eat sh*t and die } LUPEI

[Cress]

all that we have amassed sits before us, shattered into ash

There are more and more flowing into the battlefield at every moment—some of them seem like they belong, with magicks much stronger than Cress could have anticipated. Others though look as though they have never seen a battle before, or have not in a long time; some of them, much like Cress, look adrenaline-boosted but scared out of their minds at the same time. There have been so few wars in recent memory—some of them are old enough to remember the Great Valley War that wiped out the king Tatter among many loyal members of the Valley and the Chamber and Deserts. Perhaps some of them are even here.

The tides of battle are always changing, and she feels the pull of her healing as minor injuries are sustained. Those she pays no mind to—there will always be something bigger, something bloodier to heal and she can’t afford to waste her time on the minimal damages. Damage and scars are a part of war, something that these warriors will carry the rest of their lives. If she heals all of them and leaves them unblemished, she doesn’t know how many of them will actually thank her when this is done.

So the minor stuff she leaves.

A burst of flame on the horizon, different from the other flames, draws her attention from the battle for just a split second and perhaps that is enough. “Demian,” she breathes, as the horse made of cosmic fire soars overhead—he’s soaring for her. Making sure she’s safe? Of course she’s safe enough, it’s not as if she’s making herself obvious… and then Demian is on the ground and barreling into her, barreling through Flamevein’s protective barrier, shifting back into a stallion long enough to shove her out of Joscelin’s way. Oh.

Then he is screaming in agony, and Cress gasps as she sees the damage that Joscelin’s ability had caused. “Demian!” she shrieks, terrified for his life, forgetting herself for just a moment. Almost as quickly as he had fallen he is on his hooves right now, flaming eyes alighting on the mare who had attacked her. Realizing what he is about to do, she focuses entirely on his injured hip, pouring energy into him as she knits him back together the best that she can without exhausting herself. The wound is extensive, and there is no way that she can heal it completely without sidelining him for precious minutes, but she does a quick enough job to stop the pain and pull the flesh back together so that it is not a gaping, bubbling, bleeding distraction.

“Be careful,” she murmurs as he adopts yet another form, a normal horse form with wings of flame. He is darting away without a backwards glance, back into the thrill of battle with a thirst for revenge. She has to tear her eyes away; she can’t focus on Demian the entire fight. There are others that need her help. Like Killdare. The stallion who had absorbed the first of Joscelin’s light beams. He is a broken, bloody mess and his wings are so riddled with holes that if she doesn’t act fast, he’ll likely never to fly again. She has to stop and concentrate on him. He’s going to take a few minutes, at least.

When she is finally done, his wings are mostly knitted back together, and she has to pull further away from the fight, deep into the Chamber’s pine forests. She needs to recoup; after the fight she will be able to help him more, but now? For now she can’t do much else. He is on his feet, he’ll be able to continue fighting and protecting his home; hopefully he won’t die and ruin her hard work. She had not been the only one to work on him—and on Demian—but she doesn’t know who it was that aided her. Or perhaps she aided him.

Either way, with their combined abilities, the two should be fine.

It is only a few moments later that something else—called it a gut feeling—pulls her back to the fighting. Demian is arcing around Joscelin, setting the ground aflame, when a stallion appears out of thin air. Goddamn it, she’s not going to let Demian get hurt again. “Demian!” she screams not for the first time that day, bursting onto the battlegrounds without another thought. No doubt that the stallion could handle himself, but she’s not going to take that risk and let him hurt himself.

Hopefully her barrier of flames will keep her shielded from the worst of the fighting, if any decide that she would make a decent target. She is by Demian’s side in moment, maw gaping open as the fire in her chest flares to life. The once-invisible stallion is too close to not be a target, but she is aiming for anyone that she has marked an enemy; him, Joscelin, the lioness magician, all of them. The closest just so happen to be Joscelin and the newcomer.

Play with fire? Get burnt and all that jazz. Cress has no business in this fight and yet here she is.

cress

oxytocin x kindling

tl;dr: Cress gets attacked by Joscelin, Dem saves her and gets hurt. Between Cress and Rhonan, they patch up Demian and Killdare reasonably well. Cress retreats from the battle entirely but soon comes back because she senses Demian's in danger. She rushes to help Demian and breathes fire at anyone nearby, namely Ramiel and Josc.