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// Chapter 15: The Healing 
// Story: Blood Moon 
// by The_Darker_Fonts 
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Hemorrhage’s heart was completely and utterly bursting, his entire chest feeling as if it were about to burst open from the quick, heated pounding.  His pace was three times quicker than when he was his most stressed, practically prancing down the hallways, his hooves clopping on the ground to the tempo of his heart.  He had needed to get back to the lycan before Nightseer put her child back to bed, and thanks to that unexpected, lovely make out session with Joint, he was sure the new mother was going to end his life.  Making the final turn back to the bedroom where they’d managed to drag the large beast.  
Bursting through the door, knowing it didn’t matter how loud it was because the lycan wouldn’t awake from the anesthetic.  “My apologies, Nightseer,” he muttered as he rushed over to the bedside, seeing Nightseer sitting there.  “I was… held up by our guest.  Well, our other one, that is.”
“Your heart’s racing,” she commented almost absently, her focus on something else.  Glancing over the violet mare’s shoulder, he saw that she was carefully stitching up some of the holes left by clustered maggots.   The skin wasn’t bleeding thanks to the use of some goldenseal brought in by Ailade, but the scene was still grizzly, the dark brown skin mottled with holes disturbingly.  Frowning, he realized she was using one of her vampiric wings to hold her child, having both her front hooves free to help the tedious work of stitching the wounds.  The larger wound had already been mostly attended to, stitched up and cleaned, needing only a bandage to finish its care.
“How long until he wakes up,” Hemorrhage questioned her, regrettably having lost time within those wondrous moments with Joint.  Even the briefest thought of her, the slightest whisper of her voice, brought him such unimaginable joy that it burned through him.  He shook his head to clear those thoughts away, stepping over towards where a cupboard had been layered with medical supplies.  
“Two hours until the medicine wears off, though most likely the big guy will be asleep longer, considering the time and his overall resistance to pain,” Nightseer answered curtly.  “Also, you didn’t answer the question.  Should I have been more upfront?  Why’s your heart beating as if it were a bird’s?”
“Just the terminal thrill of the moment,” he answered quietly, trying to seem focused on the task at hoof, which was retrieving another vial of antiseptic and a dry cloth.  “It’s been a long while since I’ve had to deal with the physical wounds of another.  In fact…”  
Hemorrhage trailed off before he could finish his sentence, freezing his conversation with Nightseer but keeping his hooves at work.  The last time he had been involved with the healing of a wounded nocturnal was with Nightseer herself, the night after she’d been assaulted.  Not wanting to bring up the sensitive topic with the mare, he remained silent, turning and walked over to her with the cloth, dousing a bit of it with the medicine.  
Taking the cloth from him, she distractedly observed, “It wasn’t beating nearly so fast when you first called on me to care for this poor thing.  Something happened out there that made your heart beat.  Care to tell me, or shall I dig it out of you, because I recognize only one thing that causes a stallion’s heart to beat so vividly.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Hemorrhage disavowed, knowing exactly what she meant.
“Fine then,” she decided stubbornly.  She applied the cloth to the stitched wounds but turned her head to him with a hard, determined stare.  “Is that mare that came in here the one for you?  Did the two of you… do anything?”
Despite being well older than Nightseer, Hemorrhage found himself intimidated by her directness, and slowly, he nodded.  He felt a lump in his throat.  What had he expected from his Joint’s relationship?  That it would be kept a secret from everypony else in the castle?  He knew for a fact that it most certainly wouldn’t thanks to living with not only a vampyre, but also a lycan.  As soon as he next saw Leper, he would recognize the scent of the mare on him, and most concerningly, around his mouth.  Still, he hadn’t expected the truth to come out so suddenly.  While Nightseer and Argon’s relationship hadn’t been kept a secret, it had taken almost a week before they had told the rest about it.  
Shaking his head, he smiled and looked her in the eye.  “Her name’s Joint.”
“And,” she inquired, her hard stare softening encouragingly.
“And I don’t think I know how to describe the way she makes me feel,” he admitted.  
“Well, I’d say she makes you feel alive again,” the young mare noted.  “You're standing upright for the first time in years, not bent over contemplatively, and, quite frankly, you don’t seem to be nearly so old.  If I’m being honest, I think you should visit her tonight and see what happens.”
With a sideways glance, he reminded her, “You may be able to have sex with your husband whenever you please, but I have the boundaries still set.  We must be eternally bound first before such actions.  I can’t even enter her room without permission, let alone touch her.”  Hemorrhage paused with consideration before admitting guiltily, “Though it is quite pleasant that I never know when we will next embrace.”
