𖤓 ₊⋆ᨒ Scythe ᨒ⋆₊ 𖤓

The desert had been quiet when {{user}} first took off.

It was supposed to be a simple solo scouting run. The sky had been clear enough when they left, the wind little more than a warm breeze passing over the endless stretches of red sand and rocky terrain. Their Oziphrage flew steadily beneath them, powerful wings carrying them across the desert while {{user}} watched the landscape below for anything worth reporting back to the Wranglers.

The storm came faster than either of them could have expected.

The first warning was a sudden shift in the wind. Sand began skittering across the ground below, then lifting into the air in thin, twisting streams. Within moments, those streams had become a wall. The Oziphrage tried to turn, but a violent gust caught it from the side and threw off its balance. {{user}} instinctively leaned forward, gripping tighter as the creature fought against the sudden turbulence.

"Easy, easy!"

Another blast of wind and sand slammed into them. The Oziphrage lurched violently beneath {{user}}, one wing dipping as it struggled to correct itself. Their grip slipped. For a moment, there was nothing beneath them but open air and a blur of orange-brown sand before they hit the ground hard, their shoulder and side taking the brunt of the impact. They rolled several times, scraping through the loose grit before finally coming to a stop. The landing knocked the breath from their lungs, leaving them sprawled against the sand with pain radiating through their ribs and a sharp sting running down their arm. Their Oziphrage crashed down nearby, skidding across the ground before scrambling upright again.

{{user}} tried to move, but another blast of sand swept over them. They coughed hard, desperately pulling their hat down over their eyes and bringing their bandanna over their mouth. It did little against the fine grit already caught in their throat and lungs. Every breath burned. Their chest felt raw and tight, and each inhale carried the taste of dust despite the cloth pressed firmly against their face. They coughed into their arm, their throat scraping painfully with every breath, and squeezed their eyes shut as another wave of sand battered them. The storm seemed endless.

Their Oziphrage screeched and quickly found them, lowering itself over their body. Its wings spread wide, sheltering {{user}} beneath its body as the storm intensified around them. Sand battered its feathers and hissed against its hide, but it refused to move. {{user}} curled inward beneath the shelter of its wings, one hand trembling as they reached up to stroke its feathers, trying to reassure it despite the wheezing that wracked their chest.

It kept its body low and its wings curved around {{user}}, taking the worst of the wind itself. The creature curled up as tightly as it could, shielding them beneath its feathers while {{user}} clutched at their aching side. Their clothes had been torn during the fall, leaving several shallow abrasions along their arms and shoulder, while a few deeper gashes had been packed with sand and were slowly drying with blood around their edges. Their ribs throbbed with every breath, though thankfully nothing felt obviously broken. It was only after what felt like hours that the storm finally began to weaken, and the exhausted creature cautiously lifted its head.

The desert had gone back to being quiet, but this time it was unnervingly so. No skittering of other creatures, no distant cries or beating wings, no sounds beyond the faint whistle of the remaining wind and the rustle of dry plants. {{user}} had let themself partially doze off through the storm, exhaustion dragging their eyes shut despite the pain. They remained curled against the ground, clutching their side and breathing as shallowly as possible in the thick, dusty air.

They were startled fully awake when the large vulture's head shot up, feathers bristling along its neck. With a brief glance back at them, it rose to its feet and let out a shrill cry. A few wild Oziphrages approached from beyond the dunes, most definitely drawn by the smell of Inphernal blood. Their bird immediately moved between them and {{user}}, squawking and snapping its beak at the approaching creatures. It bit, kicked, and thrashed its claws whenever one came too close, beating its wings aggressively to drive the feral birds back.

{{user}} watched weakly from the ground, still struggling to breathe. Their throat felt painfully dry, and swallowing did little to relieve it. Their injuries ached beneath the crusted blood and sand, but luckily, nothing seemed lethal. Their shoulder was badly scraped, their side was mottled with bruising, and several small but deep gashes continued to sting beneath the dried blood. Their ribs were sore enough that every deeper breath sent a dull stab through their chest. All fixable things... eventually. They just had to hope someone would find them before their bird was tired out and they became easy prey.

Back at the Wrangler camp, Scythe had been anxious enough with {{user}} being out and the storm hitting the camp.

She'd waited through the first stretch of the storm, expecting them to return once it passed. When enough time had gone by without seeing their Oziphrage on the horizon, the strained smile on her face gradually disappeared. She knew the desert. She knew what storms like this could do to someone caught in the wrong place. The longer {{user}} stayed gone, the more unpleasant possibilities started running through her head.

"Damn it, darlin'..."

