The fae rested her head on the base of the cave, eyeing the battered male belatedly. While there was no invulnerable feeling surrounding the time, there was the knowledge that she was going to be maintained enough to live. Still, whether she would be enabled to go back to her empire; was still very much a mystery. Though, there might not be much of an empire to return to.

If the scrawn on the cold rock did walk the earth again; and if it lived without prosecution; then, just as she was told - she would owe her savior her life, and would be there when it was time to give it up.

It was a rare occurrence for this matted female to be so down - usually, especially after a brawl, she would always be the one to see the upper side, no matter what deformation attacks may have caused. She would always be the one to acclaim others, like a spirit they never withheld with them. She would be just the same again... Soon.

Dagrun withdrew.

And when his figure curved, the luminous veins of moonlight blazed right into the cavern's entrance, torching up the ones dwelling inside, Dagrun with a prolonged glimpse back, slunk out of the grotto and forsook the imbecile to slumber in leisure whilst he, opposed his way through the shoulder-length silage solely to uncover a barren creek reside in the marsh.

With a thwart intake of breath, he descended his haunches on the marshy verge, as he sulked even further into his gashed physique. The full moon, flinging mere shafts of ray, strewed the surface of the waving water, bestrewed Dagrun's ghastly features with an ashen sheen.

Deadpanned.

That's what he was seen as. A cold-blooded aberration that foraged on screams and dread. A despotic spirit that longed to oversee his kingdom with a pursuit of massacring the sovereign. A monarch that didn't merit the coronet, the heed of further kingdoms, he was a thoughtless, narcissistic monster that flung Dagrun into a pit of fire when the war flared. With a purposeless demand to triumph, the ones that refused to endanger their lives were brutally beheaded, were flung over the ridges into a watery abyss, where the waves washed their souls away. The kingdom was condemned the moment that power-hungry wolf became the monarch. And Dagrun, the one who opposed for the crown, abided in bitter envy and loathing up until the monarchs' demise. How unfortunate he was.

But what was more consequential to him, was the intangible freedom. The opportunity to wander, wherever, whenever he chose without being penalized with a penalty of the monarchs' liking.

He had the privilege to determine.

"I shouldn't muster any longer. I must return." — Dagrun thought.

A benign wind flew around the solid dugout, trapped within its walls. Hunger overwhelmed the fae as she lay dormant on the raw rock base of the cave. Eventually, she flickered her ears before lifting her head and making an attempt to stand. Once the feeble, almost pathetic being was on her feet, any blood she had left ran straight away from her head, making her disoriented for a few seconds.

She wasn't certain on what she was to do once she was standing, for she was still impotent and profitless. Unable to defend herself, never mind going to catch what you could call a meal, nor able to eschew another soul if it were to come to it. She had not a clue where her liberator and captor had wandered off to, so if she chose to leave then she would perhaps not be out for longer than a few hours, not without being caught.

And so, the etiolated fae stumbled towards the exit of the grotto, every movement nothing but complete agony. Still, she dare not quite leave the mouth, for every little fear and the dire possibilities that washed through her brain. But she instead sat neatly at the front of the cave, leaning every ounce of her weight on the grotto wall, nauseous and sick of the musty odor the cave had held. The fresh air was a gentle soother on her open wounds, much kinder than the rough tongue on the brute who had pulled her from that wretched field.

When she finally heared the heavy, lumbering gate of the dark gate approach, her ears flickered and her head lifted, ever so slightly. When he was in her sights, she tried to hiss out a word, however not a single word came out of her. Again, she trid. "Who do you think you are?" She asked, her voice dry and worn, followed by a quiet growl as her head dipped once again.

"Hm,"—Dagrun cooed.

His remarks were, wordless. He stood there, tranquil, scrutinizing the wretched damsel with a murky pall. It was, nonetheless, astonishing of how, fast, this female had gotten to her feet and seemed, well enough, to breathlessly muster words. Yet, Dagrun was doubtful. Exchange of words cost a breath, though conducting activity would pull the thread her existence hinged on. He wasn't ecstatic to stretch that out just yet - the damsel needed a bit more time.

