[ P ] you wouldn't believe your eyes

**set before the war when hask was injured**

"Haskell!" he called out as he searched the streets of Rionna for his son. He was frantic in his search because it was not common for either Haskell or Sheik to disappear for long, if at all. Sif kept a watchful eye on them and he did too but a part of him couldn't help but to blame himself. He had thought they were safer here, he'd lifted his guard a little and look where it got him. As he passed each wolf on the street, his heart sunk further and further into his stomach. Some looked at him like he was crazy and others ignored him completely but none of them were Hask, so he didn't care. Khepri paused and looked up and down the street. The world around him carried on like nothing was happening, like he didn't matter. He swallowed and continued walking until he reached the edge of town where he didn't have to see the stall vendors and passerby's staring at him any longer. In reality not many were paying attention to him but he couldn't help but feel like all eyes were on him during his manic search. He wondered if Sif were having better luck... he sure hoped so. He lifted his muzzle and sniffed the air, trying to catch a whiff of that familiar scent and he swore he caught it on the wind, towards the trees on the edge of town but something else caught his attention as well. The scent of blood. His stomach tightened and his heart finally leapt back up into his chest, hammering heavily against his ribcage as he wrestled with the fear that that smell belonged to his son. Please, let it be anyone else, he selfishly thought. As he walked off the beaten path and into the woods, he thought he heard movement. "Hask, is that you? Are you okay?" he called out again, his voice wavering as nausea settled in. The world started spinning as fear lanced through him. If something terrible had happened to the boy... he didn't know what he would do. "..."

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With each little step, he felt more and more woozy, fighting to stay conscious at least long enough until he was in the warm embrace of someone he knew. As grateful as he was for the man with him, he was anxious and uncertain about the man’s real intentions. His fur felt like he was made of electricity with each movement he caught in the corner of his gaze, jumping a bit each time the man got at all too close, anticipating fang to crash into his pelt with the same force as the half faced man. He felt bad for it, he truly did, not wanting to be afraid of him. It was just hard, everything, everyone he caught the glimpse of made him want to crawl into his mother’s arms and never leave them again. He should have never taken off. That thought was a constant, feeling so stupid for venturing so far away when mama always told him to stay in her view. Tears brimmed at his eyes, wanting to escape again with each painful step that jostled the damage but more so for the self pity he was living with than the pain. They were almost to the markets though, they were getting close to where he had last been with her but her scent was stale, so was his big sister’s. He wanted to call out for them but felt like it would be futile, probably would just draw another stranger to him. He’d slow, wanting to take a rest for a few minutes, feeling so weak and tired. “Can you-” he started to speak but would abruptly drift off at the sound of a voice he knew all too well. “Papa?” he perked, whirling around toward the direction his name had come from. A sudden spark of energy would propel him to take off, running unbalanced toward the sound until a flare of gold would flood his vision and he’d let loose tears. “Papa!! Papa! I'm here!” he called out before colliding into a warm tawny timber without any restraint, sinking into the older man with all his weight and ignorant to the blood he was more than likely getting onto him. “I’m sorry. So sorry papa,,” he whimpered, pressing his tears into his father’s coat, slacking more and more into him as that bit of energy fled as quickly as it came. A sharper whimper sounded from him out of pain as what was left of his tail compulsively wiggled with happiness, reopening the fresh wound his savior had just stopped oozing. “I so sleepy…” he breathed, slipping more and more from this world as it dimmed around him. At least he was safe now and he was letting it win now, sinking more, accepting the sleep he had been struggling so hard to fight. -hask fades to unconsciousness-

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Savard had managed to escort the pup as far as the edge of town with not so much as a whimper from the pup. Metaphorically, at least. He was young, far too young for this to happen, but for him to go on as he had, his strength impressed even his cold heart. Hell, he was half-expecting to have to carry the wolf out. His haphazard gamble had seemingly paid off, his bleeding somewhat under control for the moment. But who knew if that would last. Despite all the good that he had done for the pup, however, there was no sense of adoration or dependency shown his way, fortunately. He spoke only when needed, followed because he had to. It was true what they said… animals like wolves and stags will frighten of others easily, unless if they have no choice. It was nothing cultural, but something purely instinctual, base, that despite it not being taught, is passed down time after time after time. The older male was thankful for that, for the last thing he wanted in this life was to form a friendship with a wolf like this.

But as he led his temporary companion in the direction of the only medical person he could think of that would help him, a voice rang out, a male one at that. And then he saw him, a diminutive ripple of gold and tan fleeing this way and that, calling out a wolf’s name. It could have been any wolf, but that’s when the pup spoke his name. Papa. It had to have been the boy’s father, a preened, groomed specimen of a wolf. And as he drew closer, he reeked of kind scents, perfume perhaps. And he looked panicked on his face, panicked and fear-driven, as if it were the worst thing to have ever happened to him. Well… it was, perhaps, the worst thing to happen to someone. For someone who had been so reckless… he at least cared about his actions. Sometimes, though… it wasn’t about who was right or wrong, and a lot of times, there wasn’t someone in the right or in the wrong. Sometimes, terrible things just happen.

