Paldor had left the den, spring was in the air and soon enough the mothers would be going into their dens to birth their pups, he didn't know who all Ishtar had yet for healers but they would need to talk about this and he would need to gather them and those with nothing better to do, hopefully they would be able to gather the herbs needed to stem the blood and fluids that would spill forth. He doesn't walk as proudly as he may have once done, he walks with a wobble, his kinked tail having caused him the worst amount of pain. He would get that wolf back for what it had done to his tail. A low snarl leaks from his lips, a new age has arisen within the pack of Iromar, he had not been blessed with the outcome of the battle, only knowing that he would find himself in harms way. Which... for a war isn't to hard to speculate. He had seen his own body bloody, blurs of color swirling around him. Swarmed. He had known he would be swarmed but as bad as it had come out to be he was worse for wear then most wolves here probably, not being a fighter by nature.
The
pilose of his sides had been pulled free in the cleaning to come after the battle, though it was bauld for the time being small thin hairs had begun to re-grow in place of those removed, his limp is staggered, like a drunk man that walks down an alley way, thinking the walls are closer than they really are. He stumbles down a path, falling into a tree as a growl rips through his being, the pain is still excruciating but he has done his damnedest to not let the children or Ruvindra see it, he hasn't let anyone see how much he yearns to just lay down and not get back up again. But he pushes on, if nothing else than for them. Even in his newly attained position he fears without regaining the stability of his body that he would be unable to preform the tasks required of him. Even if he where immobile we are sure that he would still be able to dream, only then he might become more of a burden on the pack, and he didn't want to be that.
He leans up against the rough bark of the tree breathing in ragged breaths as his head lowers black nose nearly touching the ground as he squeezes his eye's shut.
"NO!" he grinds out between clenched teeth.
"Yes! yes that's right! YOU ARE A BURDEN!" "I am not!" he growls out as he pushes his body off the tree and continues his drunken walk through the mists of Iromar doing his best to listen for the sounds of labour from near by dens without getting to close to cause a scene with his stumbles. So far the night seemed as if it would be fruitless, his mind continued to wander to different things, Ruvindra had not come to him to seek more pups and for that he was thankful, he doubted highly that he could have preformed as she wished.
It was as he rose up to the metephorical head of the loop he was taking around the pack's den sites he came upon Ishtar's death littered den and the pungent aroma of after birth and rank blood. Mixed with the scent of the rotting bodies from a distance the smell would be thought of as a bloody meal, to the trained nose of a man who'd smelled it a few times before he knew that something was not right. He tried his best to pick his way through the maze of bones, but his crooked tail was wreaking havoc on his directional path and he ended up tripping over a rather large gator skull, his face smashing into the ground just shy of a bottom jaw of another gator. Unblinking white eyes stared at the sharp teeth just inches from his nose.
"Son of a bitch..." he whispered to himself.
Scrambling to all fours he wobbled closer to the den, his nose didn't move further past the entry-way a whine escaping his lips as he felt a wave of smell wash over his body.
"Ishtar," his voice leaks through teeth held tight with a flexing jaw,
"do you need aid?" he asks his voice low, he had gathered his own stash of poppy seeds that he was starting to take on a much more regular basis than he probably should be, he claimed it was for the pain, but who knows what pain is real and which is imaginary these days. He was still capable of doing his job, it helped, atleast that's what he keeps telling himself.
"this is how he speaks"
"The voices in his head"
arctic wolf | male | seven | mystic | Ruvindra | no bond | iromar