There was the desire to offer comfort, whether through speech or touch, but it was not difficult to tell that that wasnât what Phobos desired. But Ajax took no offense to it, after all, he understood the instincts of a wounded animal better than most. As Phobos spoke, he carefully peeled back any clothing that remained along his torso, violet hues examining the wounds he could see. Ajax would be the first to admit that he was not a healer by mere talent alone; he had never, and would never be as good at it as his brother. But he had been taught the same things in his youth, and knew how to apply them, even if it wasnât an element of his domain. And in this situation, he would do everything he could to aid his mate.Â
The wounds around his heart could not be healed from mere cleansing, herbs and stitches ⊠but he reluctantly left the fearerâs side to retrieve those things nonetheless. He would need them eventually. When he returned, it was also with a hearty supply of food, which he himself would need thereafter. They were all set aside, except the warm cloth, which he used to cleanse away some of the blood, so he would know exactly what he was working with. Ajax was immeasurably thankful that Phobos returned here â surely there were others who could heal him, but these did not seem the type of wounds that would heal on their own in time. Whether he wanted the affection or not, Ajax offered it with a hand smoothing blood-matted hair away from Phobosâ features, before both pressed fingertips alongside the wounds of his chest.Â
Claws grazed sun-kissed skin, but did not break it, and although the prince attempted to hide it from his features, ever so often they shifted from the onset of pain. But it was only a flickering, like the strike of lightning; gone in a moment. Violet hues darkened ever more, but were entirely focused upon the task at hand. Slowly, the veins in Fearâs chest were mended, fiber by fiber. Next followed muscle strands, which were fused back together, stitching across what had been gaping holes in his torso. Lastly, flesh knitted together and not even a scar marred it when he was finished. He paid no mind to the ichor that spilled down his own torso, or the way his breath hitched each time his chest rose and fell. The sensation was dizzying, left him blinking languidly in an attempt to see past it. Instead, he reached for a handful of food and shoveled it down his throat. It didnât heal him entirely, but it was enough to steady his vision.Â
That warm cloth was brushed along Phobosâ torso again, to rid it of any remaining ichor. When he spoke, his voice was raspy and much deeper than usual, but no remnants of any of the pain he felt could be heard within it. âWhere else?âÂ
The method Ajax used to heal his wounds was not one Fear favoured. Above his humiliation, Phobos felt greater emotional pain knowing his mate suffered because of his selfish desires. But unlike all the other times, Phobos could not waste time recovering. He could not lie in bed, sick & wounded with ichor staining the sheets, with promise of recovering over the course of a few weeks. No. Such luxury was not his to obtain. They were coming - they wanted more than just the blood of Aresâ brood; but what more exactly, Phobos was unsure. All Phobos knew was that he would not risk the lives of his family; the lives most precious to him.Â
As the wounds were being healed Phobos could feel a painful scratching-like sensation in his chest. This was undoubtedly from having the veins repaired and all the bone and tissue along with it. Nonetheless, it was a strange feeling which caused Phobos to squirm a little. Such rapid healing was not something Fear was use to. As a child, his father had always taught him to embrace each wound he recieved. Once, Ares even refused Phobos treatment when the wound could have obviously killed him, all out of the desire of making his son strong. These lessons, although tough to learn, proved a great benefit to Phobos in later years. It gave him the strength to bare most extents of pain and to heal himself on his own terms. But this ... this wound, this pain, could not be ignored. The weapons which had inflicted these wounds were of divine origin; They could do all sorts of damage to a God.
Although they had not been asked for, the gentle and affectionate touches did offer some comfort. There was a moment during the attack that Phobos though he may never feel that touch again; a thought which was admitted to Ajax through the subtle breath which Phobos exhaled upon the touch.
When the healing process was done, Phobos lowered his head. Heâd barely looked at Ajax the entire time they were together, for obvious reasons. â---- Iâm fine. That was the worst of it ... the rest will heal on its own.â that was a lie, but Phobos was skilled enough to look after the other wounds on his own. âYou just focus on yourself now. I know that took a lot out of you ...â At first he was hesitant, not daring to reach for the other. But as a few silent seconds passed by, Phobos finally reached out a hand, clasping a piece of Ajaxâs tunic. â------- ÎÎŻÏαÎč ÎșαλΏ?â