Overwhelmed in joy and relief, the pup charged at his father with every ounce of strength he had left in him, embracing him, apologizing for his actions. But the pup hadn’t realized how wounded he really was, and at that moment, Savard’s handiwork came undone, as with the excitement he now felt inside him, the pup’s movements caused the sap to give way, and the wound began to gush again, and in a moment, the pup lost his last ounce of strength. He had done what he could for the wolf, and up to that point, nothing else mattered other to Savard other than to do what he had set out to do. He wanted to save that pup, he needed to, and if his perfume-furred father was going to stand there idly watching his own son die, Savard would do all he could to make sure that that embrace wouldn’t be their last.

As if he were unseen by either of them, Savard strode forth, and at once sank his paws into the pup’s wound, clutching at the source of the bleeding with all his might. “He got attacked outside of town,” Savard said in a rushed voice, “he hasn’t stopped bleeding since it happened. Help me, and your son lives.” Savard’s assertive tone to the father, a wolf who in his own estimation looked as if he had never worked a day in his life. But he wouldn’t talk that way in front of him then, for there was something far more important to do. Either way, he was about to get his paw dirty, whether he wanted to or not. “Help me carry him to the tavern across the way there.”

**set before the war when hask was injured**

Khepri would get his answer as Haskell called out to him. A breath left him as the young boy ran into him and it was the scent of blood that had his own running cold. He looked down at Haskell, who seemed fine until he saw the red painted across him. His tail was gone and he was drenched, reeking of the vile substance. He grew dizzy with sickness at the thought of his son being so hurt... being beyond his care... that... He wanted to hurl his guts out but he had no choice but to re-center and refocus. Haskell began to fade into unconsciousness, no doubt from blood loss, and Khepri was left face to face with a stranger who now held his paws to the wound. The man told him that he'd been attacked outside of town and then directed him to a tavern across the way. Khepri's heart began hammering in his chest and he nodded, grateful for the help. "Let's go." he said before picking Haskell up by the scruff. Together they could handle the boy easily but alone he'd be half-dragged and that would not suit his injuries. As they burst into the tavern he set Haskell down near the door and called to anyone who would listen. "My son needs help! We need something to stop the bleeding, anything!" he called out. Thankfully the barkeep had some herbs stashed away that might do them some good. Simple, plentiful herbs like Yarrow would do perfectly for this. He took the herbs from the man and immediately began chewing them up before placing them upon the oozing wound. He was almost glad his son was not awake for this, as he knew it would sting horribly. A few moments passed and it seemed the blood was beginning to clot. The clamor of the tavern settled and he was left with this stranger and his boy in the din. "T-Thank you... uhm... " he paused, realizing he did not know the man's name. "Thank you..." he said again, closing his eyes and laying down on his stomach so that he could be closer to Hask. He didn't know what else to do but moniter him until he was stable enough to move. "We don't... we don't live far from here," he said, lifting his muzzle and looking up at the man again. Maybe together they could get him home safely. Sif would be all over him the moment they arrived, but he would need more herbs to fight infection and food and water to replenish all that he had lost. He was in a precarious state right now and Khepri had to be careful. "..."

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A frenzied rush towards the nearest tavern ensued, with the father taking the reins as he sought out something that would help his son, anything. The tavern-keeper seemed prepared to handle a bleeding child, no doubt from the frequent occurrence of brawls in their establishment. The wolf seemed poised to do all he could to help his son out in the moment, chewing them up and placing them atop the wound. Savard could only watch in slight intrigue as the blood-flow slowed down, enough for the father to breathe a sigh of relief. He felt it would be over, besides the explanation he would have to give… that and perhaps a more proper way of thanking the stranger for his deed. They were Tiamats, after all, so that surely meant that they had certain means at their disposal. And yet… it appears that what this diminutive wolf had in mind for what it meant to help his son, and what Savard knew had to be done, were two very different things. The pup seemed comfortable, asleep, and they’d done what they could to get the wound to clot. But wounds like this… they weren’t deep gashes that could be simply wiped away with magical weeds. Savard knew that there was only one way he knew of to make sure the wolf didn’t die. It was good for the pup, at least, that his father was there to give his wound the nice and gentle treatment. It left Savard to do what was the right one, in his mind. The older wolf was almost deaf to the other wolf’s words as he looked around the establishment, taking up in his jaws a large wooden plank, one that the tavern keep surely intended to use eventually. He brought the plank over to the fire, dropping one of its ends into the flames. It was only then that he turned back to the wolf, a look of concern on his face. It was time to break the news, wasn’t it? “I’m not one for small talk, so save it for later,” Savard simply remarked, “those herbs are only gonna do so much for him. I may not have gone to a fancy school or trained with folks… but let’s just say I’ve been down this road before.” His eyes glanced towards the now enflamed piece of wood, as if to indicate what had to be done. Haskell had said something about his father being a doctor professor… but right now, he was going to do as he was told. As Savard went to the fireplace, pulling the log out as he blew the flames of it off, leaving it a smoldering reminder of pain to come. “Curse me out all you want after this,” Savard said, as he bent down to take the unburned end into his jaws, “just hold him down and make sure I don’t miss. You don’t want me to do this twice.”

