The world's a little blurry,
or maybe it's my eyes,
or maybe it's my eyes,
Her knee digs into the ground, but she ignores it to take in Colt's injury, her own body tense with pain and adrenaline. The apology draws her eyes up, surprised by how easily the word takes form. The laughter is easier to swallow, the hysterics making sense more than the free admission of misunderstanding. It calms some of the anger she was burying, some of the annoyance leaking from her voice as she mutters, "That's what I gathered." She doesn't comment that a Molten tiger is enough of an oddity to warrant pause, not when the woman had already been panicked. Even if Colt had realized it was an Ancient, it didn't guarantee her safety. An Ancient in the throes of bloodlust might have picked her as the easier target, pinned and vulnerable.
But lucky for her, it was just Thal, and her bloodlust is dampened enough at the moment to control any cannibal urges that might have surfaced. So she doesn't lunge for the scraps of Mudtiger that litter the ground or abandon Colt for her horse that would have been easy prey; she runs her hands along the twisted limb, probing and assessing. It's not gentle or cautious, not the touch of someone who spends her time caring after others. It's the assessing touch of a leader who's seen enough ship injuries to make rudimentary judgement calls on severity and mortality.
Rough fingers are cradling the boot to reveal the ankle when the next comment hits her. The scoff is out before she can catch it, although the clip of her voice is too raw to be her usual level of rage, laced with a quiet resignation. "No, I doubt recognizing me would have stopped him. The bastard just missed by pure luck." If she'd made one step forward or turned a moment too late, the shadows would have left more than a scratch on her face. The thought still sends icy chills down her veins, the mix of emotions scraping at the control she tries to portray. She doesn't look up, doesn't give Colt the chance to see into the storm of her eyes. It's easier to hide when she focuses on slipping the boot off, followed by the sock to expose the swelling of the joint.
She honestly doesn't know much beyond the obvious. Colt's leg is twice the size it should be, but the skin is intact, nothing life-threatening. Thal shrugs her shoulders, the motion painfully reminding her of the blood oozing beneath the black fabric of her clothe. She pointedly ignores it as she settles back on her heels and blinks up in blunt analysis. "It might be broken, but if we get you to the fountain, you'll probably be fine."
But lucky for her, it was just Thal, and her bloodlust is dampened enough at the moment to control any cannibal urges that might have surfaced. So she doesn't lunge for the scraps of Mudtiger that litter the ground or abandon Colt for her horse that would have been easy prey; she runs her hands along the twisted limb, probing and assessing. It's not gentle or cautious, not the touch of someone who spends her time caring after others. It's the assessing touch of a leader who's seen enough ship injuries to make rudimentary judgement calls on severity and mortality.
Rough fingers are cradling the boot to reveal the ankle when the next comment hits her. The scoff is out before she can catch it, although the clip of her voice is too raw to be her usual level of rage, laced with a quiet resignation. "No, I doubt recognizing me would have stopped him. The bastard just missed by pure luck." If she'd made one step forward or turned a moment too late, the shadows would have left more than a scratch on her face. The thought still sends icy chills down her veins, the mix of emotions scraping at the control she tries to portray. She doesn't look up, doesn't give Colt the chance to see into the storm of her eyes. It's easier to hide when she focuses on slipping the boot off, followed by the sock to expose the swelling of the joint.
She honestly doesn't know much beyond the obvious. Colt's leg is twice the size it should be, but the skin is intact, nothing life-threatening. Thal shrugs her shoulders, the motion painfully reminding her of the blood oozing beneath the black fabric of her clothe. She pointedly ignores it as she settles back on her heels and blinks up in blunt analysis. "It might be broken, but if we get you to the fountain, you'll probably be fine."
the friends I've had to bury
they keep me up at night.
they keep me up at night.
Thalassa