“Hm, yes, a tragedy, but I guess that’s true,” Nightseer thoughtfully hummed, gently finishing the cleaning of the wound.  Setting the rag aside, she picked up her child in her hooves, cradling the little foal lovingly.  The imagery was uncannily familiar to when Joint held her child, little Amethyst Heart.  The subtle realization that two different mothers from two completely different situations both held the same unsurmountable love for their children struck a strong chord within Hemorrhage.  The shock of emotion he had was so riveting it was almost painful, his heart actually aching.  
Nightseer’s brow furrowed, turning her head to him, the young mother gave him a concerned look, asking quickly, “What was that?  Are you okay?”
Hemorrhage opened his mouth to explain, but it was completely dry and only caused him to stumble on his words.  Swallowing hard, he smiled to let the fretting vampyre know that everything was alright.  “I think,” the mordigan finally managed to hoarsely say, “that I’ve just been given  new appreciation for life.  It’s as if I’ve fallen not only in love with a mare, but with the world around me.  This serenity feels almost unnaturally wonderful, so much so that I fear when it may end, I won’t have it again.”
“Well, you know who causes this feeling, and your destiny with her,” Nightseer pointed out with a knowing smile.  “Just keep her close and things will just happen on their own.  I mean, from the sounds of it, the two of you have already had a pretty intimate encounter, and she’s been here… maybe four hours.”
Suddenly, the little filly in her hooves began to fuss, and with a tired smile, she looked down.  “The night’s already halfway done and you haven’t been to bed yet,” the mother told her little one.  Looking quickly between the lycan and Hemorrhage.  With a sorry smile, she asked, “Is it alright if I leave you to tend to him.  I need to put Savanth to sleep, and I myself am feeling a bit weary.”
“Of course,” Hemorrhage confirmed.  “You need to be rested and healthy for both you and your child.  I’ve had hundreds of years of sleep.  One night without it won’t harm me.  Besides, I don’t think I could sleep if I wanted to.”
Nightseer giggled, nodding with a pointed glance to Hemorrhage’s chest, right at his heart, which he felt slowing down slightly.  She stood up and gave him a quick one leg hug that he returned before exiting the room, leaving the mordigan and the lycan alone in the room.  Now that he wasn’t as distracted by his thoughts and conversations, he realized that Nightseer had also managed to dress the wound nicely.  The white bandages were kept surprisingly clean, suggesting that there wasn’t anymore bleeding from the wound.
Hemorrhage knew that he had to wait for the lycan to awake and at least get the beast settled before he could retire for the night, but he was beginning to suspect that he wouldn’t sleep at all.  The fact didn’t bother him, as he had gone many nights without sleep unbeknownst to the rest of the castle.  For a great many years, he had found himself feeling decrepit and lonesome, but now he was feeling fulfilled.  In a matter of two weeks they had gained four members, or at least, they had gained one and were hosting the others.  The excitement from that amount of interaction alone was enough to shake off the dust that had built in his mind.  Smiling at the lycan, he reached a hoof out and rubbed the beast’s flank.  
The bath and cleaning had done the poor creature good, his fur no longer matted with all sorts of dirt and vegetation.  His claws, which seemed to be stuck out of his hooves, had been stained with both blood and mud, suggesting a great deal of activity in hunting and that he hadn’t ever bothered with personal cleanliness.  In fact, just on his appearance and actions alone, Hemorrhage had to guess that the poor pony behind the lycan had simply reverted to complete primality.  It would certainly be quite the ordeal to regain his equinism, but there had been cases like this before, from what Hemorrhage had heard in his youth.  Nopony was ever too far gone.
Slowly, he began inspecting other parts of the lycan’s body, realizing quickly that there were more interesting things under the fur than on it.  Ruffling through a portion of the lycan’s back fur, he found several ticks and other bugs not quite cleaned out by the bath.  However, they were all dead, suffocated within the lycan’s thick, silver coat.  It seemed that the lycan had developed naturally thick hair within the woods to counteract all of the many parasites of the forest.  The skin itself was gruffer, almost as if it were calloused, but still fleshy like any other mammal’s skin.  
Furrowing his brows, he suddenly felt a long, thin line of unusual skin, and managing to move the fur aside enough to directly see it, he found a long scar on his back.  Running his hoof up, he suddenly found a much larger skar, a gravelly patch of skin over the entire back of his neck.  Frowning, he observed the healed wound.  The skin had been torn, but there were four very distinct puncture wounds on the perimeter of the tear.  They were undoubtedly bite marks where the larger incisors had initially pierced, followed by less distinguishably teeth marks that had done more of the damage.  