everything he touched fell apart

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**set before the war when hask was injured**

The wound was still bleeding and Khepri's stomach began to churn as the man lurched for something out of sight. He turned to follow him, honied eyes glazed with what could be seen as fear for his son. His clouded mind could not register what the other was doing with the wood until its burning edge was nearly in his face. Khepri steeled himself as he realized what the stranger was going to do and it was perhaps his sons best shot during this emergency situation. He swallowed and gripped the unconscious boy in his paws. It was good he was not awake for this but if anything this would rouse him. "D-Do it," he stammered. He managed, somehow, to not close his own eyes as the simmering edge met Haskell's oozing wound. The herbs would be burned up in the process but those were replaceable. His son, was not. As quickly as it happened, it was over, and Khepri's heart was hammering in his chest. The wound would not likely bleed after that unless someone ripped off the burned scabs right away, which they would do no such thing. "..."

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For as reckless as he had been letting his own son get so far out of sight, the elder Tiamat didn’t hesitate to consent to what needed to be done. There was a look of fear in his eyes, of concern, of dread. He knew better than anyone else in the tavern that this was on him, that he was responsible. If that pup’s mother were still alive, something Savard himself did not know nor very much care, she would never forgive him for his actions. But his head was in other places at that point, obviously, because he would rather have to explain his son’s injury over his son’s death. But for Savard? Savard too had thoughts of his own, about the situation. Funny, how this supposed scholar never seemed to question how Savard came to know his familiarity with cauterizing. He wondered if him doing this was somehow an indication of his good, upstanding character. He knew how to treat these wounds, he probably told himself, because he too was a doctor, a healer, a good man, through and through. But Savard knew how and why he used to cauterize… and most of the times he did it, they weren’t times that the wolf he did it to needed it, per se. Sometimes he’d be so rough with them, they’d scream out and cry for anyone, anything. They’d wish they were dead, that the russet-pelted wolf would just stop. Savard remembered the taste of their blood on his tongue, when he had taken their tails, only to cauterize those wounds to keep them alive, to prolong the suffering. Wasn’t it ironic, that this was who he was now? That in the eyes of some wolf who didn’t know a fucking thing about him, he was a saint for using his talents to heal an innocent pup. All because there was nobody left in this world who could prove a fifth of the terrible things he had done, besides himself. Was this ablution fair to anyone but himself? Was it- The hot timber had pressed into the pup’s wound for far too long, so much so that the fur around the area had practically singed itself. He, too, had burned himself, burning his own paw. Savard came back to reality, taking the log away as quickly as he could, throwing it aside and out of sight. It had worked at least… but no doubt that he had overdone it. Should that pup ever wake up, he might not know a day without pain for quite a while. Or maybe he was overreacting, a part of him torn by what he had seen in his own mind at that moment. He should have never helped the pup, he should never have come here. But alas… the pup was alive because of him. And then again, so many were dead for the same reason. “It’s done.”

everything he touched fell apart

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**set before the war when hask was injured**

It was done and miraculously, Haskell stayed unconscious for the length of it. It was time to get him back home now so he could rest and recover. "Thank you," Khepri said as he looked up at the stranger before him. He drew in a breath and came to a stand, feeling the aches in his joints from his body tensing. He stretched his legs before looking to other man again. "I need to take him home now. He'll need medicine when he wakes." The wound would likely be very painful until it healed over-- even with pain mediation. A sigh left his lips and he hoisted the boy onto his shoulders to carry him home. "Your kindness will not be forgotten," he promised before disappearing out the tavern door and into the streets of Rionna. If this were a normal situation and not an emergency he would have stayed and talked to the man, learned his name and perhaps made a friend but he had to get Haskell home where he was safe. [ exit khepri ] "..."

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The kid was gonna make it. He might have an ugly scar to remember this day by, maybe the occasional pain, but then again who doesn’t have that? Most would have been relieved, happy even, that this was over. But there was a certain emptiness in Savard as this came to an end. He was… surprised, how happy the boy’s father had seemed by it. It wasn’t exactly a feeling he was used to, even as a working professional. They seemed to be two very different souls, but as their clamoring came to a close, they at least had common ground on one thing. It was time for them to part ways. Savard wanted nothing more than to walk this off. He had done a good thing, a noble thing that most would be celebrated for. But never him. He didn’t do it for the recognition though. He did it, for perhaps one of the few times in his life, because it was the right thing to do. And then, there was also the other thing. The kid’s life was saved regardless of who he was. But the fact that he was an heir to an especially well-known family, one who was no doubt wealthy, that was something that ought to be remembered. His kindness wouldn’t be forgotten, the wolf said, scurrying away with his youngster in tow, back to their home. As Savard stayed there, he wondered to himself, would it? Could it? He was barely making end’s meet as it was, the occasional job getting him by. He could use a friend like the Tiamats in his life. Of course… he had a sense of integrity of what that exactly meant, but at the same time, wolves ought to keep their word. And for Savard, he had little choice to make sure this Tiamat did exactly that. [Exit Savard]

everything he touched fell apart

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