Author's Note: mild wound descriptions, male x male. Inzi is a lion tabaxi and Wyn is a drow elf.
*
Giving up on sleep, Inzi groaned and sat up from his bedroll. The movement pulled at the wounds that crisscrossed his body. His companions slept on, exhausted from their earlier battle. The group had made a miscalculation in attacking a group of raiders. They'd won, of course, but not before damage had been done. Inzi had gotten the worst of it; he'd been in the thick of the fighting, and his size made him an easy target.
The tabaxi warrior got to his feet, teeth gritted, and moved closer to the fire. The flames had shrunk down to just the smallest tongues, peeking timidly from the embers. Inzi dropped a few branches into the coals and watched the fire spring to life. Next, he poured water into a pot and set it at the edge of the makeshift hearth to warm.
After several moments had passed, the lion grabbed the pot handle and pulled it from the flames. Softly, he limped to his bedroll and retrieved the bag beside it before moving away from the camp and into the trees. The moon was nearly full, providing enough light to walk by. Inzi finally settled himself in a soft patch of ferns that sprung up around a boulder. He leaned against the cool stone, taking a moment to catch his breath.
Inzi drew his satchel to his chest and opened the flap. He pulled out a torch, a clean cloth, a bottle of brandy, a needle, and thin sinew. The tabaxi lit the torch and shoved the end into the soft soil. Warm light spilled forth, comforting. But he didn't take the time to bask in the glow. Instead, he dipped the cloth into the pot and began to gently scrub at a nasty slash on his left thigh. Even the smooth fabric felt like claws dragging at his flesh. He tried to choke down his cry of pain, but it still escaped. The note echoed strangely against the trees. He hoped his companions hadn't heard.
Next, he washed the wound with the brandy, tears now spilling from his eyes and rolling down his muzzle. He whimpered softly as he began to stitch the torn skin back together. The lion warrior put the needle down, suddenly too exhausted to continue treating himself.
Inzi sighed deeply, wishing he had the energy or the willpower to use magic to mend his wounds. But it would be a while before he could, and these types of injuries couldn't wait any longer.
There was a sudden snap of a twig underfoot. Inzi's head whipped around, ears perked. He slid his claws out, unsure if danger lurked nearby. A figured moved between the tree trunks. A moment later, the torchlight shone against a smaller humanoid. Dark skin with a shock of white hair dangling from his head. Wyn.
Inzi felt his heartrate slow. "What are you doing here?" he grunted.
Wyn moved towards him on quiet feet. He had a bedroll under one arm and a bag slung over the opposite shoulder. "I didn't mean to scare you," he said, setting down his belongings. The young elf folded his legs neatly underneath himself, red eyes glowing warmly in the torchlight. He was usually so much louder and clumsier than this.
Sighing, Inzi leaned back against the boulder, head tilted skyward. "It's fine. Is everything alright?"
