The offered hand was really for him? "... Oh, thanks."
As she guessed, it takes a little wind-up time for Guts to find his legs from his comfortable position in the wagon. He's dense for his size, earning that protesting peep from Faler when he steps out onto the mud, grasping for the point of stability.
"Sorry." he remarks sheepishly. Once his two feet were planted on the ground, he's able to ease the wobble in his step and walk on his own. He lags behind Lashan at his own pace, aches gradually increasing and throbbing painfully. He didn't pay it too much attention as he stepped through the door. The discomfort was a familiar one.
The infirmary is busy, again, and he has nothing he can give the Apothecary but a shrug at her observation. Yep. He'd just left that morning. Not even a day had passed and he was back under her roof again with more work to give her. At least this time, he had a trophy to show for it.
"It's nothing. Just got some scratches and scrapes." he replies, parting the blanket open like a cape so she could get a look. "Head hurts, though."
The lacerations on his skin were minor, small streaks of red that had scabbed over. The result of being dragged accross rocky gravel or shards of wood jammed into gaps in his armor. The punctures from the horns were among the worst of it.
The bruises on his chest and shoulders looked uglier, mottled patterns of deep red and purple. The blotches mostly followed along the edges of the plate armor where it had been slammed against his skin. The bruising of his ribs radiated from the bottom, the bottom edge of the armor. Being thrown around by such a large creature had done its number on him, but the plate metal had spared him lethal injuries. Nothing seemed to be irreparably broken.
no subject
As she guessed, it takes a little wind-up time for Guts to find his legs from his comfortable position in the wagon. He's dense for his size, earning that protesting peep from Faler when he steps out onto the mud, grasping for the point of stability.
"Sorry." he remarks sheepishly. Once his two feet were planted on the ground, he's able to ease the wobble in his step and walk on his own. He lags behind Lashan at his own pace, aches gradually increasing and throbbing painfully. He didn't pay it too much attention as he stepped through the door. The discomfort was a familiar one.
The infirmary is busy, again, and he has nothing he can give the Apothecary but a shrug at her observation. Yep. He'd just left that morning. Not even a day had passed and he was back under her roof again with more work to give her. At least this time, he had a trophy to show for it.
"It's nothing. Just got some scratches and scrapes." he replies, parting the blanket open like a cape so she could get a look. "Head hurts, though."
The lacerations on his skin were minor, small streaks of red that had scabbed over. The result of being dragged accross rocky gravel or shards of wood jammed into gaps in his armor. The punctures from the horns were among the worst of it.
The bruises on his chest and shoulders looked uglier, mottled patterns of deep red and purple. The blotches mostly followed along the edges of the plate armor where it had been slammed against his skin. The bruising of his ribs radiated from the bottom, the bottom edge of the armor. Being thrown around by such a large creature had done its number on him, but the plate metal had spared him lethal injuries. Nothing seemed to be irreparably broken.