Post by The Gourmand on Dec 31, 2018 4:07:32 GMT
April 25th, Early Morning
It sufficed to say at that point the old barn was pretty much the de facto medical bay. It had luckily been relatively empty up until the incident involving the scouting mission a few days ago. In addition to that, it also still housed a clutch of eggs, which were nestled in straw and fleece and set nearby an iron stove for heat.
Out of some respect for the fact that he was the sire of said clutch, the Gourmand was allowed the cot (or, two cots pushed together to accommodate his size) nearest the nest. Though this wasn’t to say he was particularly attentive of them during his stay in the barn. One should hardly blame him, considering he’d been injured and was more than likely slightly loopy due to painkillers. Notable were bandages around his hands and head-crest where overexposure to his magic pearl severely burned him.
The beast lay facing away from the nest, one thick arm flopped over the side with his knuckles curled against the floor, and his face nearly buried in a pillow so that he could only breathe through the side of his mouth. Due to having his air restricted, he snorted noisily in a deep slumber. Though one ear twitched in subconscious response to a particular sound:
The crackling of eggshells.