(no subject)
Having overslept that morning due to a somewhat restless night (he suspected bad dreams, but mercifully could not remember them upon waking), Alcuin missed his usual morning run and so waited until the sun was low in the sky to go out in the evening instead.
He slipped on a pair of dark running shorts and a thin white tshirt, and took off from the treehouse, down the boardwalk and to the beach. As usual, he simply tried to clear his mind and give himself a few moments of peace without thinking too hard about the things that troubled, but in the still quiet of the evening it was a difficult thing to do indeed, and he found himself running faster and faster just to hear the wind blowing louder against his ears.
Unfortunately, he may have overestimated his own comfort with moving so quickly, because at some point his toe caught on something--a bit of driftwood or a large shell, perhaps--and he went sprawling into the sand at an alarming rate.
He felt it before he even realized what had happened, a burst of pain radiating from his right hand. He cried out even before looking down and seeing a deep slice across his palm from where he'd caught himself during his fall, landing right on the sharp edge of a partially buried broken conch shell. It began to bleed profusely right away, and it took him a moment to focus enough on what he should do.
Alcuin couldn't stand the sight of blood, especially his own, not after what had happened to him before arriving on the island. Feeling ill and trying not to look at the same time, he pulled off his shirt and started to clumsily wrap it around the wound.
[OOC: Open to anyone! It's probably not quite deep enough to need stitches... unless your pup is a doctor and wants to tag in, in which case feel free to stitch away.]
He slipped on a pair of dark running shorts and a thin white tshirt, and took off from the treehouse, down the boardwalk and to the beach. As usual, he simply tried to clear his mind and give himself a few moments of peace without thinking too hard about the things that troubled, but in the still quiet of the evening it was a difficult thing to do indeed, and he found himself running faster and faster just to hear the wind blowing louder against his ears.
Unfortunately, he may have overestimated his own comfort with moving so quickly, because at some point his toe caught on something--a bit of driftwood or a large shell, perhaps--and he went sprawling into the sand at an alarming rate.
He felt it before he even realized what had happened, a burst of pain radiating from his right hand. He cried out even before looking down and seeing a deep slice across his palm from where he'd caught himself during his fall, landing right on the sharp edge of a partially buried broken conch shell. It began to bleed profusely right away, and it took him a moment to focus enough on what he should do.
Alcuin couldn't stand the sight of blood, especially his own, not after what had happened to him before arriving on the island. Feeling ill and trying not to look at the same time, he pulled off his shirt and started to clumsily wrap it around the wound.
[OOC: Open to anyone! It's probably not quite deep enough to need stitches... unless your pup is a doctor and wants to tag in, in which case feel free to stitch away.]