One ilm. The Midlander made no reaction after being struck across his jaw other than his head that recoils from the impact. He simply walks away, no insight to the events given, or even enabling an assumption to anyone of what his thoughts or emotions were, even if he were to stick around. With bushel of greens in hand, the slightly worse for wear Hyur treks through the sandy slopes of Thanalan in search of the run-away Chocobo. Tobias was soon out of both eyesight and earshot from the the caravan. Even the Miqo'te would have difficulty to see the distance he was at or pick up any sound that could be distinguished as his, despite keen senses. Thanks to the constant shifting sands, many of the tracks were becoming partially covered. He figures the bird could not have gone far due to their rearing since they were adorable yellow puffs, lest their trainers had failed. Still, he picks up into a light sprint, forgetting Lorielle's caution--or disregarding it, in sake of finding the beast sooner.
       Two ilms. 'What an arse' the Blonde driver in thoughts as he follows the track of the other Chocobo, the sun beating down on bare broad back and muscled chest. 'He knew, I warned 'im' he keeps silent and goes about the business of finding the other lost Chocobo. 'The boy had no right to bring it up...he knew' a quick frown folds over as he attempts to focus on staying angered. Fortunately these tracks were still fairly unaffected by the rolling sands, but he still had to be hasty in the retrieval. 'He deserved it' the driver tries to convince himself as he begins to whistle for the Chocobo. The sound carries faintly back to the caravan. Hopefully there would be a sign.
       Three ilms. The injury. It reopened as a tear rather than a cut, a bit more painful for starters. It was fortunate enough that at least it was not so deep when it was a puncture wound. On another bright note, Tobias found his target drinking merrily by a body of untainted water as if nothing had even happened. The Chocobo flings droplets of water from it's beak with an alert 'KWEH!' to the Hyur that approaches with a small smile and shake of his head. It quickly begins to consume the offering of gyshal greens before he opens one of his small pouches and sets to his next task.
       Half an ilm. Flecks of mud, dirt, sand, and blood decorates the canvas of the Hyur that comes into view from the vantage point of the caravan, though the scarlet artistically saturates mostly his torso, tunic, and hands. If Tobias arrives before the Blonde-Blue driver, it was unknown to him as he had yet see the man. In one hand was the leash that leads the now calm Chocobo and the other placed 'strategically' over the wound with a swatch of cloth he tore from his tunic to cover it.
       It might be a long shot for Tobias to continue on the trip without someone inquiring about the injury, but if by some chance it goes without notice, the stoic Midlander would go about business as per usual. However, he would reveal the current state of the shallow split of skin, though with slight reluctance.
       The stitches looks as if it were done by a child who could not even tie his own shoes, but worse. Too many pierces, too little weaves, too much spacing between uneven distances, too little spacing between others. Even the knots to secure the skin in place barely held, only looking as if a simple double-knot was made; further for whatever reason, there were multiple ends poking out here and there where they should not have been in that jumbled mess. It was a wonder how the dirt or sand was not directly on the wound but yet sprinkled liberally on the surrounding area. The only other positive was that it stopped bleeding...mostly. About ninety five percent. At best. The 'surgeon' figures what tiny amount trickles out would eventually stop.
       Tobias would only respond with an oblivious, "What?" if any were to gawk, guffaw, or otherwise look at him incredulously. He believes it was a passable job at the very least to patch things up-any other with an inkling of medical knowledge would have begged to differ. Scratch one possibility for the raven-haired being a medic!
       Two ilms. 'What an arse' the Blonde driver in thoughts as he follows the track of the other Chocobo, the sun beating down on bare broad back and muscled chest. 'He knew, I warned 'im' he keeps silent and goes about the business of finding the other lost Chocobo. 'The boy had no right to bring it up...he knew' a quick frown folds over as he attempts to focus on staying angered. Fortunately these tracks were still fairly unaffected by the rolling sands, but he still had to be hasty in the retrieval. 'He deserved it' the driver tries to convince himself as he begins to whistle for the Chocobo. The sound carries faintly back to the caravan. Hopefully there would be a sign.
       Three ilms. The injury. It reopened as a tear rather than a cut, a bit more painful for starters. It was fortunate enough that at least it was not so deep when it was a puncture wound. On another bright note, Tobias found his target drinking merrily by a body of untainted water as if nothing had even happened. The Chocobo flings droplets of water from it's beak with an alert 'KWEH!' to the Hyur that approaches with a small smile and shake of his head. It quickly begins to consume the offering of gyshal greens before he opens one of his small pouches and sets to his next task.
       Half an ilm. Flecks of mud, dirt, sand, and blood decorates the canvas of the Hyur that comes into view from the vantage point of the caravan, though the scarlet artistically saturates mostly his torso, tunic, and hands. If Tobias arrives before the Blonde-Blue driver, it was unknown to him as he had yet see the man. In one hand was the leash that leads the now calm Chocobo and the other placed 'strategically' over the wound with a swatch of cloth he tore from his tunic to cover it.
       It might be a long shot for Tobias to continue on the trip without someone inquiring about the injury, but if by some chance it goes without notice, the stoic Midlander would go about business as per usual. However, he would reveal the current state of the shallow split of skin, though with slight reluctance.
       The stitches looks as if it were done by a child who could not even tie his own shoes, but worse. Too many pierces, too little weaves, too much spacing between uneven distances, too little spacing between others. Even the knots to secure the skin in place barely held, only looking as if a simple double-knot was made; further for whatever reason, there were multiple ends poking out here and there where they should not have been in that jumbled mess. It was a wonder how the dirt or sand was not directly on the wound but yet sprinkled liberally on the surrounding area. The only other positive was that it stopped bleeding...mostly. About ninety five percent. At best. The 'surgeon' figures what tiny amount trickles out would eventually stop.
       Tobias would only respond with an oblivious, "What?" if any were to gawk, guffaw, or otherwise look at him incredulously. He believes it was a passable job at the very least to patch things up-any other with an inkling of medical knowledge would have begged to differ. Scratch one possibility for the raven-haired being a medic!
