time

Was this perhaps the most ridiculous way anyone had ever sustained an injury? Tupannguac had never heard of anyone who had been hurt like this - over something this small! His brothers would tease him to no end if they found out - he was grateful to be alone, now. 

He'd have had a successful fishing trip, if the catch itself had gone well. Tupa had caught a relatively large bass - perhaps a bit too large, for it had whipped around and smacked the man in the face with its dorsal fin, slicing a clean cut above his left eye. He'd dropped the fish, too, which added insult to the injury, for the trifling creature had flopped directly back into the water and swam off, uncaring of the wound its captor had sustained. 

And why would it care? It was a fish. Tupa could hardly blame it for using the only defense it had. 

This did not mean the wound did not sting. Blood dripped from the cut, sealing his eye shut and making a grisly scene of the small man's face. It was not as bad as it seemed, he was sure, but looking at his reflection had his face wrinkling in a cringe. His fur was stained crimson, matting the fur down on his left cheek and making him look like something straight from a horror story. 

And all for a fish. Tupannguac had to laugh a little, if only to himself, over the absurdity of it all.

---

Using the random prompt: Though fish may be an easy treat for some, on occasion they can prove dangerous. The fin of the fish you have caught cuts you.

@Ragnar

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Ragnar was doing his best not to be an obsessive fuck, but when he still had two versions of himself, two sets of memories competing for dominance in his head, and navigating this fresh world he had found himself in, well — it was easy to slide into the ways of clutching at the pieces that had given him normalcy. Kaida remained gone, no scent fresh or dull, and he found himself with a headache more often than not.

He blamed the bursting of memories as they lingered, and some still became fresh as old memories unlocked and he remembered a life that felt like it wasn't even his. 

The Viking wasn't sure what drew him this way, only that it was mostly flat with cuts of streaming rivers and greenery, and hills in the backdrop that mapped out valleys, and it was a place, he thought, where he could settle for a rest and a snack if fish were fruitful. As he descent the grasslands, though, it was not only fish that he would find. A wolf, made up of mottled earthly browns and a build that cut short, slim, and almost made him think it was someone else entirely. Fishing, he thought, as they leaned over the water.

Feeling bold, the Viking intended to stand across from the wolf on the other side of the slim cut of river, but it was the scent of blood that drew the man to the waters edge. It lapped at his toes, and he glanced to the smaller man with his singular good eye, noting the way brown mixed with crimson from the top of his eye. A clean cut, blood streamed steadily, and Ragnar felt a phantom touch of his own blinded eye. "Clean it," he told him roughly, his common tongue strained from the way he hadn't been regularly practising without Kaida, accent thick and rough on his tongue.

"Cut not in eye, but infection can breed," Ragnar mused, dropping his thick frame down to the grass and turned his attention back to the water as his stomach awarded him with a wanting grumble.

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