G A R E T H
The days had simultaneously stretched into eternity and fell far too short. The medic stallion had kept himself busy with creating medicinal pastes for the warrior’s wounds, tearing cloth strips for makeshift bandages, rooting around in his leftover supplies for things to satiate the hunger.
He admitted he looked forward to nothing more than fresh hay and alfalfa cakes that would be waiting for him at home. Gareth was a simple man, and though the canned and preserved fruits had been a delight, he’d intended them to be delicacies, not survival foods. They had begun to settle too sweet on his tongue, sticking in his belly in a way that wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but that he knew this diet would not be sustainable long term. He could only imagine how much more that was amplified for Pangaea, who had confessed early on in their mountain expedition that her need for fresh meat was amplified during times of great healing.
The blizzard that had clung to the Arma raged outside for nearly two days, dropping layer after layer of snow onto the landscape. When he had ventured out for more of the fresh powder to turn into water, he had seen drift piles pushed up to various edges of the main cavern, and he felt particularly lucky that his hidden oasis had been spared from the chilling winds. The saurian mare would not have been nearly as comfortable if they had sheltered in the relative open of this part of the cave. Unfortunately, this had also meant that any hot-blooded mammal with any sense about them had also sheltered in place, making the desired meat source nearly impossible to find.
They would have to wait until they descended the mountain tomorrow to begin thinking about those prospects, and even so, it would take them likely upwards of two days to complete, especially with the new snow. It made traveling more dangerous. Gareth was fairly confident that he could lead the injured mare through the treacherous environment, as this side of the Arma was very familiar to him. Still, there had always been room for error, and he didn’t want to dwell too long on the possibilities.
As the stallion moved around the cave, making preparations, he kept glancing towards her, checking her wound. After the first emotionally charged night (he stuffed those feelings down- it was better that way) the swelling had gone down significantly and it had provided him with the chance to weave her flesh together. It had been difficult, rudimentary at best, but it would help kickstart the more complex part of the healing process, and it would protect her better from the elements. She had taken to walking better, even putting more weight on the limb, though he had urged her to not overexert herself, trying to limit her physical activity. There would be plenty more of it to come, anyways. He’d briefly explore the possibility of applying a splint to the leg to provide further support and protection, but that had been very short-lived. The way that the mare’s hind limbs were constructed simply were not compatible with any techniques he might have used to stabilize the ankle, and he would have ended up hobbling her, further limiting her mobility; it would have slowed them down, prevented him from getting her to his home so that he could treat her properly.
His home.
The stallion sighed heavily. Noor would have been waiting for them at the base of the mountains, if not already moved towards home. He had no doubts that his elk companion had been able to make the trek on his own, and would have all but avoided the blizzard that kept them sequestered inside this cave. No, the quiver in his belly was about something else.
He’d been almost certain that if he could just get them beyond this cave, he would come to his senses. After all, the influence of memory was heavy here, and he couldn’t trust himself to believe that what he was feeling wasn’t just desperation and loneliness. It was improper for him to take advantage of the mare in that way. She was vulnerable, indebted to him, trusted him; he couldn’t break that trust, cross the border between medic and patient. He’d never forgive himself if he healed her wounds but broke her heart and spirit. The brute wanted to deny the sparks that had been passing between them, write off the stolen looks, the tender caresses, the intimacy they had come to share.
The coffee and cream coloured draft had been a perfect gentleman, or nearly so. He’d compromised on the comforting touch, holding her while they slept, convinced himself it was for her benefit and nothing more. Would that continue once they made it to his home? Would she want that? Would he?
Gareth hadn’t even realized he’d been standing still, worrying away at this line of thought for several moments until Pangaea ignited his skin with the gentle press of her muzzle to his shoulder blade. He immediately turned his amber gaze to her, maw parted in protest when she beat him to the punch. A glimmer of a smile graced his features as he relaxed, far too pleased with the familiarity in which she spoke.
He relented with soft snort, a chuckle bubbling in his chest. “Alright,” he said. “I’ve mostly finished, but I want to see how much of these,” he motioned to the scarce handful of herbs and the remaining jars of fruit, “we will be able to carry with us. My satchels can only carry so much, but I don’t want to burden you with anything more.
“The last thing we need is you nibbling away at my peaches while trying not to fall down the mountain,” he good naturedly bumped her shoulder in return, playfully calling attention to her enjoyment of the preserves. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen a mare more delighted by the simple mixture than her. It had warmed his heart to watch her perk up in excitement each time he found a different fruit he had stored away, quickly devouring anything that he put in front of her.
As Pangaea had continued to heal, the medic was beginning to see more of who she really was, and the inciting incident had almost been forgotten, pushed to the very recesses of his memory, along with the heartache. Even that, though, had begun to subside, her smile and pleasantly stubborn nature like a balm to his soul.
