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Brarsi after Midwinter Gather's Wherfights
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Brarssk was unconscious, and any thoughts Brarsi had entertained about speaking with Senjen and asking him… what, exactly? Something dimglowed no doubt. Regardless, whatever it had been, he wasn’t in any mood to ask. He couldn’t go and… and what? Why had that even come to mind? Growling at the young healer who’d crept so tentatively towards his wher, Brarsi probably seemed a bit wherish himself. Not much of a stretch really, given his typical attitude. No novice too nervous to keep his hands steady was getting anywhere near his Brarssk. Master healer Brarsi was not, but they looked after each other, and he knew his way around a wound by now, human or wher.
He was full of growls and snarls it seemed, and told onlookers in no uncertain terms to back off. He had his own supplies, he didn’t trust most of ‘em to be genuine in their offers. He could look after his blue just fine. Just fine. They looked after each other. No one else was needed. No one else.
The ichor was slowed and then stemmed as he cleaned out the wounds left by a rather more straightforward Senjesk. The blue usually danced like a showman, did something change? Was it because he’d… no, couldn’t be. Senjen wasn’t… well. Maybe he was like that, eager to take his revenge the moment a weak spot was revealed. No one could actually be that nice. He'd thought maybe... but... no. No one. Not ever.
His hands were steady as he moved on to the wings, and he was glad no one was left to see his expression as he began to mend the tears as best as they could be fixed. Brarssk’s wings had been tattered for turns, but they were so much worse now, there was hardly any membrane left. Senjesk had really done a number on them while he was on Brarssk’s back. Poor, stubborn Brarssk. Brarsi wished his blue had ceased the fight before things got so bad, if they were going to lose anyway there was no point in getting so horribly ripped up. He would heal though, there would be scars again, but he would be alright in a few days, or a sevenday or so. Some of these were nasty, but it looked like he’d been knocked out before the fight went on long enough to acquire serious damage as he had the last time he fought at the champion level. Bossk had really shredded his shoulder, Brarssk had limped for a long, long time after that match.
The handler was gently applying numbweed to the disinfected cuts on the wher’s muzzle and eyeridges when those red-spun eyes flashed open and the blue’s grown vibrated through Brarsi’s bones. “Easy love,” he murmured, cooing softly as he rubbed more numbweed into one of the deeper gashes that had been left by Senjesk’s claws when he came down on Brarssk’s head. The angry color in Brarssk’s eyes slowed as Brarsi continued to murmur and click at him, ever so quietly so as not to look any kind of ‘soft’. It was bad, so bad, to look weak. He wanted to cry with relief, he wanted to throw his arms around the wher’s thick neck and hold on until the horrific sensation of having no thoughts mixed with his was gone. Unconscious. May it never never never happen again. He was going to have nightmares about watching the wher collapse as the connection faded so abruptly.
Brarsi sat in the pen as the Gather went on, barely noticing and certainly not caring about the festivities going on outside. Who won the tournament? He didn’t know, he didn’t care. Speeches, feast, singing and dancing, and a strange announcement… none of it mattered. All he needed was his Brarssk. Nothing else. No one else. No one.
...but there was still that stupid harp...thing.
 zephira738 · Tue Apr 03, 2012 @ 01:18am · 0 Comments |
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