Old Wounds Novels & Stories

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.'

"You're wounded." "It was just a scratch and besides, this is just normal. After all, it was a fight and who doesn't get wounded from a fight?" I nonchalantly shrugged it off. "Well, Ash does." The corner of my lips twitched and directly changed the subject. "Anyway, let's not focus on that. I can treat this wound, but I can't treat this excitement of seeing my brother." "You'll be dead if your brother sees you come back wounded, and I'll be dead too." Owen coldly said as we stopped in the pharmacy to buy some betadine, alcohol, cotton and band-aids.

Olivia: Yeah, the shower helped Ash: What about your wounds? How are they looking? Olivia: Not too bad for the cuts. They’re healing already Ash: And your ribs? Olivia: There is a large bruise, but nothing is broken, at least, just some fracture Ash: Got any painkillers with you? Olivia: Took the last one I have Olivia: Will buy more tomorrow Ash: All right Olivia: It reminds me I'll have to go to work tomorrow Ash: You don't have to. I can handle it

True to their claim, the brothers’ wounds were barely visible by mid-morning. Oscar explained that, had he not tended to them with a special cleaning liquid that their grandfather concocted, their wounds would not have healed so readily and would have left scars. As it was, their bodies were fairly devoid of marks that would mar their beauty.

She hissed slightly as the cold water cascaded down her body. Belatedly, she realised that she had absent-mindedly scrubbed on a healing wound on her left forearm a little too hard. The water made it sting. She stared at it as the water cascaded down her body, rinsing the suds and sluicing down the drain. The wound had turned an angry red. She brushed her thumb over it and hissed again. It mocked her, taking more time to heal than others had as if serving as an angry reminder of her life that she had left behind. However, unlike the past month today, the scars stared mockingly at her.

Counting. Last injury, the mine fight. The time before that, hunting down the Three Lords' remnants in the North. Tracing back further—to when he first gripped a sword at twelve or thirteen and the searing-hot hilt had burned a layer of skin off. Every injury in the same spot. Every time it healed, the callus grew thicker. This time was different. New skin torn open twice in succession. The dermis beneath hadn't had time to heal before splitting again. The wound edges showed early signs of inflammation.

He removed the old bandages slowly, his breath hitching when he saw the wounds beneath. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. I swallowed. “What? Is it worse?” “That’s not it. Your wounds are drying up. They just need more medicine.” he said softly. He cleaned my back with warm water infused with herbs, then applied a cooling ointment that soothed the burning instantly. I closed my eyes, shoulders sagging as relief washed through me. “You didn’t have to do this,” I said when he finished rewrapping the bandages. “You didn’t have to bring the food either.”

The skin around it was still inflamed, and the wound itself had a dark, sickly tint to it, a clear sign that the poison had been stubbornly lingering. The older man leaned in, his brows knitting together as he examined the wound carefully. He didn’t speak at first, just ran his fingers lightly around the damaged area, observing the texture, the color, the way Brayden flinched when he touched certain spots. After a long moment, he exhaled deeply. “I’ve seen something like this before,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. “But I can’t remember where exactly. I’ll have to check my records later.”

I sealed the wound with a thin shimmer of silver light, the skin knitting beneath my fingers. “He’ll be weak for days,” I murmured, “but the poison’s gone.” --- The older wolf was worse. His breathing rattled, each inhale catching like torn cloth. The wound across his chest was deep enough to show bone, the edges ragged from whatever blade had cut him. I pressed my hands to his chest, sinking my magic deeper this time. The pain hit me almost immediately, hot and sharp, echoing through my own ribs as if I were the one injured. My lungs fought for air, my vision narrowing at the edges.

Making me the ultimate bad guy in his eyes, so four years into our marriage we were in a bad spot due to all this family drama. I was twenty-nine when everything went to hell in a hand basket and if it hadn’t been for that pocket watch I started wearing all the time, I would have died.