| May. 6th, 2007 @ 11:51 pm (no subject) |
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He emerges into the small clearing that he's used once before -- stumbles, in truth. His foot catches on the outskirts, causing his leg to give way, and he tumbles to the ground. The fall knocks the wind out of him, and he lies there on his side, panting, eyes closed, breath stirring the grass next to his cheek.
He's covered in a variety of small cuts. These are already beginning to clot, forming small, prickly scabs. A couple of deeper gashes are still oozing faintly, tearing through cloth to his chest and arm. These will require more attention. Aside from that, the dark clothing he wears, his face and hands, are dotted with blood. Blood is drying, already tacky, on the curved blade of the kusarigama still lingering in his hand.
He rolls to his back, eyes still closed, taking long, deep breaths through his nose, outward through his mouth. Rest. He wants to rest.
He has the good sense not to do so. Again, the deeper wounds need attending to. With a last release of breath, he pushes himself into a slow sitting position, hand lifing a shoulder guard to seek out a small hinged shell. He examines the wounds. Not so bad.
He sets to work.
((*waves shyly* I'm a bit sporadic, aren't I? Thread is open if anyone would like to respond. ^^;; )) |
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