GAHRYE
Dammit.
She got his ribs.
Gahrye grunted, shoved backwards with surprising force as Elia whirled and ran from the room, her tail a serpentine of her fear and aggression. Kalle was already on the floor next to him, wide-eyed and reaching for his chest before he got himself back up to sit.
"Gahrye, you're bleeding!"
"It's fine," he muttered. "It'll heal in a day or two. They're not deep." There were three gashes and a scrape on his ribs, only two were deep and they weren't bad. They stung like he'd been stuck with a fucking jabberthorn, though. He'd have to poultice the wounds to make sure there was no infection from her claws.
"Gahrye!" Kalle snapped as he tried for the third time to push her hands away. "Let me look at it. Anima claws can cause serious infection here."
He pressed his lips thin, but let her look—and discovered that there was something within him that enjoyed watching her fuss over him.
