08-22-2019, 03:40 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]Selby watched Kiira from a good distance away, grateful for her help. He had no doubt that she was skilled, plus Wormwood hadn’t been badly injured as far as he could tell. He observed the exchanges of pleasantries between those that had gathered, staying silent himself. The medic busied himself with straightening the thin sheets on the cots.
Out of the corner of his eye, Selby spotted Leroy approaching. He turned to face him, concern flaring up quietly in his stomach. He’d seen Leroy passed out on Wormwood’s back, and he wondered if the fatigue had come from the quick journey or some other reason. "Hello, Leroy," he replied easily, eying the hound carefully, trying to find the cause.
At first glance, all Selby could notice was a cut on Leroy’s nose. He examined it and found the small wound to be quite clean, not from claws or teeth for sure. It was in an awkward position to bandage, and it was hardly bleeding anymore, so he decided to just put on a little bit of the poultice he had made earlier. "I’m just gonna put a little cream on that cut, alright? It’d be hard to bandage, and it wouldn’t be worth the effort anyway since it’s such a clean cut." Selby turned away for a moment to check the rack behind him and found a small jar of what he wanted. He unscrewed the top and dabbed the slightest amount onto the wound, having to crane up to reach Leroy’s nose.
"I know that seems like all, but you passed out at the border, so I want to do a general examination," Selby explained as he began moving around Leroy’s body. He reached up to touch his patient’s neck, prodding his lymph nodes and feeling his pulse, which felt fast. Is he nervous or is this leftover adrenaline?
Selby, deciding that this question was not as important as continuing, carried on. Leroy’s shoulders and legs seemed fine, ribs intact, stomach— What’s this? On the dog’s side, just below the medic’s eye level, was a small disturbance in the flow of Leroy’s wiry fur.
He reached out to prod firmly at it, finding it hard and unnatural. The edges of the small lump were irregular and hard to define on one edge. Selby had only ever heard of lumps like these, and he knew that there was nothing he could do for it. He touched it again, harder this time, more impatiently, not wanting to believe it. The bump was unyielding, refusing to go away and refusing to reveal itself as a trick of the eye. He knew it added up: the fatigue, the fast pulse, but... the thought of naming this horrible disease was overwhelming.
Selby swallowed hard, fixing his yellow stare to the ground. No, no, no! He wasn’t close to the proxy by any means, but he held an immense amount of respect for Leroy. He gave out weekly tasks and gave his all for Tanglewood. He had brought back Sam and Beck. He knew how much the dog meant to his fellow group mates. This will destroy them, he thought. And then quieter, more in the back of his mind: This will destroy Crow.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Selby knew he had to tell Leroy. He needed to know. "Leroy," he began lowly, casting a nervous gaze to the others. He knew they’d find out eventually, but Leroy deserved to let them know on his own time. "There’s a... lump on your side. It’s cancerous," he said, wincing at how callous he sounded. Why wasn’t there an easier way? How do you tell someone that they’re dying? "I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for it. You— I’m afraid you don’t have much time left. You aren’t going to be able to carry on as you have been for very long."
"I’m so sorry," he said again, hating the tone of finality in his words.
Out of the corner of his eye, Selby spotted Leroy approaching. He turned to face him, concern flaring up quietly in his stomach. He’d seen Leroy passed out on Wormwood’s back, and he wondered if the fatigue had come from the quick journey or some other reason. "Hello, Leroy," he replied easily, eying the hound carefully, trying to find the cause.
At first glance, all Selby could notice was a cut on Leroy’s nose. He examined it and found the small wound to be quite clean, not from claws or teeth for sure. It was in an awkward position to bandage, and it was hardly bleeding anymore, so he decided to just put on a little bit of the poultice he had made earlier. "I’m just gonna put a little cream on that cut, alright? It’d be hard to bandage, and it wouldn’t be worth the effort anyway since it’s such a clean cut." Selby turned away for a moment to check the rack behind him and found a small jar of what he wanted. He unscrewed the top and dabbed the slightest amount onto the wound, having to crane up to reach Leroy’s nose.
"I know that seems like all, but you passed out at the border, so I want to do a general examination," Selby explained as he began moving around Leroy’s body. He reached up to touch his patient’s neck, prodding his lymph nodes and feeling his pulse, which felt fast. Is he nervous or is this leftover adrenaline?
Selby, deciding that this question was not as important as continuing, carried on. Leroy’s shoulders and legs seemed fine, ribs intact, stomach— What’s this? On the dog’s side, just below the medic’s eye level, was a small disturbance in the flow of Leroy’s wiry fur.
He reached out to prod firmly at it, finding it hard and unnatural. The edges of the small lump were irregular and hard to define on one edge. Selby had only ever heard of lumps like these, and he knew that there was nothing he could do for it. He touched it again, harder this time, more impatiently, not wanting to believe it. The bump was unyielding, refusing to go away and refusing to reveal itself as a trick of the eye. He knew it added up: the fatigue, the fast pulse, but... the thought of naming this horrible disease was overwhelming.
Selby swallowed hard, fixing his yellow stare to the ground. No, no, no! He wasn’t close to the proxy by any means, but he held an immense amount of respect for Leroy. He gave out weekly tasks and gave his all for Tanglewood. He had brought back Sam and Beck. He knew how much the dog meant to his fellow group mates. This will destroy them, he thought. And then quieter, more in the back of his mind: This will destroy Crow.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Selby knew he had to tell Leroy. He needed to know. "Leroy," he began lowly, casting a nervous gaze to the others. He knew they’d find out eventually, but Leroy deserved to let them know on his own time. "There’s a... lump on your side. It’s cancerous," he said, wincing at how callous he sounded. Why wasn’t there an easier way? How do you tell someone that they’re dying? "I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for it. You— I’m afraid you don’t have much time left. You aren’t going to be able to carry on as you have been for very long."
"I’m so sorry," he said again, hating the tone of finality in his words.