"You must rest."—Dagrun snorted. "Your body is still feeble, you could impair it more by moving so negligently."—He uttered and inched a few strides nearer to the damsel.

"Though, your query won't be answered. A halfwit like you should know less. Curiosity can kill a cat."—He chimed. And as he ceased his mumbling, he skimmed past, flitting his woolly tail at the damsels' forehead, as an indication. "Enough of the chittering, you're a headache to bear. You better respite, if not, you'll be stranded here to decay, I'm not a nurse, I have an incomplete duty to execute."—Dagrun told as he settled on his haunches, twisted his tail around his backside, and dipped his shoulders.

Suffocated by fatigue, he desired to succumb in the hands of slumber. Respite in the serene, soothing ambiance. He was exhausted, overburdened, and in mere discomfort. The sole treatment to mend his enfeebled physique was a sufficiently undisturbed snooze. But if this damsel would throw a frivolous tantrum, he'd have no option but to shroud her foul snout with her own guts.

"Don't sit there, like an imbecile. Settle down"—Dagrun barked.

On one of her normal days of being executive of light, the fae would have retorted and left, but for whatever reason, that did not seem safe. Any word she would have said to defend herself against the silenced insults felt as though she would be putting herself in danger. So, there was nothing to be done but to act it.

Despite the urge to push for answers, she instead stumbled to a deeper corner of the cave, submitting to the orders of the brusque lout and settling on her side. Though while the dame could try, she would not sleep.

While she would do the same for any other beast, and be nicer about it, Imber could not help but feel ashamed of having to be pulled out of the field. Others had been battered much worse and still managed to get themselves back to their Empire to care for themselves.

Surely Imber would have done just that eventually, but whether or not that was before the birds had gotten to her, she did not know. She did know that she was not pulled out of the mess of blood by the kindness of the stranger's heart. There was another reason. Whatever the ulterior motive was, seemed to be a mystery.

Imber licked her wounds and she lay in the corner, as whatever had been put on them started to itch. Of course, it meant the treatments were working, but it was overbearing. Soon, her eyes would grow heavy, and as her body requested, she let them close in rest.

Dagrun's respite, his remote wonderland concluded and so, as the nightfall alfresco; subsided into the skyline, fetching fresh, pastel azure hues to the cloudless atmosphere.

Though for Dagrun to stir, took a bit of a stretch. The mere, penetrating and fleeing sultry current fondling his wiry fur, was futile. Even, the whirring, bumblebees with their resounding buzzes seemed even more lulling. Regardless, this slumber wasn't boundless, wasn't so pleasant when the pesky, chafing flies glid in swarms, as they discerned the sheer blood reek waft in the uncanny, taken den.

Dagrun, unsettled by the endless zizzing chime in his decreased audit, clenched his snout. Though, their urge to aggravate further drew the brute out of slumber - caused his gaunt physique to ascend in leisure and soreness. He should've preened his own impairs beforehand, all before he settled, nested into the so-needed respite. But now, dulled, head to toe, with a little to no fuel prospering in his muscles, he descended on his haunches at the access of the dugout.

The ambiance outside was sunlit and sweltering, it proposed streams of sunlight, it proposed a hottish wave to flow over the charcoal brute as it sat. With the tranquility dwell, that despair, the tangible etch of it plastering on his face slacked a bit, he put his engagement on something merely interesting than the toe-curling, muscle spasming ache. The panorama, from where Dagrun sat, was exquisite, definitely dazed him now to realize what astonishing scenery laid before him.

A tough day for Dragun began.

