G A R E T H
The stallion was grateful to see that she had enjoyed the second cup of tea, the one meant to bring her warmth and comfort. Her affirmations that their pending stay here in the cave did something to soothe his nerves. Not that either of them had much of a choice in sheltering here, but the fact she did not feel alarmed or trapped was a good thing. It was a sign of trust, her ease in which she moved about him, in which she spoke. Little by little, Pangaea was beginning to settle in at his side, and this olive branch that they had both extended would be most valuable when he got to work.
Pain had a tendency to break tenuous bonds, and he could only hope that she would understand that her back limbs may have to feel worse before they got better. The cold had likely numbed some of the pain, but the use of her muscles, climbing over the cliffs and valleys of the Arma, would have put a strain on her, even if she did not feel it yet. Gareth, who was in good physical health by all accounts, had begun to feel the ache of travel by the time they had crested that final ridge before the cave. He could only imagine that her body, less adapted to the cold, mangled, starving, would have been the worse for wear, even if she did not have the energy to show it. He resolved that she needed at least one day of rest before they moved on; even if the storm blew through the mountains and the pass was clear tomorrow, they would stay, though he found that swift timeline to be unlikely.
His amber pools watched her as she settled down, closing her eyes and listening to him. For a predator to allow themselves to be boxed in (for that’s what a cave was, a large stone box) and then to rest their eyes, one of their most valuable assets in survival, it spoke of great trust. Though, after his time with her, he had come to realize she was not a true predator. Unlike the mountain lions that roamed these peaks, or the Teryr as she had called the creature who had wrought such damage, she had not been born with the inherent superiority in her being. The belief that it was her right, her very essence to hunt, to kill, to thrive on the corpses of others. He had yet to meet a natural predator who did not have the confidence in itself, the understanding that it’s one purpose was to become strong; survival at all costs. It was this last instinct he found to be the one the mare had most in common with predators of old. Survival was a great equalizer. If you found yourself not a predator, you were prey. What little she had spoken of her childhood and home life, he could gather that her world had forced her to that path, to a mindset that would help her to live, even if it was not her true nature.
In the firelight, with gentle tones speaking words of reassurance, on the mountains when she had laughed, these were her true nature. Or rather, they were glimpses of it, anyways, these secret things that must be protected. Gareth understood that; some things needed to be guarded, lest you provide weapons to the enemy without knowing him. It was maybe a selfish way of being, and he had worked the last few years to rectify that, to travel into the city of his home, to heal those who came to him with open arms. There were only two living beings in all of the world that knew him, truly; his darkest thoughts and deepest regrets. While he had been genuine with Pangaea, his inner self he had kept at a distance, shrouded behind thick forests and brambles. He could not blame her for doing the same.
“In most places, yes,” Gareth said. “There are those lands which are inhospitable, or troublesome. I would not be able to seclude myself within the shifting sands of the Solterran desert as I do within the forests of Denocte, though a lighter crafted beast might have no qualms with doing so.” He shook his head, twisted locks trembling along his thick neck. “But you are right. Aside from a rare few cases, Novus is blessed with plenty, and often you will not find trouble unless you go in search of it.”
The stallion craned his neck to peer into the cauldron, finally seeing a glimmer of water in the depths, hot enough for his liking. He nodded to her legs, lifting one makeshift bandage and soaking it in the pot while he spoke.
“I’m going to clean the outside of your wounds first, try to remove as much debris as I can.” He rose to his hooves then, walking around her back side and to the first limb. He would need to see how she responded to this simple cleaning first before he ventured to pull out the infection. She may not be so grateful to him as he was scraping puss and useless flesh from her wounds, and while he intended to be upfront with her about what he would be doing, to tell her everything at once seemed like it might be a detriment.
People didn’t like to hear that you would be rooting about inside their body and yanking out offending articles so that they could be properly cleaned and bandaged. There was something far too intimate about that, and there had always been hesitation when it was needed. He may have been a trained medic, but the stallion was also a stranger, and it went against some folk’s nature to let any but a loved one stroke their insides.
