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Snippet #1425796

located in Morrowind, Tamriel, a part of Morrowind's Salvation, one of the many universes on RPG.

Morrowind, Tamriel

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There was simply no adequate description for the stunned look across Por's face at Crow's actions at first, though she certainly seemed to find herself when he approached her to take care of the arrow, initially taking a step back out of instinct. He was a stranger but the constant, agonising throbbing that indicated wood and steel deep within her shoulder made her stop, surveying with careful, distrustful eyes before giving a nod.

Instead of following the man disappearing behind her to remove the arrow, Por found distraction in the methods that Marcelle was using to prepare the fish for cooking, the almost-silence that took over in absence of words; anything. She was not ignorant to arrow inflicted wounds. They stung, tore at the flesh if the head was jagged and it was with significant willpower that Por did not take Crow's hand off with a knife when he laid a hand flat around the wound to brace himself.

There was a butterfly landing a few feet away on a browning leaf, discarded by its tree so very late and looking quite lost in the frost that signified winter setting in proper. The Altmer smiled crookedly for a split second before pain blossomed in her shoulder, curses escaping her lips in whispers, reaching out to brace herself against a tree. Thoroughly unbalanced, no more words came from her even at Marcelle's approach, slipping down into a crouch beside the tree, pale as the snow itself.

The thief, despite the spinning her world insisted on doing, slowly looked up at Crow with gratitude and begrudging respect. He had not botched the removal – she could feel that – and for that, she was thankful.

Marcelle had a damned good point, bemusing theatrics aside. Por completely blamed her injury for her lack of tact when it had come to the current situation, feeling a little chastened. Rightly so, she mused, nodding absently towards Marcelle generally. Not even she really knew if this was an agreement to his words or simply an acknowledgement that something had been said, though the rise to stand and take a few shaky footsteps towards where the fire and food rested suggested the former.

Regaining her strength seemed like a very good idea, although Por did not entirely trust her hand-eye coordination to not sear her fingers on the disturbingly molten-looking rocks, so she waited a few moments to let the dizziness fade.

By the time that the crescent scarred man had returned to the fireside after delivering the sharp order to Crow, Por had mustered the co-ordination to pick up one of the sticks without searing her fingers, laying it across her lap on her leathers until the fish cooled enough to eat. Looking for something to keep her hands busy in the meantime, the omni-present backpack slid from her shoulders. It had been a long shot to hope that everything in there would not need to be laid out and dried but one section remained bone dry.

There was a blessing muttered to the gods, ironic considering it was technically Azura's fault everything else she owned was ruined. Still, when it was her thief's tools that were dry... small mercies. Without a care for company, Por slipped free the fastenings for her upper leathers, sliding it off her shoulders to reveal a sweat and blood stained undershirt, slipping her arms out of the sleeves before retrieving a now sodden cloth from her pack, squeezing the excess water free.

It took a few moments to manage to reach where the arrow had pierced skin and no small amount of gritting teeth to ignore discomfort that twisting so brought, but eventually Por had managed to do her best to clear the wound. Modesty eventually gave way to common sense and she discarded the undershirt almost immediately afterwards on account of how filthy it was, covering her bare skin with the leather quickly to stave off the cold.

Getting sick atop tiredness and injury was surprisingly not on her things to do list, refastening the leather loosely before picking up the fish to take a few chunks out of it carefully despite her apparent ravenous hunger that had accumulated on account of the mere smell of food. If she was at all embarrassed by her brief disrobing, there was no evidence in it.

Eyes shifted to look upon Marcelle briefly but no words were exchanged at first, the thief chewing thoughtfully. β€œThanks. Mostly for the perspective on the situation but the food's welcome as well.” The smile was fleeting but honest, directed towards Crow as well if he was within her eyesight.