She had a horrible habit, a terrible tenancy of playing with pieces of him she should not. She tugged at his tail, bit at his beak, fondled his feathers. He tried to dissuade her, tried to persuade her, tempted to push her away. She kept coming back, a bad penny brought back by her own curiosity, her wiles, her womanly ways.
It drove him mad. It delighted him. She would be the death of him - the best death.
Blood dribbled from a caked flank, deep wounds breathing as the beast limped and stumbled in to the heart of the birch. His destination just had to be at the highest point in the forest, didn't it? But the spring at De Drinkplaatz had the purest water in the forest. Iphea would use it to clean the wounds that Kalahan had dealt him. His right rear-flank seared, but no longer did it bleed.
The stag was very weary by the time he reached the top of the hill, the trail of blood he left behind glistening in the sunlight. The stag passed through the blue fog, his pelt slipping off to reveal one of the nameless' coats. Iphea ambled to the spring, feeling its gentle water lap at his hooves. The stag inhaled sharply before sticking his side underneath the water. A groan, low and shaking with pain, rumbled over the birch. He cursed the Child of Man in under shaking breaths as he watched the blood and dirt disappear in to the water in puffs of sparkling magic. There he stood, the water burning and cleansing the wound, until the blood stopped and the water ran clear. At this opportunity, the stag drank some of the healing waters and ate a few succulent blueberries that grew nearby, as well as sampling the dark green leaves of a nearby vine, of which he found the most cravable and delicious due to their high-iron properties.
The stag lay down just outside the circle of mushrooms, relaxing his jaw, also damaged by Kalahan's attack. It was healing slowly, not very much in damage in comparison to the gashes that burned his flank.
