Her scream is muffled against his hand as the red hot metal burns against her side, but she does not bite. If it weren't for Deimos holding her down, she would have lurched upright and likely sliced herself open on the very tool that is staunching the flow of blood, the very thing keeping her from dying out here, on this battlefield.
Is it rain, or tears that blur her vision now? She blinks rapidly to try and clear her eyes, but when that fails she simply squeezes her eyes shut, clutching at Deimos' forearm and trying simply to withstand this new, life-saving pain.
And when it's over, she chokes out a broken sob and just breathes as best she can.
He holds it onto her, blank faced in the face of her pain. But it is more training, and determination to see this is done. Some part, some loud, demanding part, writhes at her suffering. Demands something - he doesn't know what, exactly. But to end what causes it.
He doesn't think on it long. He never does.
But he arranges what could loosely be considered a pillow for her, though it's no more than a cloak and gently pushes her back. "Breath, breath and rest."
She's trying, really trying to do just that, but it's not easy. Breathing hurts. Not breathing hurts. Movement, stillness, every possibility hurts and the idea of him leaving her side even by necessity hurts.
But she has to let him go, even just a few feet away. She points to her pack, wherever it lay, wincing and tightening her grasp on his forearm before relinquishing it entirely.
"P-poultice," she explains, and grits her teeth against the jolt that ripples up through her ribs. One of them is likely broken, thanks to that damn Venatori.
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no subject
Is it rain, or tears that blur her vision now? She blinks rapidly to try and clear her eyes, but when that fails she simply squeezes her eyes shut, clutching at Deimos' forearm and trying simply to withstand this new, life-saving pain.
And when it's over, she chokes out a broken sob and just breathes as best she can.
no subject
He doesn't think on it long. He never does.
But he arranges what could loosely be considered a pillow for her, though it's no more than a cloak and gently pushes her back. "Breath, breath and rest."
no subject
But she has to let him go, even just a few feet away. She points to her pack, wherever it lay, wincing and tightening her grasp on his forearm before relinquishing it entirely.
"P-poultice," she explains, and grits her teeth against the jolt that ripples up through her ribs. One of them is likely broken, thanks to that damn Venatori.