Post by Gwendolyn on May 6, 2014 21:55:26 GMT -5
She shivers as she pulls her jacket tighter around herself and tries not to whimper. Red, a brilliant colour that’s far more vivid than she remembers, spills from her leg faster than she could have imagined. It’s not the viscous oozing that most would portray it as; it flows as freely and thinly as water tumbling over the rocks in the stream that burbles not too far away.
A sniffling near her hand draws her attention away from her wound, and blue eyes find violet as the Daemon fox whuffles nervously. She pats his head gently while trying not too move too much, and then reaches down to tear another piece of her petticoat off, wad it against the gash that splits her mid-thigh to the bone.
She’d been foolish; she’d been hungry, and found a man to satiate herself with faster than usual, and placing too much trust in him. He had tracked her down after their night together; he had somehow found out she was a Daemon, and that didn’t quite agree with him.
She’d been out gathering materials for Rosalind, vital herbs that they were running low on in the Spirit residence, and had been humming her merry way along in the outskirts of the city. So preoccupied was she that she hadn’t noticed the man with the knife... at least, not until he grabbed her hair, growling, “Daemon whore!” at her and smashing the side of her head into the ground as he threw her down. He’d intended on cutting her throat, but when he was blindsided by a bundle of bright orange, white, and purple fur, he only managed to cut her leg before he was driven off by the Kitsune.
Of course, just a cut on the leg is proving to be very grim indeed.
Toryn licks the raw flesh of her face with a concerned whine, breaking her out of her reverie. The thin piece of dress she’s holding against her wound to staunch the bleeding is already soaked through.
Gwendolyn hisses through her teeth as the wind probes her wound with icy fingers. This doesn’t look good.
A sniffling near her hand draws her attention away from her wound, and blue eyes find violet as the Daemon fox whuffles nervously. She pats his head gently while trying not too move too much, and then reaches down to tear another piece of her petticoat off, wad it against the gash that splits her mid-thigh to the bone.
She’d been foolish; she’d been hungry, and found a man to satiate herself with faster than usual, and placing too much trust in him. He had tracked her down after their night together; he had somehow found out she was a Daemon, and that didn’t quite agree with him.
She’d been out gathering materials for Rosalind, vital herbs that they were running low on in the Spirit residence, and had been humming her merry way along in the outskirts of the city. So preoccupied was she that she hadn’t noticed the man with the knife... at least, not until he grabbed her hair, growling, “Daemon whore!” at her and smashing the side of her head into the ground as he threw her down. He’d intended on cutting her throat, but when he was blindsided by a bundle of bright orange, white, and purple fur, he only managed to cut her leg before he was driven off by the Kitsune.
Of course, just a cut on the leg is proving to be very grim indeed.
Toryn licks the raw flesh of her face with a concerned whine, breaking her out of her reverie. The thin piece of dress she’s holding against her wound to staunch the bleeding is already soaked through.
Gwendolyn hisses through her teeth as the wind probes her wound with icy fingers. This doesn’t look good.