Old Wounds Novels & Stories

I said. Oliver reached over to snag a chip off Trevor’s plate. “Not really,” he said. “Werewolves heal quickly, so it’s usually just in and out, recover at home. The most typical stuff we deal with is injuries from training, and that’s just set a bone and good as new in a few days, or sew them up and back to the training field.” I got a bit excited about that. “Does that mean I can get out of here sooner?” I asked.

Old people usually get easily anxious around hospitals. "Your wound is quite deep. With this kind of laceration, there might be an underlying severe trauma on your skull. We must be sure before we let you go. To do that we must rule out the severity of your injury by conducting a scan" patiently, she explains. She understands his nervousness. Waiting for their response, she watches the couple look at each other, seeming to be talking with their eyes. "Bones usually become brittle as we get older and could break at the slightest impact" she added before she started to clean his wound.

Something that looked like hunger given form. It had no eyes. No mouth. No face. Just a shape. A shape that wanted. Sol stepped forward. That is the first wolf's oldest wound, Sol said. The wound that never healed. The wound that the first wolf carried into death. Luan's claws extended. Can we kill it? Sol shook its head. You cannot kill a wound. You can only heal it. The creature took a step toward the valley. The ground cracked beneath its weight. Trees splintered. The river boiled.

But the damage underneath was the kind that would have developed complications by morning. Wren fixed it in five minutes. Five minutes she did not have, which she was using anyway, because Maret was nineteen and it was fixable and the alternative was leaving it and she did not do that. The third person. An older man she did not recognize—not from the village, she thought, or from somewhere in the village she had not spent time in. He had a wound on his shoulder that had been dressed with whatever was available in the camp, which was not much, and the dressing had done its job for eleven days but the job it had been doing was managing rather than healing.

Thomas gave me a small grin as he shut the door. I let out a long breath. Here goes nothing. I gave my reflection a once over and hissed. What is it about wounds? They can be there for hours, and you barely realize they exist, but as soon as someone says anything or you give them any attention the pain spikes instantly. My cheek crawled with a stinging discomfort. The old woman definitely left ring marks on me. My cheek would take a while to heal. The few outlying scuffs and scratches would heal up fast. I was more worried about the twin gashes, sliced deep enough to produce dark red scabs. They could arguably be black.

And along with all that comes the reopening of old wounds and the return of all the pain. What should I do?

Loran, an elder healer whose gentle hands had long been revered, moved from one wounded warrior to another with methodical care. “Easy now,” Loran murmured as he cleaned a deep gash on a young wolf’s flank. “Each scar will remind you of the strength you’ve shown today, not the pain you endured.” His words, soft and reassuring, were met with tentative smiles from those who listened, a promise that every wound was a step toward renewal.

But they still carried scars and wounds, scars that were still healing. Wolfkind had suffered a lot, but their wounds weren’t completely healed. Some still hurt. Some still ached. But they also healed slowly. Healing with time and patience. Slowly allowing Wolfkind’s scars to fade away slowly. While they weren’t completely unscarred, the scars were nowhere near gone. Their wounds weren’t as fresh. Neither were they quite as deep and extensive as what they saw during the war.

I'd always thought I'd healed from the pain, who knew that it'd become a deep wound that had never been healed. Maybe that's why it hurts so much now that it's been reopened. I guess that explains it. …. A/N : What do you think, guys?

“What do you mean?” “The wound from an alpha’s claws or fangs are not treatable, they cannot be healed fully. It is rumored that Omegas can heal overtime, though it takes them months to fully heal but betas or pack members, the ones under the service or protection of the alpha can never heal. Your wounds will stop bleeding eventually, they will fill up, but Kira, my dear, you will never get rid of the scars that his claws will leave behind,” Argo spoke sadly.