He admitted he looked forward to nothing more than fresh hay and alfalfa cakes that would be waiting for him at home. Gareth was a simple man, and though the canned and preserved fruits had been a delight, he’d intended them to be delicacies, not survival foods. They had begun to settle too sweet on his tongue, sticking in his belly in a way that wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but that he knew this diet would not be sustainable long term. He could only imagine how much more that was amplified for Pangaea, who had confessed early on in their mountain expedition that her need for fresh meat was amplified during times of great healing.
The blizzard that had clung to the Arma raged outside for nearly two days, dropping layer after layer of snow onto the landscape. When he had ventured out for more of the fresh powder to turn into water, he had seen drift piles pushed up to various edges of the main cavern, and he felt particularly lucky that his hidden oasis had been spared from the chilling winds. The saurian mare would not have been nearly as comfortable if they had sheltered in the relative open of this part of the cave. Unfortunately, this had also meant that any hot-blooded mammal with any sense about them had also sheltered in place, making the desired meat source nearly impossible to find.
They would have to wait until they descended the mountain tomorrow to begin thinking about those prospects, and even so, it would take them likely upwards of two days to complete, especially with the new snow. It made traveling more dangerous. Gareth was fairly confident that he could lead the injured mare through the treacherous environment, as this side of the Arma was very familiar to him. Still, there had always been room for error, and he didn’t want to dwell too long on the possibilities.
As the stallion moved around the cave, making preparations, he kept glancing towards her, checking her wound. After the first emotionally charged night (he stuffed those feelings down- it was better that way) the swelling had gone down significantly and it had provided him with the chance to weave her flesh together. It had been difficult, rudimentary at best, but it would help kickstart the more complex part of the healing process, and it would protect her better from the elements. She had taken to walking better, even putting more weight on the limb, though he had urged her to not overexert herself, trying to limit her physical activity. There would be plenty more of it to come, anyways. He’d briefly explore the possibility of applying a splint to the leg to provide further support and protection, but that had been very short-lived. The way that the mare’s hind limbs were constructed simply were not compatible with any techniques he might have used to stabilize the ankle, and he would have ended up hobbling her, further limiting her mobility; it would have slowed them down, prevented him from getting her to his home so that he could treat her properly.
His home.
The stallion sighed heavily. Noor would have been waiting for them at the base of the mountains, if not already moved towards home. He had no doubts that his elk companion had been able to make the trek on his own, and would have all but avoided the blizzard that kept them sequestered inside this cave. No, the quiver in his belly was about something else.
He’d been almost certain that if he could just get them beyond this cave, he would come to his senses. After all, the influence of memory was heavy here, and he couldn’t trust himself to believe that what he was feeling wasn’t just desperation and loneliness. It was improper for him to take advantage of the mare in that way. She was vulnerable, indebted to him, trusted him; he couldn’t break that trust, cross the border between medic and patient. He’d never forgive himself if he healed her wounds but broke her heart and spirit. The brute wanted to deny the sparks that had been passing between them, write off the stolen looks, the tender caresses, the intimacy they had come to share.
The coffee and cream coloured draft had been a perfect gentleman, or nearly so. He’d compromised on the comforting touch, holding her while they slept, convinced himself it was for her benefit and nothing more. Would that continue once they made it to his home? Would she want that? Would he?
Gareth hadn’t even realized he’d been standing still, worrying away at this line of thought for several moments until Pangaea ignited his skin with the gentle press of her muzzle to his shoulder blade. He immediately turned his amber gaze to her, maw parted in protest when she beat him to the punch. A glimmer of a smile graced his features as he relaxed, far too pleased with the familiarity in which she spoke.
He relented with soft snort, a chuckle bubbling in his chest. “Alright,” he said. “I’ve mostly finished, but I want to see how much of these,” he motioned to the scarce handful of herbs and the remaining jars of fruit, “we will be able to carry with us. My satchels can only carry so much, but I don’t want to burden you with anything more.
“The last thing we need is you nibbling away at my peaches while trying not to fall down the mountain,” he good naturedly bumped her shoulder in return, playfully calling attention to her enjoyment of the preserves. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen a mare more delighted by the simple mixture than her. It had warmed his heart to watch her perk up in excitement each time he found a different fruit he had stored away, quickly devouring anything that he put in front of her.
As Pangaea had continued to heal, the medic was beginning to see more of who she really was, and the inciting incident had almost been forgotten, pushed to the very recesses of his memory, along with the heartache. Even that, though, had begun to subside, her smile and pleasantly stubborn nature like a balm to his soul.
"Speech" || @Pangaea |
