Old Wounds Novels & Stories

“No extra secrets and techniques. Just us.” As we walked, I attempted to relax, focusing on the splendor of the park around us. The trees have been vibrant with colour, and the sun shone brightly. But my mind saved drifting back to Mia. When we returned home, I busied myself with chores, seeking to distract my thoughts. I cleaned the kitchen and did laundry while Jake worked on his pc. I liked the effort he became making to live gift, but it nevertheless felt like a band-resource over a deeper wound.

At that time, it did improve, but later, it recurred and the wound became even more serious than before! Cassie looked at his arm, which was mottled with burns and some old injuries. She was a little shocked. 'These wounds are not just burns.' Javen, who had been standing by the side silently, suddenly said. Both of them were attracted. 'What do you mean?' The old man was a bit unhappy. 'Could it be that you're saying that these wounds were caused by me?' 'Of course not.' Javen gently caressed the old injuries on his arm, his eyes a bit cold. 'These injuries should be caused by poisoning and festering, not only burns.'

he smiled. I sighed and threw my head down. "Please" I whispered in defeat. "Leave" I said I closed my eyes when I heard the door open and close again. I fell onto my bed and allowed my tears to fall out. *** The doctor came into to check my wounds and said that my wound will heal soon, but what about the wounds in my heart?...who will heal them?. My family was crying when they saw me in the hospital bed again. I was now ready to go home. I could walk a bit as luckily the cut wasn't that deep. I just limp a little but I could walk thank god.

Why on earth did he have to wait until now before he said anything? "I guess so." I said to him and added a smile at the end. It was time to bandage it and right before the old man started, Maddox came over with his bottle of vodka and poured it over the wound. I was a million times over my head with pain. What on earth was his problem? I groaned, resisting the urge to scream out as I looked at him. "Well, it's the oldest way to keep wounds clean and I believe it would help. I do that myself." He said to me and I managed to control myself.

“I’ll get some ointments for your wounds.” They… they never even treated me when I was sick. My memory of fevered nights spent working until I collapsed. So why do they care now? And so suddenly? My wolf hadn’t been activated yet, so it was impossible to heal on my own. Every wound lingered, deep and raw, nothing like the others who mended in hours. When the maids dabbed the ointments onto my back, the sting made me jerk forward, my hands gripping the edge of the wooden table they had placed me against.

I was patched up well enough after the last skirmish, but the physical trauma echoed throughout my body, every inch of my suffering chronicled on my flesh. Like a gardener examining a winter-worn plot, I inspected every injury. My old wounds had already been cleaned with saline to rinse and remove debris. I was re-doing the dressing. But before that, I underwent topical treatment as advised by the medic. Lathering my skin with antibiotics and healing salves, but all the tonics and tinctures could never heal the wound in my heart. A gaping void that grew with each passing moment of his absence. My mind tormented me with blood-stained images of what could’ve hap

There are cold metal scalpels in there, alongside the items he’s asking for. When I have them, I kneel by his side. “Put the ointment on the wound.” “What is it?” I twist off the lid. It smells sharp, like alcohol. When I smear it onto the gash on John's side, he shrieks. Blake grabs his shoulders and pins him down. “It’s to kill the bacteria. Wolves heal fast, but wounds can still get infected. Now, sew it up.” “Sew it up?” “Yes. Imagine you’re sewing a dress.”

With their increased healing, wolves don’t scar all that much, but silver can do the trick I found out the hard way. I first met Olive the day I came to Shadow Ridge. She gave me a jar of salve and showed me how to massage it into the healing claw marks on my left cheek. Twice a day, for months, I did as she told me to help reduce the scars Bale left behind. The ones which ran more than just skin deep, I’m still healing from and probably always will be.

They won’t move. The way he lifts the shirt up catches my eye. Gold flickers across his skin, then vanishes into dark patches where light won’t stay. Shoulders like carved stone shift under the glow, stomach tight with lines that show years of holding back nothing. Old wounds stand out, faint but clear, marks from fights I never saw. Every part of him feels stitched together by what he's lived through. A sudden hush fills my throat.

The doctors had to scrape out the wounds and give him medication to stop the effects of the poison. This time was different, the knife got immediately pulled, and it was not coated in wolfsbane. The blade also looked knew and didn’t have broken fragments. Owen’s new wound was starting to heal, but the sight of it still seemed concerning. The skin was red and inflamed; some parts were black like his flesh had burned. Taking some saline solution, I began to clean out the cut. He didn’t even flinch. Once I was satisfied that it was clean, I took the disinfectant spray and applied it. The spray made Owen hiss. “Sorry,” I whispered. Owen shook his head, and I continued. I grabbed some gauze and t