Fire coursed through her left shoulder. She could feel the hot stickiness trickling down her arm, her fur matted and plastered to her skin. What difference did it make, when the rest of her fur was already matted with Fel Orc blood? She cursed herself inwardly for being so careless, now no longer able to amble on ahead, but limping, forcing herself to continue on, letting on nothing to her companions. Just one more obstacle and then they would be finished, they could go down from the wall, leave the rampart and go back to Thrallmar. They ploughed on ahead and Leda pushed the pain into the corners of her mind to face the dragon.
It was dark by the time Iyotanka and Leda rode into the military town. Immediately they split up. There was always something about facing the evils of the world, committing atrocities nearly as despicable as those you fight against and then once completed, longing, no, craving time alone. Time to justify the wrongs once again and be whole before returning to the tribe. She watched Iyotanka ride off to report back to Caza'rez, proud of his accomplishment and seeking praise. And then she slunk off.
Behind the inn, her back up against a pillar, Leda removed her pauldrons, cringing as the scabbed edges of the gash went along with the trusted leather. Again the blood trickled, eerily warm, down onto her tabard, barely darkening the crimson there. Carefully she cut away the beloved fabric, through the chest piece she wore to examine the wound underneath. Leda was known as "the strong one" but she swooned at the sight of muscle, blood and the trace of bone.
The orc had caught her unawares. Leda had been rushing to the side of their stalwart healer, who had forgone healing herself in favour of Iyotanka. She would've been fine except for the jagged, rusted axe which struck her at just the place where pauldron meets chest piece. It hadn't saved his fellow orc as he had intended, but it did cut deep enough to significantly hamper her abilities as the group's protector. Not that she had let anyone know.
From the bottom of her bag, she managed to find a rogue piece of silken thread, but it took some time to locate the large, blunt needle she used for leatherworking. She laid them both out on her tabard, along with a flagon of strong-smelling alcohol a goblin had pushed into her hand outside Orgrimmar. After a swig of the mead, she braced herself, drenching the cut with the liquid. Pain shot through her body, threatening to knock her unconscious, her face contorted into a parody of a grin and it was with shaking hands she picked up the needle.
Her task finished, she gingerly and rather awkwardly one-handed, placed her pauldrons back on her shoulders, wincing at the added weight on the only partially closed wound. She was definitely no healer, but her own folly led to her injury and she didn't want to waste any gold on treatment. The needle was thrown out, covered in blood and gore from its pass through skin and muscle. Leda knew, deep down, it wouldn't heal properly, she'd carry the foot-long, 3 inch wide scar the rest of her life. Thankfully, it was easily covered.
After giving herself a few precious seconds to recover, she called her loyal wolf, Nadine, over from her well-deserved trough of water. The young tauren didn't trust her legs to carry her more than the few steps to her mount. They would be returning home tonight - to Silvermoon. In the meantime, Leda would have to come up with a plausible excuse to forgo whining at Iyotanka for dawdling in Thel'aerin's library when they should be out ridding the evils from the world.
Even the reigns felt heavy in her left hand as they rode out from Thrallmar. Iyotanka had not noticed, thankfully. It would be impractical for him to worry about something he wasn't able to fix. Surreptitiously, she cradled her arm against her stomach, trusting Nadine to follow Iyotanka home.