This was the wound that had turned this poor colt into a lycan, Hemorrhage realized hauntingly.  He felt a bout of sadness overtake him as he stared at the wound, pitying this incredibly young nocturnal for the violent way in which he had been transformed.  Shaking his head, he sat back, wondering as to whether or not all parentless nocturnals had this sort of origin.  He himself had been born of a lycan and vampyre, but every other member of their coven save the child had been wounded violently to become the way they were.  Even his parents had been converted from normal ponies by others.  
When he thought about it, the true culture of violence that they all lived in as nocturnals was prevalent, a painful reminder that in order to survive, they must kill.  He had been raised, however, by pony consumers, who, after his birth, had reformed to strictly non-equine meals.  They had raised him in a fishing village, that much was true, but they didn’t feast on the plentitude of fat, nameless merchants, but on the fish and small livestock of the coast.  He had grown up around constant temptation, and through years of temperate control, he had learned to live without it.  The small fact that he had also trained his coven in such a way that they too didn’t request for pony flesh, even when it had been so near, prided him.  He knew easily that the other coven not too far off ate ponies, and while he hated it and wished to require them to change their diets, he had no way to reinforce his intentions.  He couldn’t afford to anger such a large force, so he simply sat and waited for them to change or be found out.  
Coming out of his thoughts thanks to a ruffling sound beside him, Hemorrhage turned his head, finding the lycan shifted slightly to the side, belly up.  The beast was still fast asleep, but now it seemed like a much more natural rest, his mouth lulling open and his tongue flopping out.  In all of his years, he had owned and cared for but one dog, and seeing the position of this canine form called him back to it with a smile.  The large lycan had indeed been nothing but a puppy since they had retrieved him from the cavern, trusting and loyal without reason, and almost innocent.  
There was still the monster beneath it all, Hemorrhage knew, the one that had torn apart an entire town and had killed dozens.  He didn’t know how to react completely to that knowledge, other than to help the poor thing and teach it peacefulness.  Whether the colt beneath all of the fur and muscle would remember the deeds his stronger, darker side had done when they finally brought him back to the light, he couldn’t guess.  His hoof had somehow found a way to the lycan’s stomach, gently rubbing the exposed flesh as he watched his face for any sort of changes.  The lycan, however, remained emotionless, the sedatives still in effect enough to keep him asleep even through physical touch.
There were still many matters to take into account concerning the lycan, too many for Hemorrhage to even try and begin to unravel, but he had dealt with this situation before, when Leper came into their possession.  He didn’t need an elaborate plan to help deal with the lycan, but he did need one for both keeping Joint here and the lycan’s, along with everypony else’s, true identity a secret.  He probably would have to break it to her soon, lest she found out on her own and ran away out of fear.  Even the simple thought that there she could leave made a piece of him ache. 
Hemorrhage began to stand, preparing to pace, when suddenly he was wrapped tightly in a firm hold from behind.  He tried to look behind him, knowing that it had to be the lycan, but the large beast’s mass was pressed against his head, blocking the movement.  The motion, however, wasn’t hostile, though it was still rather rough thanks to the incredible strength of the young nocturnal.  Keeping completely still, he heard the lycan beginning to sniff his head and cheek curiously.  With a determined huff, the lycan suddenly released him, seeming satisfied with his evaluation.  It was only then, Hemorrhage realized, that the room didn’t have a single candle lit, leaving the room in absolute darkness, and, being a lycan, he didn’t have the night vision inherited from vampyres.
Turning around, Hemorrhage greeted the lycan.  “Good morning to you.  Was that a confusing bit of sleep?”
The young nocturnal twisted his head in confusion, trying to squint through the complete darkness to see the speaking stallion.  The lycan’s back leg twitched slightly before he jerked his head around, attempting to chew at the wound, but finding the bandage where the wound had been, he turned back around to Hemorrhage.  
“Yeah, we took care of that wound for you, my friend,” Hemorrhage informed him, looking around quickly for a candle.  Seeing none, he slowly ignited his horn, allowing the bluish glow to fill the room.  The lycan perked up, his mouth opening as he began to pant happily as he saw the mordigan once again.  The lycan was still panting even as he began to sniff around intently, getting a strong scent of his surroundings.  He gave the wall that Nightseer had been seated and lightly leaning against extra attention, his happy panting halting as he became focused.  Hemorrhage observed him quizzically, not wanting to make a sound to disturb the young nocturnals intensive explorations.  
The lycan stood up straight and turned abruptly to the door, stepping over Hemorrhage to get to it.  Whining slightly, he pawed at it for a moment before suddenly ramming it with his shoulder, though ramming looked more like simply bumping the door with his broad shoulder.  The door burst open and instantly the large lycan was away, racing down the hallways.  