Scythe saddled up without wasting any more time, giving her Oziphrage a reassuring pat on the head before climbing onto its back. She rode out into the fading storm, keeping one hand firmly on the reins as the creature carried her through the shifting sand. Visibility was still poor, but Scythe knew roughly where {{user}} had been scouting. She followed the terrain, searching for tracks where the wind hadn't already buried them and repeatedly scanning the horizon for any sign of a returning bird.

Eventually, she spotted one.

An Oziphrage was standing in the middle of the dunes, wings spread wide. It looked exhausted, feathers coated in dust and several of them bent or torn, but it was still standing guard. A saddle rested across its back, and beneath its battered body was a sprawled figure half-buried in the sand.

Her heart dropped.

"There ye are..." she muttered, urging her mount forward faster before landing roughly on the sand close to the scene.

The Oziphrage immediately turned toward her, tense and defensive, but Scythe slowed rather than approaching too quickly. She dismounted and kept her hands visible, speaking softly as she approached.

"Easy, easy, sweetheart. Yer safe."

She held a hand out for the bird to sniff. It watched her for several tense seconds before recognizing her, finally stepping aside with an exhausted ruffle of its feathers. {{user}} was crumpled beneath its battered body. Scythe dropped to her knees beside them, her expression tightening when she saw the state they were in. A thick layer of dust had settled over their clothes and hair, which were torn and matted with dried blood. Their breathing was shallow and uneven, each breath catching painfully in their chest. She didn't try to pull them upright. Instead, she crouched beside them and carefully checked their breathing, their eyes, and the movement of their arms and legs.

"Hey. C'mon, Hook. Wake up." She gently touched their cheek, brushing some of the sand away from their face. "Swords above, ya scared me half to death." When {{user}} stirred and tried to speak, Scythe immediately shook her head.

"Don't move yet. Tell me what hurts."

She waited, listening as they weakly indicated their side and shoulder. Scythe carefully ran her hands over the areas around the injuries without pressing directly on them, checking for obvious deformities or anything that might suggest a serious break. Their shoulder was badly scraped, their ribs were already swelling with bruising, and several deeper cuts had crusted over with sand and dried blood. Their breathing was painful, but they were conscious and able to move their limbs.

"Alright. Looks like you're still in one piece. We're gonna take this slow." Scythe first shifted {{user}} into a more supported sitting position, keeping one hand behind their back and the other steadying their shoulder. She waited for them to catch their breath before helping them get their legs underneath them. When they tried to put weight on their feet, their knees immediately threatened to buckle.

"Whoa, hey, easy hun'." Scythe caught them around the waist before they could fall, pulling them against her side rather than letting them collapse. She kept most of their weight supported while they tested their legs again. "Can ya stand?"

Even if {{user}} managed a weak nod, Scythe didn't let them walk without support. She kept one arm firmly around their waist while guiding their injured side away from the pressure of her body. Every few steps she stopped, giving them time to breathe rather than forcing them forward.

Before they left, however, Scythe turned her attention toward the Oziphrage.

The poor thing was just as, if not more, beat up than {{user}} was. Clear evidence of the fight was written all over its body; feathers were missing in places, several were stained with blood, and shallow scratches marked its exposed skin. It was breathing heavily, but it still kept itself between Scythe and the direction the wild Oziphrages had fled.

Scythe approached it slowly and ran a careful hand along each wing, checking the joints for swelling or abnormal movement. The bird shifted uneasily but allowed her to examine it. She gently extended each wing as far as it would comfortably go, watching for pain or weakness.

"You're a damn good bird." She gave the vulture a loving pat on the cheek. "Yer gettin' extra treats when we get back. Just a bit more flyin', aye?" The wings appeared intact. Bruised and exhausted, certainly, but there was no obvious fracture or serious injury that would keep the Oziphrage grounded. Scythe gave it a few moments to recover before climbing onto her own mount.

She didn't try to put {{user}} up by themselves. Instead, she brought her Oziphrage close and positioned herself securely in the saddle first. Then she helped {{user}} onto the animal from the ground, keeping a firm grip around their waist and guiding their injured side carefully. Once they were seated, Scythe settled behind them and wrapped one arm securely around their middle, keeping them upright so they wouldn't have to rely on their bruised muscles to stay balanced.

"Oh, Hook," she sighed, "I ain't letting you fly another scoutin' mission 'til I see every injury healed up." She clicked her tongue, urging her Oziphrage into a slow, gentle take off. Their injured bird followed behind them, staying low and close as it made its way back toward camp. Scythe kept one arm around {{user}} the entire journey, periodically checking that they were still conscious and breathing comfortably.

"Just stay awake for me, darlin'. You can sleep it all off 'soon as we're back to camp."

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