The Last Primal

"Just what in the Gods' name is this thing?!" A loud bellowing cry reverberated in the area. No matter how Crone looked at it, he couldn't recognize what the thing that was now shackled in chains and dragged back to the camp should actually be. 

It was more like an abominable entity, a mixture of many others that they recognized. As he looked at it, he could see, wolf-like features here and there, then again it had an extra set of limbs and a much harsher, stronger bristles as fur. 

Then again, its facial structure, its ears again resembled a wolf, a warg, or maybe their evolved version, the bipedal worgen. Yet, it had this nightmare-inducing 8 bead-like dark eyes, that were uncharacteristic of anything he could think of. Also, unlike those that he thought of before, this monster had no tail at all. It wasn't tucked away, pulled back or sliced, or even torn off at all. No, this creature hadn't had any.

Unable to name this entity in front of him, Crone turned to look at the Captain behind him, looking over as Galina attended to the still unconscious trio of Aina, her sister Eina and Naybeah. 

Looking at the three women still lying motionlessly on the ground, anger once again rose inside Crone. He clenched his right hand, forming a fist, then as he suddenly turned back he used all the momentum and inertia, to throw a punch at the chained captive with all his might.

The sound of bones cracking was heard as his fist made contact with the creature's head. Yet, it wasn't the creature that cried out in pain, but it was Crone's frustration and pain-filled cry that filled the camp and gathered the attention of everyone that meanwhile returned from the scouting expeditions.

"Aaaaargh… This godsd*mn… filthy…" He cursed in a fit of rage. The creature's skull was much thicker and sturdier than what that could give in to such a measly show of force. Though the creature felt a slight numbing pain at the side of his head, it wasn't unbearable, he sneered disdainfully at the Bareskin male in front of him.

'Pathetic weakling… If not for those two…' The creature glanced over with a complex gaze at the two war hounds, Sam and Biggy who were leisurely resting at the blonde archer female's sides, before sighing and lamenting further. '… If not for those two, you all would be lying in your own disgusting, red pool of blood, buried under your own intestines… BASTARDS!' 

The creature howled and raged in its mind, showing the same reaction as the warrior female before. It was unwilling to accept the harshness of reality. It found the fact that it was defeated so quickly, so easily… it was a great blow to his ego, this result was totally unacceptable.

Still, it wasn't totally consumed by resentment and by the burning flames of its emotions. It knew that it had to keep a low profile, lest those terrifying four-legged beasts would tear its body to shreds. 

So, although it was burning with anger and rage inside, it did its best to keep it down and not to show anything on the outside. 

Although, it couldn't help itself to reveal a disdainful snicker as it heard and felt the Bareskin's male's hand crack. It was a victory, albeit a small but the only one that it has been awarded since its capture.

…

Galina groaned in pain as she completed yet another chant, and used more and more of its remaining strength to at the very least stabilize the three girls under her care. Another thin, lanky man was crouched beside her, attending to the others. 

He was called Derick, and he was the Silver Howl mercenary group's assigned doctor-slash-nurse-slash-medic. He was a one-man army in the team when it came to first aid. He, unlike Galina or the priests under the service of the various gods ruling over Eora, was not trained in any of the holy or arcane arts. No, he was a scholar, a person with real knowledge related to first aid, and health. He also had a deep understanding of the various herbs, their effects, and how to utilize them the best. 

Derick, unlike the rest of his team, wasn't too great in combat, his physique wasn't anything useful in close range. He was usually one of the ranged supporters of the corps, somewhat acceptable at handling the crossbows and similar modernized ranged weaponry that did not require any amount of muscle mass to handle.

Also, because of his knowledge related to herbs, he was also the corps sole poison crafter and supplier. Toxins that could paralyze the nervous system, froze, and contort the opponent's body, causing muscle spasms… or just some that induce a deep slumber, caused the target to faint, or look like a deceased, to fake the officials for whatever reason? Whatever the group or the mission needed, he was always there to assist the family.

Noticing the heavy beads of sweat gathering on the young girl's forehead, Derick frowned, before returning his attention to Eina's battered body. He reached to his side and grabbed the mortar, before pushing the pestle and ground the dark green, thick substance a bit more. Then he pulled the pestle out and placed it over a clean white cloth on the ground and raised the mortar over the girl's body.

He pushed his free, right hand into the thick herbal cream and picked up a walnut-sized amount. Without wasting any of the precious time, he smeared the stuff all over the gushing wounds visible all over the girl's body. He made sure to cover all the visible area, before picking up the rolled-up clean linen cloth and wrapped it around the wounds.

Meanwhile, beside him, Galina was doing everything she could to pour all of her remaining energy into healing up the wounded amazon. She only needed to bring the girl back from the brink of death, just like she did with Aina when she came back, or with the girl behind her, Eina. The rest of the surface wounds would then be handled by Derick, just as he was doing right now.  action

Still, after two arduous back-to-back sessions, Galina was on her last straws. Yet, she felt she needed to do her best, she couldn't fail now, just as she was attending to her own!

…

Crone fell on his back as he howled and cursed in pain, holding his now-broken right arm with a terrible look on his face. His cries, however, although earned several looks from the rest of the group, didn't really earn him any real attention. The captain and the others were all worried about the situation with the girls. 

One particular guy, standing a bit behind the rest, felt the worst…

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AN: Hey there Readers!

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