He took the damp linen and chose the wound that looked the least egregious, first just laying the warm bandage to the side of the rended flesh, allowing her to become comfortable with the feeling of him touching her before beginning his work. He was gentle with her, moving slowly so that he could gauge her sensitivity and adjust as necessary.
Pain had a tendency to break tenuous bonds, and he could only hope that she would understand that her back limbs may have to feel worse before they got better. The cold had likely numbed some of the pain, but the use of her muscles, climbing over the cliffs and valleys of the Arma, would have put a strain on her, even if she did not feel it yet. Gareth, who was in good physical health by all accounts, had begun to feel the ache of travel by the time they had crested that final ridge before the cave. He could only imagine that her body, less adapted to the cold, mangled, starving, would have been the worse for wear, even if she did not have the energy to show it. He resolved that she needed at least one day of rest before they moved on; even if the storm blew through the mountains and the pass was clear tomorrow, they would stay, though he found that swift timeline to be unlikely.
His amber pools watched her as she settled down, closing her eyes and listening to him. For a predator to allow themselves to be boxed in (for that’s what a cave was, a large stone box) and then to rest their eyes, one of their most valuable assets in survival, it spoke of great trust. Though, after his time with her, he had come to realize she was not a true predator. Unlike the mountain lions that roamed these peaks, or the Teryr as she had called the creature who had wrought such damage, she had not been born with the inherent superiority in her being. The belief that it was her right, her very essence to hunt, to kill, to thrive on the corpses of others. He had yet to meet a natural predator who did not have the confidence in itself, the understanding that it’s one purpose was to become strong; survival at all costs. It was this last instinct he found to be the one the mare had most in common with predators of old. Survival was a great equalizer. If you found yourself not a predator, you were prey. What little she had spoken of her childhood and home life, he could gather that her world had forced her to that path, to a mindset that would help her to live, even if it was not her true nature.
In the firelight, with gentle tones speaking words of reassurance, on the mountains when she had laughed, these were her true nature. Or rather, they were glimpses of it, anyways, these secret things that must be protected. Gareth understood that; some things needed to be guarded, lest you provide weapons to the enemy without knowing him. It was maybe a selfish way of being, and he had worked the last few years to rectify that, to travel into the city of his home, to heal those who came to him with open arms. There were only two living beings in all of the world that knew him, truly; his darkest thoughts and deepest regrets. While he had been genuine with Pangaea, his inner self he had kept at a distance, shrouded behind thick forests and brambles. He could not blame her for doing the same.
“In most places, yes,” Gareth said. “There are those lands which are inhospitable, or troublesome. I would not be able to seclude myself within the shifting sands of the Solterran desert as I do within the forests of Denocte, though a lighter crafted beast might have no qualms with doing so.” He shook his head, twisted locks trembling along his thick neck. “But you are right. Aside from a rare few cases, Novus is blessed with plenty, and often you will not find trouble unless you go in search of it.”
The stallion craned his neck to peer into the cauldron, finally seeing a glimmer of water in the depths, hot enough for his liking. He nodded to her legs, lifting one makeshift bandage and soaking it in the pot while he spoke.
“I’m going to clean the outside of your wounds first, try to remove as much debris as I can.” He rose to his hooves then, walking around her back side and to the first limb. He would need to see how she responded to this simple cleaning first before he ventured to pull out the infection. She may not be so grateful to him as he was scraping puss and useless flesh from her wounds, and while he intended to be upfront with her about what he would be doing, to tell her everything at once seemed like it might be a detriment.
People didn’t like to hear that you would be rooting about inside their body and yanking out offending articles so that they could be properly cleaned and bandaged. There was something far too intimate about that, and there had always been hesitation when it was needed. He may have been a trained medic, but the stallion was also a stranger, and it went against some folk’s nature to let any but a loved one stroke their insides.
He took the damp linen and chose the wound that looked the least egregious, first just laying the warm bandage to the side of the rended flesh, allowing her to become comfortable with the feeling of him touching her before beginning his work. He was gentle with her, moving slowly so that he could gauge her sensitivity and adjust as necessary.
"Speech" | | @Pangaea |
