| [Jun. 14th, 2009|08:22 pm] |
She looked with longing after the clone, setting aside the desire to go help. Helping meant action. Meant not having anyone poke or prod at wounds, or even mention they were there. Meant not having to think beyond the moment.
She sighed and sat down, leaning more on her good shoulder than the other, so that one forepaw barely touched the wooden planks at all. It took barely any motion to tip her head into Asuma's palm, closing her eyes halfway -- still watching the medic -- and enjoying the feeling of strong fingers sinking into fur. "Not that stiff," she murmured, ears relaxing. She swept her tongue across his pulsepoint; the only way she could get a scent off him. "'S just matted fur." Which was partially true, anyway. Blood was drying slowly across her back and under her jaw, sweeping the hairs up into a scabbed mess. It pulled on already injured flesh. She'd have to break it up at some point -- a quick roll on her back would do it. Get everything bleeding again, too, but at least she'd have movement.
But it wasn't the whole truth, and hiding an injury could get someone killed. Her ears slicked back against her head. "I'm a little sore," she muttered at last, "and my shoulder's off. But nothing bad." Nothing she wanted to think about, either.
Nothing like the wounds Asuma was currently wearing -- lashed and broken and beaten to a pulp. At least his clones didn't have skull fractures. Maybe she could convince him to sit still and be quiet until they got home. That would take a miracle on far too many levels to count. |
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