Healing Two Sprains

The sun had begun to set on the Appaloosian Countryside, a gentle breeze rolling through the sloping hills and coming, leaving a chill down down a young stallion’s spine as dusk’s chilly temperature started to significantly take over the midday’s heat and humidity. The sunset’s a wonderful one, beautiful hues of warm oranges and pinks with cool purples and blues complimenting the hillsides and laying down a stammeringly eerie shadow.

After plowing through several acres of farmland throughout the entirety of the day, that stallion removes his yoke followed by the strap tied around his middle to help keep that yoke in place. Putting his equipment back into the barn’s tool corner, he wrinkles his muzzle at the feeling of dirtiness he’d accumulated throughout the day.

With his ‘personal shift’ having come to a conclusion, he decides a brief walk around the fields to visualize what he’ll be up to tomorrow is a good idea. It always helps to be thorough. While thinking of tomorrow’s plans he looks up at the barn ceiling, grimacing at the sight of a rather large hole he can look through to see the stars in the night sky… he’ll have to fix that later, somehow. He doesn’t have wings or magic, so that’s something that scaffolding, patience and care will have to fix. Sighing at the inability to take care of that sooner rather than later, he walks out of the barn, locks it up and begins his nightly inspection of the remaining field west of the house, southwest of the barn. As he’s making his way, he briefly inspects the home he lives in...

The farm house is a rather simple one, home to a total of five residents; the young stallion, his parents and his grandparents. It’s a decent-sized bohemian country home with a ground and first floor, painted white with reddish-brown accents for the shutters and window frames. A sizable patio with windows and a screen door to keep the bugs from biting any porch visitors is dimly lit by the lamps by each side of the two front doors, not to mention the cozy cushioned two-seater chairs by each door. On the western side of the home there’s a cellar that leads to a small underground stocked with canned and jarred foods amongst other supplies and spares. Overall, the place is nothing out of the ordinary; your average rural area home with a farm.

There are also a few pigs, cows and about a dozen chickens in the barn where he’d put his yoke and strap back. Given it’s getting late into the day, they’re all at rest more than likely at this point.

He begins making his round-trip of the field, glad to feel the chilly breeze through his fur, a gentle but exhausted smile adorning the stallion’s face. Today was an especially hot one, and he feels gross, so the trip should be a brief walk. As he inspects the soon-to-be-tilled areas of ground, he looks over at the apple trees northeast of the barn. They’re probably due for picking soon; Goodland apples are usually best for picking in the later part of summer. He’ll check those too, he supposes. Once he’s finished up with checking what ground will likely be easier for plowing, he moves on over to the apple trees.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary as the stallion stands on his hindlegs, propping his hooves against a tree to reach up and pluck off an apple. Even though it’s starting to get dark, he can still pick up on the color fairly easily; they’re looking ripe, so he can probably make due with picking a few baskets tomorrow. In the meantime, he’s checking each tree to make sure they’re all growing apples in a healthy manner. He’s never had an issue with diseased trees, but he supposes it could happen even if it’s a rare chance. There’s a few dozen trees, so he’s on his hindlegs for a good ten minutes once he’s almost all the way through them.

Coming up to one of the last trees, he tilts his head slightly as an odd-looking, limpy branch seems to hang from it in an odd manner. He’s seen branches sometimes sag a bit low from these trees, so it doesn’t strike him as odd at first. He rears up once more, not giving the branch much attention as he plucks an apple from the tree gingerly with his teeth, plopping it into the flat of his hoof and giving it a brief glance-over—but he’s slightly startled when that one goofy branch moves. As in, it seemed to have a mind of its own for the briefest of moments, and he could’ve sworn it almost flicked. Knowing he’s exhausted, the thought crosses his mind that he might’ve just been imagining it, but he decides to test his luck anyhow by grabbing the oddly soft branch and giving it a sharp tug.

His fur stands on end from the back of his neck to the bottom of his spine as the branch seems to protest with a loud, cat-like yowl. Reflexively relieving the victimized ‘treelimb’ from his grasp, he watches as it slinks away before he hears the tree's branches shifting, to which he’s then met with what definitely appears to be a face.

“That’s my tail, asshole,” the face protests. Dropping his apple and backing away from the newly discovered intruder, the stallion finds himself to be largely startled as this creature's words are followed with a violent hiss of displeasure. He can see those dangerously sharp chompers right down to the violent-looking incisors, and he’s not planning on becoming the meal of what appears to be a uniquely-colored puma of sorts.

