05-04-2015, 02:30 AM
The chill air of night woke Harry from his sleep, but a quick check for the north star revealed that his boat had continued roughly eastward, and he obviously hadn't run aground on an island or anything like that. The wizard sat upright, stretching and yawning. He felt horrible. The fight had taken a lot out of him, and those bullets were getting too bad to just shut out. The wizard found himself almost wanting Lash's company again, both for her vast store of information and the sheer fact that not having someone to talk to while he did this was going to suck.
He dug his battered pentacle necklace out of his shirt and channeled an almost minuscule amount of will through it. The silver shone with blue-white witchlight around his neck, which gave him enough light to see by. His right arm got checked first, and his earlier suspicions were confirmed; it was just a graze. His left leg had an entry wound, but no exit wound, which meant the bullet was still in there. His right leg still burned from being at the edge of his horribly unfocused fire blast, but that was just going to have to heal on its own. Wizards didn't usually have to worry about infections, and he didn't think that this Tomoe girl would have been using poison, but the bullet could be steel-jacketed, and that was a chance he couldn't take for any longer.
Taking a deep breath and leaning against the side of the boat, Harry cleared his mind, shoving the pain into a tiny box for the time being while he focused on summoning a roll of bandages and a utility knife. It took longer than he cared to admit; about five minutes in he'd lost his focus to the pain, and it had taken him another ten just to get back into the right frame of mind to try. Still, eventually he had the items he needed. He bandaged his right leg and arm first, putting off the moment that he really dreaded by just a little longer, but he needed to dig the bullet out.
Harry stretched the leg in question out on the bottom of the boat, leaning forward to get a better look. He could see the bullet; the wound was fairly deep, but the little piece of lead was there. It didn't look steel-jacketed, at least, so it wasn't going to interfere with the Winter Knight mantle, which was good, because Harry was worn and in pain and in just the right state of mind to not care about relying on the damn thing again. He lined the small knife up carefully, groaning when the blade cut into the side of the wound slightly, and drew on Winter to numb the pain as he levered the bullet out of the wound. The nugget of lead fell to the floor of the boat along with the knife, and Harry bandaged his leg tightly, picked up the knife to cut the bandage off from the roll, and then, only then, stopped drawing on the mantle and let himself scream.
It was the ocean, after all. Nobody was around to hear it. He yelled incoherently for a few seconds before rounding it off with a resonant "HELL'S BELLS, THAT HURT!" The Knight was asking him what he was thinking, letting someone who had shot him get away with it, but he ignored it. He wasn't going to kill little girls, faerie or no, guns or no. It wasn't going to happen, end of story, goodbye. Hopefully, she'd think twice about taking that course of action in the future. That had been a harder fight than he'd been expecting when a little kid had started shooting at him. She was good with guns. Unusual, for a faerie, even if the guns were old. And the way she'd summoned them... if that was a spell construct, the bullet should've dissolved into ectoplasm by now. Faerie magic lasted longer than human magic, but sunset had already passed. Still, it was possible that she was strong enough to weave an enchantment that lasted until midnight instead, like Lea could do for midday as a Winter Fae. He'd have to see if that little ball of lead turned into a pile of goop or a piece of sand or something when midnight rolled around.
The wizard wiped his blood off the knife with a scrap piece of bandage and lit the linen aflame with a muttered "Flickum Bicus." Leaving blood lying around was just dumb. Getting it out of sand would be next to impossible, so he was probably safe there, but leaving it on the fabric was just asking for trouble. The wizard stood up shakily and adjusted the sails slightly, making the best clear heading he could with the intent to continue until he saw signs of life. After all, not every island could be uninhabited. There would have to be smoke or lights or something, somewhere, that he could sail to. Until then, he sat down and waited, too physically rested to sleep and too mentally worn out to think of much besides basic survival.
He dug his battered pentacle necklace out of his shirt and channeled an almost minuscule amount of will through it. The silver shone with blue-white witchlight around his neck, which gave him enough light to see by. His right arm got checked first, and his earlier suspicions were confirmed; it was just a graze. His left leg had an entry wound, but no exit wound, which meant the bullet was still in there. His right leg still burned from being at the edge of his horribly unfocused fire blast, but that was just going to have to heal on its own. Wizards didn't usually have to worry about infections, and he didn't think that this Tomoe girl would have been using poison, but the bullet could be steel-jacketed, and that was a chance he couldn't take for any longer.
Taking a deep breath and leaning against the side of the boat, Harry cleared his mind, shoving the pain into a tiny box for the time being while he focused on summoning a roll of bandages and a utility knife. It took longer than he cared to admit; about five minutes in he'd lost his focus to the pain, and it had taken him another ten just to get back into the right frame of mind to try. Still, eventually he had the items he needed. He bandaged his right leg and arm first, putting off the moment that he really dreaded by just a little longer, but he needed to dig the bullet out.
Harry stretched the leg in question out on the bottom of the boat, leaning forward to get a better look. He could see the bullet; the wound was fairly deep, but the little piece of lead was there. It didn't look steel-jacketed, at least, so it wasn't going to interfere with the Winter Knight mantle, which was good, because Harry was worn and in pain and in just the right state of mind to not care about relying on the damn thing again. He lined the small knife up carefully, groaning when the blade cut into the side of the wound slightly, and drew on Winter to numb the pain as he levered the bullet out of the wound. The nugget of lead fell to the floor of the boat along with the knife, and Harry bandaged his leg tightly, picked up the knife to cut the bandage off from the roll, and then, only then, stopped drawing on the mantle and let himself scream.
It was the ocean, after all. Nobody was around to hear it. He yelled incoherently for a few seconds before rounding it off with a resonant "HELL'S BELLS, THAT HURT!" The Knight was asking him what he was thinking, letting someone who had shot him get away with it, but he ignored it. He wasn't going to kill little girls, faerie or no, guns or no. It wasn't going to happen, end of story, goodbye. Hopefully, she'd think twice about taking that course of action in the future. That had been a harder fight than he'd been expecting when a little kid had started shooting at him. She was good with guns. Unusual, for a faerie, even if the guns were old. And the way she'd summoned them... if that was a spell construct, the bullet should've dissolved into ectoplasm by now. Faerie magic lasted longer than human magic, but sunset had already passed. Still, it was possible that she was strong enough to weave an enchantment that lasted until midnight instead, like Lea could do for midday as a Winter Fae. He'd have to see if that little ball of lead turned into a pile of goop or a piece of sand or something when midnight rolled around.
The wizard wiped his blood off the knife with a scrap piece of bandage and lit the linen aflame with a muttered "Flickum Bicus." Leaving blood lying around was just dumb. Getting it out of sand would be next to impossible, so he was probably safe there, but leaving it on the fabric was just asking for trouble. The wizard stood up shakily and adjusted the sails slightly, making the best clear heading he could with the intent to continue until he saw signs of life. After all, not every island could be uninhabited. There would have to be smoke or lights or something, somewhere, that he could sail to. Until then, he sat down and waited, too physically rested to sleep and too mentally worn out to think of much besides basic survival.
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