Warnings: Hiding an Injury, field cauterization, manipulation, poor medical practices
Summary: Sturm organizes a small group of Blood Claws to go foraging and hunting for food, while he tends to the fire.
The heat of the fire felt good as Sturm sat next to it, stirring the coals with the edge of the chainblade he was using to make sure that the wood that the Blood Claws had brought were thoroughly immersed in the flames. He takes in a deep breath, scenting the ragged squad of young pups and smiled, none of them smelled as if they were in pain, or badly injured. Good. “Go on then, in pairs. Hunt the beasts of this feral world so that we can have good meat filling our bellies, and any edible berries or vegetables that grow wild in this forest. I’ll tend to the fire.”
“But sir! It’s close to nightfall, and our vox-comms are down! How are we going to stay in contact with one another while hunting?” Marki asked, the leader of the pups asked, squinting at him as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“Sometimes you don’t have the luxury of being able to stay in contact with your brothers, while on missions like this. Survival demands that most of us go hunting, and you young pups need all the practice that you can get. I am going to be tending to the fire, as the eldest among us, I know best how to make sure to reduce the amount of smoke it creates as it burns, and how to properly build up the heat to a good cooking temperature.”
Olke chuffed “You better not fall asleep while we are out hunting, greybeard. Like how we found you dozing in this forest hours ago.”
“Bah. I’ll be fine, brat. I was using my senses to learn more about the forest I found myself in.” He rumbles, lightly swatting at the mouthy pup, an amused hum in his voice, despite the reprimand.
“I still don’t get why you refuse to open your eyes, old man. It’s not as if it’s that bright, especially as the sun is starting to set.” Vokle grouses.
“The reason I do what I do makes perfect sense to me. Now off with you! Gather food while I tend the fire.” Sturm orders, shooing the Blood Claws off with a flick of his mechadendrites and a confident grin. The younger scouts broke off into two pairs and headed deeper into the woods, grumbling under their breaths, but obeying orders.
Sturm kept up his confident stance until he was certain the pups could no longer see, hear or smell him. He slumped backwards and to the left, a low, pained groan leaving him. The hand that wasn’t keeping the sword in the heat of the fire gently poked and prodded at the wound on his side. It seemed to have mostly stopped bleeding, but even a glancing sword-cut from a Death Guard could be fatal, if it wasn’t handled immediately.
None of the pups had the necessary medical training to help him. Sturm sung battle-chants and hymns to the All-fathers and to Lord Russ as he brought the searingly hot blade to his injured side, pressing the heated metal against the injury. His flesh sizzled and Sturm clenched his jaw tight around one of his gauntlets in order to avoid howling in pain, and alerting the pups to his injury.
Sturm didn’t want them to worry. Not about the sword wound that he had just cauterized. Not the fact that his mechadendrites were half-functional from a bad bolter round to the back, not the fact that his eyes had been sliced to blindness by a particularly sadistic and lucky Chaos Bastard. Carefully, the techmarine unraveled the bandages covering his eyes, reapplying the salve that kept any wayward Chaos Corruption or infection at bay, before re-wrapping the bandages.
The Space Wolf wheezed a little and leaned on his good side as he waited for the pain from his newly cauterized wound to die down, ideally before the pups came back and discovered that he had hidden his injuries from them. It wasn’t as if the pups could do much to help them, and revealing how badly hurt he was would only stress them out further. He would see the pups get to safety - there was enough pollution in the air that there was civilization of some kind on this planet. He just needed to survive long enough without getting sick from his wounds to see him there, before quietly submitting himself to the medicae.
PLEASE send me your silly Jester guys for an art project I'm doing for funsies. I wish to draw all the pretty little guys/gals in their frilly little outfits.