While he may be retreating away to get some distance from the cat, he certainly doesn’t plan on letting her just crash in one of his trees. He puts on a stern face, getting closer to the tree she’s in once again.

“Easy now,” he commands, before pointing a hoof at the tree she’s in. Her ears flick, but gradually stand upright to indicate she’s listening.

“Yer’on my property, in my tree. Mighty sorry for pullin’ yer tail, thought it was a branch,” he says in a defensive, but apologetic tone. He’s entirely unsure of how to deal with what appears to be a predatory cat, and even more concerned that she appears to be on the larger scale of most stallions, let alone mares.

The stallion’s stern look seems to soften some as her expression does the same, though only a little on each of the two, her tail lashing a bit. Letting the air settle for a moment seems to do the trick in calming both the cat and the earth pony down, though it should be known that the two are staring each other down regardless.

It should also be known that the stallion’s curiosity is getting the better of him.

“Y’ain’t gonna attack me, right?” he asks, his forehooves shuffling in place as the anxiety of awaiting an answer crawls into his chest. The cat seems to wince slightly at the question, before rolling her eyes. She’s still clearly annoyed at having her tail pulled, and unbeknownst to him, tired of hearing that from anyone that views her as some ‘killer kitty’.

“No,” she claims simply. She looks him over, frowning at the light-brown colored stallion who’s… well, shit, certainly a bit larger-than-life. The dude’s fucking huge. He’s a good head taller than she is! It’s not too common she runs into a stallion taller than herself. Given his seemingly calm demeanor and questioning whether or not he was in harm’s way, she doubts he intends on provoking her any further than accidentally.

The sphinx glances down at her left paw, a vexed noise creeping from her throat as she gives it a testing wiggle. Still hurts like hell from her earlier scrap with a boar that’d gotten the better of her angle of attack, the boar having charged her and stomping directly on her wrist. Didn’t help that it’d whipped around just after and given her a nice cut just below that with its tusk.

With that in mind, she’d like to be able to recover. She’s hungry for starts, and with that hunt failing, she’s only bound to use up more energy to eat. Being unfamiliar with the area, she doesn’t exactly know where the nearest town is aside from ‘about a mile north’. Plus, she’s apparently on this guy’s property despite it being somewhat distant from the house that’s closest. It’d seem that the injured sphinx is in a bit of a pickle.

Ah. Can’t hunt too well with an injured wrist, either. Yes. Definitely in a pickle.

“Erm,” she says, inhaling and exhaling slowly. She’s really about to ask a stranger she’d just hissed at and called an asshole for a favor? She feels a little selfish, but… shit, it’d be much easier to chance seeing if she can have a place to crash, maybe do this guy a favor or two in return, something?

“I’m uh, a bit delayed. Kinda lookin’ for a place to sleep, it’s been a long day,” the sphinx says, still looking down at the stallion. He’s still looking right back at her, mulling over her words briefly.

“Mnh, not so sure ‘bout lettin’ brand new folk get the idea that this here’s a motel,” he chides back, tilting his head while giving her a slight squint.

“Fair enough. How about I offer some labor?” the cat asks. Another pause, this time longer than the previous one. He seems to be reluctant over the idea.

“Mmh, I’ve half a mind to think yer up t’somethin’. Ya just appear here, and wanna sleep over?” he asks, his expression turning to that of suspicion. He’s clearly under the guise that her actions are for exploitation, which isn’t at all what she was thinking.

“Nono, really, I’m just looking for rest,” she protests with a look of worry on her face. She bounds—at first gracefully—out of the tree before remembering upon touchdown that her wrist is most definitely still impaired, and when she lands she yelps several times louder than when she’d had her tail pulled. The stallion’s initial reaction is to back away, surprised by the sudden move to jump out of the tree. His surprise shifts to confusion when she takes the fall almost face-first, rolling on the ground for a few moments as she holds her bad wrist with her good paw. It’s clear she’s in pain.

“Fuck!” she blurts explicitly, squeezing her eyes shut as pain rolls up her foreleg, making the whole thing feel like it’s throbbing. She opens her eyes long enough to realize they’re watering up, embarrassment striking her as the massive stallion looks down at her, clearly bewildered.

