The beast they’d come to kill was dead, but it still took Teomitl a moment to catch his breath. It had had a long, whippy, prehensile tail he’d only found out about when it had grabbed him and flung him to the ground, and even though the soil was fairly soft this time of year it still hurt. And there were gashes on his sword arm from its claws that he’d need to take care of.
Enough about him, though. Acatl was still pushing himself up from his knees, breathing hard. He’d been the one to take it down, his knives laying open its throat and practically searing it with underworld magic, but now he didn’t look good. Teomitl didn’t like the too-careful way he was moving. “Acatl-tzin?” he called.
“I’m fine,” Acatl huffed.
That meant he wasn’t. Teomitl all but lunged to his side, tugging his—gods, bloodstained—cloak away from where he was holding it bunched over his ribs. Acatl tried to bat his hands away, but he was stronger. And if Acatl was hiding it, it had to be bad. “Let me see!”
Finally, reluctantly, Acatl let go of the fabric, and Teomitl was able to see where all the blood was coming from. It made him feel a little sick.
“You call this fine?!” he snapped, hating how his voice cracked. But he couldn’t help it; the monster’s claws had ripped deep furrows through Acatl’s soft skin, exposing muscle that definitely should not be seeing outside air. His fingers didn’t shake as he snatched up his knife and started slicing his own cloak for bandages, but he suspected that was because he couldn’t really feel them very well at the moment. He’d seen Acatl bleed. He’d seen Acatl hurt. Storm Lord strike him, he’d seen Acatl hurt much worse than this! But...but still. Men died easily, and Acatl was too stubborn for his own good.
At least the man was sitting down now and taking shallow breaths, which made it easier. “It’s just,” he started, and stopped.
Teomitl glared at him. “It’s just something that means I am taking you to a healing priest, immediately. And don’t tell me it’s extravagance! You’re,”—the most important person in the world to me—“our High Priest for the Dead, Acatl-tzin!”
Acatl grimaced. “Fine. As long as you get your arm looked at as well.”
He supposed he didn’t have a choice. But if it got Acatl to sit still and accept medical attention, he didn’t have a problem agreeing.
Obsidian & Blood, Acatl & Teomitl
The beast they’d come to kill was dead, but it still took Teomitl a moment to catch his breath. It had had a long, whippy, prehensile tail he’d only found out about when it had grabbed him and flung him to the ground, and even though the soil was fairly soft this time of year it still hurt. And there were gashes on his sword arm from its claws that he’d need to take care of.
Enough about him, though. Acatl was still pushing himself up from his knees, breathing hard. He’d been the one to take it down, his knives laying open its throat and practically searing it with underworld magic, but now he didn’t look good. Teomitl didn’t like the too-careful way he was moving. “Acatl-tzin?” he called.
“I’m fine,” Acatl huffed.
That meant he wasn’t. Teomitl all but lunged to his side, tugging his—gods, bloodstained—cloak away from where he was holding it bunched over his ribs. Acatl tried to bat his hands away, but he was stronger. And if Acatl was hiding it, it had to be bad. “Let me see!”
Finally, reluctantly, Acatl let go of the fabric, and Teomitl was able to see where all the blood was coming from. It made him feel a little sick.
“You call this fine?!” he snapped, hating how his voice cracked. But he couldn’t help it; the monster’s claws had ripped deep furrows through Acatl’s soft skin, exposing muscle that definitely should not be seeing outside air. His fingers didn’t shake as he snatched up his knife and started slicing his own cloak for bandages, but he suspected that was because he couldn’t really feel them very well at the moment. He’d seen Acatl bleed. He’d seen Acatl hurt. Storm Lord strike him, he’d seen Acatl hurt much worse than this! But...but still. Men died easily, and Acatl was too stubborn for his own good.
At least the man was sitting down now and taking shallow breaths, which made it easier. “It’s just,” he started, and stopped.
Teomitl glared at him. “It’s just something that means I am taking you to a healing priest, immediately. And don’t tell me it’s extravagance! You’re,”—the most important person in the world to me—“our High Priest for the Dead, Acatl-tzin!”
Acatl grimaced. “Fine. As long as you get your arm looked at as well.”
He supposed he didn’t have a choice. But if it got Acatl to sit still and accept medical attention, he didn’t have a problem agreeing.