Finally she gave in. She vaguely felt the chair beneath her give way to the forest as she bounded through the underbrush. She saw her prey, unaware and unassuming. She leaped toward it, pinning it, her jaws poised over its throat. She feasted, blood coating her muzzle. She stopped for just a moment, pausing on the flesh of her prey, loving every moment of it. It was the corpse of a Shade man, the same one from earlier. She backed up, off the body, shaking her head. No no no no no no NO NO NO NO--
She hit her own head, shifting from wolf to woman and back every few seconds as her own claws dug into her flesh. She knelt, screaming at the ground, at herself.
Grayell had his fingers to her neck as she started to wind down, checking her pulse. He pulled her lip back, checking her teeth, lifted an eyelid and checked her eye. She was fine and finally he sighed, shoulders slumping. He knew she would be groggy, disoriented, her memories of the visions fragmented and torn. As she came back to human, she would forget the visions she saw this night, them leaving with the Garou curse that had been driven from her blood. He turned and soaked his hands in the bucket of water he kept by the fire, rubbing the last of the oil from them. She was stirring though not awake just yet so he dragged the fur from the floor and draped it around him. Something told him the last thing she would want to see when aroused from her state would be him still naked.
He ached and still bled and would need medical attention or much rest. But still, he watched over her, made sure she came through the ordeal. One hand clasping the fur at his chest, the other found her hand and held it.
Barely lucid and shivering, Margrett gazed with blank eyes.
No, no, no I didn't mean to. He was there, I could have done something. She was there, I didn't mean to kill her. I just wanted to know why. She made me kill her like she killed him-- She started to breathe in sharply, closing her eyes.
Grayell shuffled on the floor and knelt beside her. He had sought to comfort her once and failed, upset her - but it didn't concern him. Curse him for trying, he knew what pain she was experiencing. He had been through years of it. His hand left hers and lighted on her shoulder, pulling her to his chest. His heart beat strong and whilst bloody, he was warm. He laid his head on hers and said nothing, but instead only tried to be there. Something real. Something tangible.
Grayell rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. The fire was low but the room maintained it's heat. When he spoke it was soft, but with a broken voice. He was tired, loss of blood wasn't helping a great deal. But still he held her, reassured her.
I know you tried. You fought hard. You're a tough cookie Margrett. But it's gone. The whispers are it dying off. Ignore the lies. Give it time and it will pass. You need rest. Recuperate. Heal. We both do.
He remained silent for a time, minutes passing with him staring at what was left of the fire. She was warming up, her body was winding down and returning to normal. The silence lingered, a silence only because there was nothing else to be said.
After a time, Grayell chuckled; it rattled in his throat. He leaned out, looked at her for a moment.
You know, I told you to get inside. Why do I get the feeling you don't listen so good?
Grayell shook his head. He smiled and slipped to the floor, resting uncomfortably on his rear. The rug at least covered his waist but he pulled it from his shoulders, chest. Blood was still flowing, but not as severe as earlier.
Ah yeah. Turns out you like it rough miss.
He grinned at her but his head dropped, he was very tired and in poor shape. Running on fumes. Marg of course, was still injured as well. Grayell murmured the words.
Werewolves. They came for me while I bathed. You didn't listen and got in the mix. They're dead now. You're not at risk of infection at least... but you need to see to your wounds.
Oh and by the way? That's fresh blood on the floor. Lots of it looks like.
Grayell nodded with a weary head. It spun more than it nodded but he sniffed, rubbed his eyes and looked up.
Well ya know, we could just take a bath.
He chuckled, seems he made light of the situation even as bad as this.
I have some clean rags. Some herbals. In the store. Fix you right up. That or we need Zane. Bit late though and I don't think he does house calls.
Shit I'm tired though. And we didn't even make out. Bummer.
Grayell was rocking unintentionally and his words were slurring. It was obvious he was trying to be funny but there wasn't quite enough blood travelling to his brain to keep his usual wit firing on all cylinders.
Ya know, I'm out there butt naked and facing down two furry mothers... and you... first words out your mouth... is you're gonna kick my ass if I'm just trying to get in your pants. I mean, lovely pants and all but holy shit, give a guy a break alright?
Grayell slipped to his side with a groan and simply sprawled on the floor, his eyes closed. His back was far worse than his front.
Margrett growled and picked Gray up, wrapping her cape around his...more delicate parts. She frowned and opened the door with her shoulder. She'd never met Zane the doctor, but she'd heard of him and knew vaguely where he was.
Zane. You're a bit too far gone for my stitching. We need Sawbones.
Grayell stormed into his house absolutely furious and damn near tore the door off. He looked at it, spat and walked to the back of his house. His clothes were still upon the ground - along with the corpses of the two Garou he and Marg had slain. His blood was everywhere - well mostly. What it didn't cover, the Garou blood did. He could smell it, it repulsed him entirely because it was all too familiar.
He shrugged off his fur and got dressed, still fuming.
Yeah, stick around Grayell. People die every day, it's not your fault. Frickin charming. Freaking lovely.
He walked back into his house and picked up his sword, sheathed it and collected his few meager items he carried with him. His jaw was set, eyes furious the entire time. He looked about at his few meager possessions and threw his hands up.
What the f***k do I even need this crap for? It's not even MINE!
His hand rammed into the table and shattered it immediately and he stood there with bloody knuckles, his chest heaving. He was burning mad and with one last look, stormed out of his house. His old house.