— He should not be, maybe. Not that he should not exist; but it shouldn’t be like this. War wrought and strung high with fever-fury-anger- barely controlled wrath leashed down. Held to a standstill by the limitations of the infection of two parts, one part whole and one-part curiosity. Ament should not be half infected and half whole, cut down and hollowed by [glow=grey,2,300]static[/glow] and chains and still so very very angry. It should not taste like inevitability, what ament mutated into, once a child of wonder and protection now bled- wept with incompleteness the only way the senseless knew how: senseless, violence.

It should not taste like defeat, to be here, under the dawn of a shredded bed (ament long ago ripping the bedding he found himself under roans care); so quiet and complacent and blank under his mother’s stare. (The wounds along his neck, his wings were bleeding agony and a small little thing came closer and ament had to keep from howling out; keep from doing something dangerous) he felt caged- trapped and so very small under the shade of a hut he did not build, a nest without his sisters and with infrequent visits of his mother-

Void, all encompassing, tender cold- cold so very cold.

The people around him see the threat in his very existence; his silence and poise of a predator stalking down their kin, chasing their shadows. They don’t see the scope that ament has settled on. This rage without direction was never necessarily pointed at them.

Now, without any outside influence, beyond roan’s visits, and lucifer’s occasional shadow, ament is quiet. The rage is gone, the cuiroisity; the relentless, pursuit of knowledge hunting; either for information or death is simply gone. Ament sees the intimidation; the fear in thoese healing beyond him. Everyone knows of the venadi, of the large dangerous form of the omega and how he came in dripping blood, even along the back of his mother, and even know; the hard to reach places to preen alone are still stained a drying deep brown of old blood.

And ament is quiet.

The listless, relentless needneedneed is gone. All that is left is simply the beast. Simple savagery without rage, without curiosity; ament sleeps for the most of it, at times raising from the shredded down to simply stretch before he too returns to the bedding.

They know plenty of who the venadi; but the venadi [glow=grey,2,300]broke [/glow]long ago, and even know together with his sisters ament is alone here.

Treating Ament had been... interesting. Unlike most, Roan held little fear when dealing with the beast, mainly because he knew that he had the upper hand when it came to the current situation. Sure, the raptor could lunge at him with pure and fiery rage, intent on ripping him limb from limb, but all the siamese had to do was reach up, and dig sharp claws into infected flesh. As a medic, Roan was not exceedingly well trained in the art of fighting – although not useless, as most seemed to assume – but he knew all the vulnerable parts of the body. He knew how powerless Ament really was, with his wounds bleeding and festering without the sage around to treat him. This was why there was no fear reflected in the young feline's bright blue eyes as he often went to visit Ament, sometimes with Lucifer, and sometimes not. He had a job to do, and he had little patience for a patient that saw fit to thrash about and cause trouble, rather than just allow himself to be healed. Thankfully, it seemed as though Ament had calmed slightly over time. Or, alternatively, he had just accepted the situation as it was, resigned to his fate for the time being. It could've been either, although Roan would never truly know, considering he couldn't speak the strange language that Ament and his flock knew so well.

It was a day like any other as the draconic feline made his way into the temple, a mere speck of a shadow against the background of the structure. Within his jaws he clenched a rather large, wetted down cloth. He had taken notice of the places on Ament's body still stained in rusty blood, able to smell them even as he tried to drown the scent out with herbs. He had little idea of whether or not Ament would actually allow him to clean the blood off, even in his current quiet state, but Roan had to try, at the very least. Raising his wings up as he moved inside, the sage announced his presence with a rough clearing of his throat, moving to a few paces before Ament, and the bedding the raptor laid in. Dropping the damp cloth before him, Roan allowed his eyes to roam over Ament, taking in the other's various injuries, his mouth cracked open for any further signs of rot, or infection. When he came up blank, he allowed himself to sit, cocking his head to one side before questioning, "...Will you let me wash the blood off of you? It'll be more comfortable for you to lay without it caked on you, and the smell is... unpleasant." Roan wasn't sure of how much Ament could truly understand of his words, but he felt the need to at least try and ask. Despite the barrier of supposed intelligence and language, Ament was still a patient, and Roan intended to treat him as such.