GOD SAVE THE PROM QUEEN || joining, highly injured

[jericho]

The scent of blood, biting and metallic is carried on the gentle summer breeze to Jericho's slightly parted jaws.  It's a smell that immediately causes him to tense —  though the tom himself has never experienced pain, he still associates bad memories with the tang as it washes across his tongue.  Memories of bad things happening to himself and loved ones, memories of his days as a medic and rushing to press his paws into the thick, sticky liquid and praying that too much hasn't already spilled.  He's a medic yet, he knows he always will be.  But thus far things have been relatively peaceful in Sunhaven, and he's prayed that they remain that way.  Blood hanging in the air, heavy and thick, has never been a good sign, but bound by duty Jericho hobbles over as quickly as his three legs will rake him, his little leather satchel dragging on the ground behind him.

The Helion, slow and small as he is, arrives shortly after Monroe.  Blind eyes focused forward he limps past the Sunbearer, pausing just before Pele.  He appears to consider taking another pace forth but pauses, unsure if she'll welcome his aid.  "Wh-what... ah, how are you injured?  I can help," the tom offers slowly, softly.  Though his brow is furrowed in concern he attempts to offer a smile, genuinely kind and yet reservedly small all the same.  Jericho does his best to appear reassuring and welcoming, but his brows remain knit and eyes full of gentle apprehension — the scent of blood is too heavy to be a mere scrape, and she seems to not intend on sticking around long.  The ginger-furred feline shoulders his herb bag off, gently tugging it over his head before he adds, "But, um, M-Monroe is right — I... don't think you should be walking around, ah... like that."