Once the sensitive, dreary eyes peeked open, locked onto the dusty walls, the thoughts started to swirl behind those blanketed orbs, the pain and ache of the previous days started to spit through her once arrested muscles. The realization of where the fae was - of what danger she may be in. The force that was used to push the clump of dirted fur from the floor, the shortish strands pushing away from the brittle skin of the fae, was simply immense, though any pain that shattered her already tired limbs had been amplified by two.

The stiffness of swollen skin that pressed down on muscle, bones, and joints restricted any and all movement, though once the shaggy canine had gotten to her bare paws, she realized that not only was the place estranged to her but that she had been left unattended. Maybe - she was not but a captive - But Imber was not one to bet if whoever was to return, she did not dare be there, for anyone she knew would be looking for her.

Heat pulled at her wounds as she sluggishly dragged herself out of the grotto, only to be met by the sun still only just over the East end of the earth. And so, north would be her only direction.

The gentle transparent streaks of lemon coated the sitting brute; gave him the sheer glaze of golden that made his opaque color fairer. Though, his deadpanned gaze remained the same; senseless, unresponsive, treacherous.

And the little noise in the background drew that eerie stare. With a crane of his head turn to the side, he squinted and adjusted to the sudden murkiness gorge his eye. The slumbering figure he saw before, slithered out, in leisure, pained strides. And Dagrun, cringing at the proximity, at the warm stretch between, at the evident scent of her ragged breaths, and her sere blood got him slinking further and ceased his inept skulks then when the immediacy was far-fetched enough.

He stared, nonchalantly, before uttering.

"Why assail an ill kingdom, a moribund, withering motherland, that had no benefit whatsoever,"—Dagrun grumbled, but appeared frank with his inquiry.

He longed for an unpretentious, candid retort. He was inquisitive, what the king itself thought would be valuable for them. The motherland, geriatric and inadequate was sufficed with sickly, worthless wolves, that tore down mountains to get a nibble of grub, that sometimes wasn't doable.

"And as unconventional as it is, this wrongdoing of forsaking you pricked my chest, a brute nursing their rival is ridiculous enough and worse is, there aren't any regrets, "—He chimed in, again. He emitted words in a rational form, articulated what he frankly sensed at the moment when her moribund figure laid beneath his feet. Even, he omitted the "drain information" idea, after realizing that he, himself, a wounded brute would do no harm to the flourishing empire.

And with her near, he could commune, in some, bizarre forms. He felt less of an abnormal what he held himself as, a treacherous, relentless, lethal combatant. Maybe, this, damsel, a tenacious soul, would devote her time to him, in a way of altering his mindset, his, traumatic life for the better. "You can flee, if you desire so,"—He muttered, descending his throaty, gravelly voice with every breath he took. He was wild for thinking the way he did, but this was the only opportunity for him.

—
[I changed his personality, hopefully, you wouldn't mind the drastic change. Noticed that his personality was a bit too dull for me to type out and started to get writer's block, so switching up before anything!]

The fae felt her heart palpitate when she heard the brute gritty voice chime from not a great distance away.

Her ears ached at the sound, but rather than running and causing herself discomfort - the damsel simply had frozen, seemingly already surrendering her strike for freedom, and instead of sitting herself against the gorg, wondering silently about the answers to his quizzical tones.

The simple fact was, that she had not a clue of the answers. Like a mindless drone, she had done as she was told. "Take the land, if there are no signs of surrender - use force." Though, she wasn't about to appraise him. The land was so barren, and their wolves were of no use to them. She tried to utter... but all that came out was a croak. Imber cursed herself silently before swallowing and attempting again. "I suppose we just had a covet for the province." Her voice this time was quiet, only just pushing out those last few words, though the pain was raked through it.

What was she to say? Or do? Appraise the brute for playing nurse for her? Of course, she would, but she wouldn't be completely sure it was out of kindness. It was abnormal and rather strange to her. And now she was given the option to leave? What was this..? "Whatever is wrong with you?" She asked from a steady distance, "Why did you pick me up from the field, and why are you to let me go?"