Sol’s wound was starting to bleed more, and they began to feel a bit lightheaded. But he still kept on going, keeping up the attacks against the bramble of thorns. Eventually, he got through it... but so did his wound. It finally got the best of him. It didn’t take him long for him to faint from blood loss.
Do you how do? I use any pronouns :) Get in losers, we're going napping
Eventually Jova turned back--just to see if the thing was following. It was not, in fact. Instead it seemed to have fallen the moment it came out of the brambles. It did seem to be badly wounded. Jova stood there for a moment, unsure whether he wanted to carry on or see what was the matter. The creature had seemed human enough, minus the horns of course. Perhaps it needed help. "Bollocks," Jova sighed, beginning to trudge back in the direction he'd come.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Amoku heard commotion towards the right, smirking.
"Lost? Trapped? Lost and Trapped?" he wondered to himself. After a moment of wondering, Amoku jogged/swam through the deep marsh towards the voices and commotion.
Jova reached the creature and bent down, taking its wrist in his hand. The pulse was there, though it was faint. Jova removed his backpack and began to fish around for his first-aid kit. "Not sure what you are, old sport," he said, "but you can be sure you won't be dying just yet."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"Good to see you awake," Jova said in surprise. He'd been working on stitching up the creature's cloak. "How are you feeling, young fellow?"
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"You look human enough," Jova said with a shrug. "My conscience wouldn't let me leave."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"I've a tough skin, my boy," Jova chuckled, rising. He offered him his hand. "Or...I'm sorry, I'm not very well acquainted with the sex of non-humans."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"Well, I mean you've got a pair of bloody horns on your head, don't you?" He gestured. "It's not a costume, is it?"
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"Ah, dark magic. Nasty business, that." Jova wiggled his fingers and wrinkled his nose. "My apologies for assuming otherwise, then." He held out his hand. "Earl Jova Mortimer Barton IV, at your service."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
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