost your leg, for this sort of thing.
"Roan, we need to remove the adhesive and disinfect. Get her to calm down." It's a humble attempt at treating the child with an amount of warmth and empathy - never once had he been treated with this much care, and embodying the image of a calming figure is difficult when performed for the first time. He sits, holds out a paw and gestures for the apprentices' pouch. He ought to start carrying one himself, when injuries seemed so common; but the thought does not occur to him as he contemplates what they'd need to tend the wound.
It hurts. He feels the ache in his arm, his punctured nerves. Never would he let her endure the same pain. "Child," Ahab offers a low hum, lowering his head closer to Eulia's height, "I need you to be brave for me. Can you do that?"