“Come back here,” Hemorrhage called after him, racing out after the nocturnal, barely having the time to comprehend the lycan’s sudden escape.  Focusing on his back, he extended his wings and touched off the ground, soaring through the hallways, hot on his trail.  The lycan turned corner after corner without the slightest hesitation despite having never been in it before, and once again, Hemorrhage found himself observing the lycan instead of attempting to catch it.  There wasn’t much he could have done anyways, seeing as the beast was almost thrice his size, so he simply watched and hoped that they didn’t run into Joint.  
The lycan stopped suddenly, his long claws scratching against the smooth stone floor, trying to find purchase as he slid to a stop.  Hemorrhage had to levitate himself in order to halt his momentum, setting himself down right beside the wily nocturnal.  He was about to question the lycan, but he noticed that he was too busy sniffing around the hallway to care about whatever Hemorrhage had to say.  Glancing around, the stallion realized they were in the halls that Argon and Nightseer had claimed for themselves.  He frowned in contemplation, wondering what exactly had brought the lycan to this part of the castle when he hadn’t even met the mare who had dressed his wound.
Before he could begin to explore the possibilities, the lycan had begun to hesitantly move to the left, towards where Hemorrhage knew their bedroom was.  Moving quickly, he ducked through one of the lycan’s large legs and stood firmly in front of the beast, bringing him to a stop halfway through a step.
“You can’t just wander the castle,” the mordigan firmly informed the young nocturnal.  The lycan tilted his head in confusion, giving a little whine before beginning to advance again.  “Hey,” Hemorrhage began sharply, fixing him with a hard stare.  “You have no right to disturb Nightseer after everything she’s done for you.  We have to go back to one of the guest rooms and get you somewhat situated there.”
The lycan suddenly let out a low, fierce growl, startling Hemorrhage for a moment, though in the next he had lit his horn.  The growl had been defensive and deep, much like when he had growled at Ailade earlier.  It seems he had found somepony else to protect now, his goal now obviously to reach Nightseer, though Hemorrhage wasn’t quite sure why.  
Nevertheless, he held his ground, making his horn flash slightly as he firmly told the lycan, “You cannot go wherever you want to yet, youth.  In my eyes you are still a murderer and consumer, and I cannot trust somepony like that.”
The words caused the lycan to freeze for a moment, though he slowly went down into a sitting position, a humble expression on his face.  His eyes were directed behind Hemorrhage and not at him, causing him to turn and glance behind him.  Nightseer stood there, looking confused as to why there was a lycan and mordigan in front of her room at this hour of night.  
“Hello again,” Hemorrhage said, turning ever so slightly so that he could face both the lycan and mare.  “Sorry about all of this, but I think our guest here wanted to find you, though I’m not quite sure why.  I’ll attempt to-”
Hemorrhage was interrupted as he was suddenly shoved aside by the lycan,  a singular paw sliding him out of the way.  He was about to protest the sudden brush off, but seeing the way the lycan gently approached Nightseer, neck outstretched as he verified her scent, he decided to remain silent.  The young nocturnal moved sluggishly, his nose the only thing moving in the hallway, before he suddenly began to pant happily again.  He ducked his head lower, paws outstretched, taking an unnatural stance, almost as if he were bowing to Nightseer.  The mare laughed at the strange pose and reached out a hoof, rubbing his head encouragingly.
“Hm,” Hemorrhage managed, baffled by the strange behaviors of this nocturnal, not quite canine, but certainly not equine.  “I guess he just wanted to thank you for taking care of his wounds.  He caught your scent from his bandages, I assume, and wanted to meet you.”
“I guess,” the mare cheerfully reiterated, rubbing the lycan’s head.  “We should probably give him a name, shouldn’t we, since he’s staying with us.”
“That decision isn’t final,” Hemorrhage reminded her, knowing those words were hollow.  Even he had begun to think in the long term for this young colt trapped as a monster, and his heart did melt slightly seeing such a large lycan pant happily.  “But he does need a proper moniker besides simply ‘lycan’.”
“He looks like a Gnash to me,” the mare suggested, giving hemorrhage a pointed glance.  
“No, that name is too rough for him, too blunt,” the mordigan explained.  He gave the lycan a hard stare, remembering the gruesomeness of the village, the tough feeling of his scarred skin, and the tragic scene within his former residence.  Then, he stared directly at this colt, trapped in a different body, the way he still panted happily and enjoyed everyone else, but didn’t listen to anyone.  
“Khan,” Hemorrhage firmly expressed.  “His name, until we find out what his real name was, is Khan.”