11-16-2017, 02:17 AM
The poor dear only stirred the slightest bit at Femur’s nudging and murmuring.
She did not take that to be a good sign…
It meant the damage was massive. More so internally than what had been done to the flesh and bone of the mare lying in the sand. Femur cannot imagine how that must be - to feel destroyed inside and out. Could not even fathom it despite the fact that it was something her father did time and again to those he coveted, except for her mother - Sinew had been spared Pollock’s attempts to induce fear in her, mostly because Sinew lacked fear as much as she did most feelings besides lust and love. So she could grasp the concept of such destruction but to find the mangled aftermath of it here on the sand?
One wing halfheartedly rising than falling back to the mare seemed like a signal of defeat to Femur. She could only look on and continue to encourage the mare to not give up through touches that were for Femur, rather kind and hopefully not too obtrusive to the broken skin. Then she sees the eyes open and try to focus, and the mare is up and stumbling to her feet. Femur backs up, giving the mare space as she realizes she is startled. Poor thing probably had no expectation that someone would stop and help her after the things she’s been through… But the mare falls down again and gives up, wings splayed without much care as if she was staged for flight but bound to the earth in a terrible manner that suggested gravity had taken too strong a hold of her.
“Am I in hell?”
That lone question lances through Femur. She may not be the most forgiving character to stand on these shores or the nicest, something about this poor mare’s plight had struck a chord in her that made her linger there, uncertain of how to help but knowing that she needed to do something. She cannot blame her for asking though. Femur, fanged and unknown, is perhaps a bit hellish at times but not now, she is about to give a sad demure shake of her head when the two mares find themselves no longer alone --
Femur does not know him, but then she would not know anyone that was not her lover. She has kept to the places that Longclaw has shown her that are private and mean something to her. But the blood and the pain had drawn her out. Things she would adore if meted out under the right circumstances but nothing about this had been right for the mare lying on the sand, defeated and questioning if she is in hell now. She gives him a cursory glance as she sniffs him out; he smells of here but elsewhere, a mix of scents that suggest he has been away and now come back.
He also doesn’t appear to be a threat to either of them, not that Femur would mind if he was - she’d just turn invisible and slowly disappear until he lost her scent and her track. But something tells her he’s here to help and besides, she can’t leave the poor dear defenseless on the shore! She is anything but a champion, least of all one of broken and abused mares and so, all she can do is watch the empathetic reaction the stallion shows towards the fallen mare. “Is she though?” she questions softly, because how are they to know who did this to her? Her black eyes pin him with a questioning stare, knowing he is trying to help but they’ve no information as to what happened or who did this to her.
Femur is not one to try and question the mare now. It seems too personal, too traumatic to pry into things like that. She does not doubt his intentions about ensuring the mare’s safety but whoever did this had been certain to drive home a point from the amount of abuse she had sustained to just her skin alone. Shaking her head, she takes up a stance on the other side of the mare, her feet just barely kissed by the tide creeping up the shore. She drops her nose into the messy tendrils of bloodied and knotted mane, as tender a touch as Femur can muster, is pressed there to let the mare know that she is here, and not alone.
She can feel the stallion looking at her and he looks as helpless as Femur feels. It makes her like him, for the moment since she knows nothing about him, but it pulls a smidgen of trust out of her. “She’ll need more than fresh water, I think.” she concedes in a gentle murmur, not surprised that she is in agreement with him but that she had not thought of this herself. Femur was thinking more or less of how the mare needed a healer, except that she did not know any or who to even ask if there was one around. Healers seemed to keep themselves a secret. Then she remembers the mare’s question from earlier, the one that no one seemed willing to answer so she bit the bullet and did - “No, not hell though it might seem like it to you.”
Femur gives her another encouraging nudge. “You should try to get up again, we have to get you away from the tide or the salt will sting like hell. We’ll help you.”
She did not take that to be a good sign…
It meant the damage was massive. More so internally than what had been done to the flesh and bone of the mare lying in the sand. Femur cannot imagine how that must be - to feel destroyed inside and out. Could not even fathom it despite the fact that it was something her father did time and again to those he coveted, except for her mother - Sinew had been spared Pollock’s attempts to induce fear in her, mostly because Sinew lacked fear as much as she did most feelings besides lust and love. So she could grasp the concept of such destruction but to find the mangled aftermath of it here on the sand?
One wing halfheartedly rising than falling back to the mare seemed like a signal of defeat to Femur. She could only look on and continue to encourage the mare to not give up through touches that were for Femur, rather kind and hopefully not too obtrusive to the broken skin. Then she sees the eyes open and try to focus, and the mare is up and stumbling to her feet. Femur backs up, giving the mare space as she realizes she is startled. Poor thing probably had no expectation that someone would stop and help her after the things she’s been through… But the mare falls down again and gives up, wings splayed without much care as if she was staged for flight but bound to the earth in a terrible manner that suggested gravity had taken too strong a hold of her.
“Am I in hell?”
That lone question lances through Femur. She may not be the most forgiving character to stand on these shores or the nicest, something about this poor mare’s plight had struck a chord in her that made her linger there, uncertain of how to help but knowing that she needed to do something. She cannot blame her for asking though. Femur, fanged and unknown, is perhaps a bit hellish at times but not now, she is about to give a sad demure shake of her head when the two mares find themselves no longer alone --
Femur does not know him, but then she would not know anyone that was not her lover. She has kept to the places that Longclaw has shown her that are private and mean something to her. But the blood and the pain had drawn her out. Things she would adore if meted out under the right circumstances but nothing about this had been right for the mare lying on the sand, defeated and questioning if she is in hell now. She gives him a cursory glance as she sniffs him out; he smells of here but elsewhere, a mix of scents that suggest he has been away and now come back.
He also doesn’t appear to be a threat to either of them, not that Femur would mind if he was - she’d just turn invisible and slowly disappear until he lost her scent and her track. But something tells her he’s here to help and besides, she can’t leave the poor dear defenseless on the shore! She is anything but a champion, least of all one of broken and abused mares and so, all she can do is watch the empathetic reaction the stallion shows towards the fallen mare. “Is she though?” she questions softly, because how are they to know who did this to her? Her black eyes pin him with a questioning stare, knowing he is trying to help but they’ve no information as to what happened or who did this to her.
Femur is not one to try and question the mare now. It seems too personal, too traumatic to pry into things like that. She does not doubt his intentions about ensuring the mare’s safety but whoever did this had been certain to drive home a point from the amount of abuse she had sustained to just her skin alone. Shaking her head, she takes up a stance on the other side of the mare, her feet just barely kissed by the tide creeping up the shore. She drops her nose into the messy tendrils of bloodied and knotted mane, as tender a touch as Femur can muster, is pressed there to let the mare know that she is here, and not alone.
She can feel the stallion looking at her and he looks as helpless as Femur feels. It makes her like him, for the moment since she knows nothing about him, but it pulls a smidgen of trust out of her. “She’ll need more than fresh water, I think.” she concedes in a gentle murmur, not surprised that she is in agreement with him but that she had not thought of this herself. Femur was thinking more or less of how the mare needed a healer, except that she did not know any or who to even ask if there was one around. Healers seemed to keep themselves a secret. Then she remembers the mare’s question from earlier, the one that no one seemed willing to answer so she bit the bullet and did - “No, not hell though it might seem like it to you.”
Femur gives her another encouraging nudge. “You should try to get up again, we have to get you away from the tide or the salt will sting like hell. We’ll help you.”
ooc: nice Femur is weird and awkward. :/