Davke had never been one to go to others for help, but she had been happy to find that her new home housed so many promising healers. Had she been left to tend to her wounds on her own she wasn’t sure that she would have been able. The ones on her back had now crusted over, bearing deep scars from being torn open more than a few times. If she was lucky the fur might grow back, but then again had she been lucky they likely never would have occurred in the first place. She whispered a silent curse to her mother’s spirit who she felt was haunting her to have led to such pain. The wounds on her sides bothered her less. They were shallow, and she had given as well as she had gotten in that fight. They were honorable, as she was coming to understand the word. Still, they were yet a threat all the same. Until her skin was entirely closed over she feared the taint of infection. With poultices to apply in a bag around her neck she sought a source of clean water to flush out any remaining impurities. It stung, but would be necessary each morning and night.
Snap. The trap sprung loose, narrowly missing the thinned sow as she shot through the brush. Oddmund cursed aloud, tearing the structure down with a swipe of his paw. It seemed every attempt he made lately ended the same, with an empty belly and a rapidly souring mood. To be honest, he was pretty well sick of it. But that was the life that came with his line of work. Sometimes he caught large fat prey, and sometimes he dined on bugs. Knowing that didn’t make it any less irritating. Perhaps he’d catch himself a few fish. While they were certainly not his favorite they were infinitely better than nothing. With a groan he pulled himself up from the brush, colliding straight into the lioness as she passed him by.
Davke hardly had time to react before she felt her feet lift from the ground. The contents of her pouch spilled out across the ground and she was caught up in a tangle of vines she hadn’t seen before. She hit the dirt with a crash and a loud yelp, feeling the brush sting at her wounds. “Idiot!” she heard herself shout, though the word was directed more toward herself than her unseen assailant.
Oddmund’s fur stood on end as he came to realize what he’d done. “Aw hell, I didn’t mean ta. Shoot, let me help.” He stammered, reaching out to the lioness as he tried to pull the vines from around her. Well, that wasn’t going to win him any friends. If she knew anybody he might as well go ahead and write off finding himself a wife this season, this mishap would be all they’d talk about. There wasn’t much else to say about a lion who wasn’t a reaver or a bard. Bad talk and bad rumors, that’s all that’d be left. “You alright?” he asked, hoping she was, the trapper had never been skilled with caring for the hurt. That had been more his mother’s forte, rest her soul.
“I am not,” Davke screeched, lips drawn up to reveal a snaggled snarl that served to conceal how vulnerable she felt at that moment. Pushing his paws aside she righted herself, beginning to gather up the herbs that had spilled out across the ground. As was common to her luck they had mixed in with the broken brush and she had difficulty separating one from the other. Perfect, several of those were kinds she had yet to locate around this land. And she may yet have need for them. “Careless fool,” she snapped, her accent dripping across her words, “Like bone catcher skulking around de ground.” She questioned what the male might be doing out here, but found it was often better not to question. Many of the folks who inhabited her new home seemed to be less than the friendly sort. Still, she was curious. He seemed disheveled, less put together than those that seemed to take pride in their abilities to fight and bring glory to their home. He was, in every sense, different.
He was taken aback by the anger behind her words, and for a moment he felt unable to restrain himself. “I ain’t a fool, I been here hours an you just come on in and smash it ta bits. I oughta take it outta your hide!” he snapped, giving her back the same crass snarl she had shown him. They were nose to nose now, staring each other down as he gave her a slight push back. He wasn’t keen on fighting, particularly not with someone that so clearly didn’t belong, but he wasn’t about to accept being insulted.
Davke held the stare for a few moments before breaking it, her bright green eyes darting to the side to examine the wreckage she had left behind. “My hide no for takin,” she snapped back, keeping her eyes down, “It none o your worry what be done with sticks an vine. Nahting be caught der.” With that she gave a sage nod and took two steps backward, shaking the remnants from her paws, “And nahting will.”
He blinked, watching her curiously as she stepped away before he relaxed his expression. He wouldn’t catch anything here? Well that was downright rude, he’d been catching things since she was probably a cub in her mother’s arms. “An how you figure you know that?” he asked, his tone betraying just how sour his mood had become, “I got a right to know, did you go an chase off all my pigs?”
His pigs? The lioness laughed, turning her tail toward him as relief sneaked across her face. He didn’t need to know how worried the exchange had left her, or how worried still she was that he might choose to follow. No, she only needed to ensure that he was too curious or too suspicious to feel a need to go after her. “This one did nothing, ask your gods why your pigs leave.”
Oddmund’s ears folded back. The gods? What did they have to do with the success of his catch. Maybe those priestesses had the right of it. He wondered how long it had been since he’d been to any of the pride’s religious ceremonies. Since the last time his mother had taken him, he supposed. By the time he thought to look for her the lioness had disappeared again. He felt as if he’d been played, but somehow he wasn’t angry about it anymore. Shrugging, he returned to his original path. He might yet catch some fish, even if this spot was no good.
Word count: 1139
