Medicine...

More Valkyrien. And, strangely, Valkyrien that features little violence and no death. Intellectual property of myself, Jared G. Juckiewicz...

Even to those who bear the blood of the bound wolf, or the blood of the fox spirit, bullet holes hurt. That old tale of Silver bullets being needed to kill a Werewolf? Well the silver helps, but enough bullets will kill nigh anything. After our night attack on the Chechens, Vixen and I had more holes in us than we cared to admit. Certainly more than we'd thought. Had we been human, we'd have been in trouble. As it was, we were not in what anyone could call good nick. The surviving Chechens had taken off hotfoot after the mules we'd driven into the black. Hugin, the black-feathered, raven-like gryffon, had taken off in pursuit, hoping to find the mules first, and there was a good bet he would. Tyrone and Cutyr were busy scouring the battlefield, looting the bodies for supplies, weapons and ammo. Vixen and I were left to see to each others care. Probably a good thing. Anyone bar her comes near a wound of mine whilst I'm awake, I have to restrain myself from snapping at them. She's remarkably similar, permitting only me to tend her wounds if there be an option. We trust each other. So it is that we found ourselves in the small cave we were in, dark and dry. Probably not the best place to provide medical attention, but hey. We were both still in a partially shifted form, me a Wolfman, and her similar, bar female and fox. Blood matted our coats, much of it our own. here and there, little puckering holes could be seen, with thick, dark fluid oozing from them. A little tray was sat beside us, where we sat cross-legged, and next to it, a small camp stove, liberated from our foes. The blue flames cast flickering, smoky light over our features and the cave walls, making the shadows play and dance. Over the flames sat a small pot, filled with water from the nearby river, almost bubbling. We'd be needing that. Whilst we had brought a modern first aid kit with us, both of us favoured older ways. The leather bag next to the stove, the only other thing in the cave, contained such things as the herbs that went in the water when it was bubbling, filling the air with aromatic scents, and a little skin of Aqua-Vitae, called Usquebagh, or in these modern, fallen days, Whiskey. Making little, reassuring murmurs, I leaned in close to Vixen, taking first one arm, and then the other, and feeling up and down their lengths. She hissed as my fingers glanced over bullet holes. My hands ran over her chest, and her stomach and her back, feeling ever so gently for wounds. Her hisses were for a marginally different reason now. After I had checked her entirely, I pushed her back against the wall, and took up the little skin of spirits. I proffered her a swallow, and she took it. She shivered as it went down, and as she did, a clawed finger dug into her arm, and pried out the bullet. She snarled at the pain, and bit my shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. Without flinching, I poured a measure of spirit into the hole, and her grip tightened. I repeated the process thrice more, until every wound was empty and clear. With the healing rate of the Kitsune, they could close within a day, and within two, she would be completely fine. The vicelike grip of her jaws on my shoulder eased, and she drew back, her eyes apologetic. We washed her wounds with the herbal decoction, and then it was my turn. I leaned back, bracing my back against the wall. She proffered me a dram, but I shook my head. Small as she was, her losing control and biting my shoulder, whilst sore, was an inconvenience. Were I to do the same, that arm would be useless unless bound properly till it set. Without even that slight fortification, I gritted my teeth. The pain was like lances of fire digging into my flesh, worse than the first blow, worse even than the dull throb of the wounds, but they had to be cleaned. As she finished the task, she turned round, and sat next to me. Rest would be sufficient now, rest and food, and we had an entire field of corpses on which we could feed. But later. Dusk. For now, we would sleep. The flame of the stove went off, darkness returned to the cave. I could feel her lithe, furred form leaning into my good shoulder, a taloned hand stroked my side, and there came a sigh of contentment. I stretched out a bit, easing the tension in my muscles, and gathered her in close, holding her tight. And sleep took us.