What she wasn’t expecting was the defensive stallion to walk quickly up to her, leading to her thinking that he just might attack—but no, he stands beside her and looks down at her with worry.

“Good gods, you alright there, Miss?” he asks, that look of worry transferring into his voice as well. The cat looks away from him, knowing full well that the fall she’d just taken had probably hurt her pride more than it had her paw. That was completely and utterly stupid of her to do, overlooking her own self like that. Plus, she has grass in her mouth now… she spits it out, whining for another brief moment, rolling to her stomach. She starts coming to a stand, once again surprised as she does so with ease…?

He’s helping her up? His head, large and befitting to his massive body, is against her underside between her chest and her tummy. She lifts her bad paw, now steadily on her hinds and her one good paw, looking over at him with her eyes still watering. She looks confused, but not at all unthankful, staring at him as he brings his head out from under her and comes to a full stand.

She almost loses her balance, but stops herself from wobbling as she looks up at him. She feels a shiver trickle down her spine while realizing the truly immense size of the farmhand next to her. When she was looking down at him, she wasn’t in realization at how depth was fooling her a little, plus he’d had his head somewhat low.

Her eyes trail down from his face to his neck, broad in circumference before looking forward at his chest. She’s seen her fair share of working stallions, but this guy?

He looks like he could stop a fucking train cart.

Probably an exaggeration, but by Luna’s moon, this guy is robust.

His fore and hindlegs look strong, too. From his shoulders to his knees, right down to the notably chipped hooves from years of work, his unshorn fetlocks, the way his hoof waves in front of her face as she finds herself staring—!

“Miss? Didn’t hit yer head too hard, did’ya?” he asks, which mostly snaps her out of her daze. She’s never met anyone so much bigger than herself, and she can’t deny that that alone is pressing a mental button that she really likes.

He also gets a good look at her while she’s staring, finding her three-toned brown colors with small complimentary splashes of blue on her shoulders, under her eyes and behind her ears quite nice to look at. That tail looks like a whip, and her wings are tri-toned just like her body color.

“Uh… I’m good,” she says after another moment of just… looking him over. She feels a bit shameless in that regard, but really, there’s a lot of him to look at. She can’t deny she’s feeling a little intimidated. Thankfully enough he seems to be oblivious to her ogling, giving a nod to her affirmation. She notices him looking down at her botched wrist, followed by her wings. Now he’s looking her over.

“I’d feel guilty if I let ya fly off in a twist,” he admits. He frowns at her paw, worry once again resurfacing on his face. He can see blood from whatever happened to her, and it doesn’t look like a very pleasant cut, nor does it look like a clean one. He’s surprised it isn’t bleeding as much as the cut would indicate, though she may have done what he supposes any cat would do; lick their wound. The sphinx seems hopeful as she looks up at him, a metaphorical bubble building up in her chest as she awaits his decision.

“...There’s loose straw in the barn, you can use that for beddin’, I’ll tolerate that. It’s warmer in there than it is out here,” he says, some hesitance still falling from his voice, though he’s not one to let an injured stranger just walk off.

“Here. I’ll lend ya my side, can’t letcha fall again an’ ruin a fair face,” he says while stepping beside her, to which the sphinx seems to have no problem with. She’s not complaining about the random compliment either, it’s nice of him. Sweet, really. Calling out her involuntary clumsiness is making her cheeks feel a little warm, though.

With her leaning against his side walking is a bit easier, though it’s still a slow task. Most of the way to the barn goes without many words, and mostly with the feline taking this moment to feel the stallion she’s leaning against. His center of gravity is… comparable to a rooted trunk. She even tries pushing against him a little, and he doesn’t even seem to notice it. Plus, that scent coming off of him after a long, hard day of work?

There’s a feeling not unlike a shiver and a tingling feeling in her spine. That scent is tickling her nose in a way that can only be described as pleasant. She’s quite fond of it, honestly, though she wouldn’t admit that to him at this moment.

“I s’pose I should be askin’ yer name,” he inquires suddenly, a little over halfway to the barn at this point. She blinks herself out of her stupor, having mostly been focusing on the way she’s walking paired with the enjoyment of his warmth and his musk.

“Cloudjumper,” she replies.

He nods, which confuses her for a moment. He’s frowning again, as if in thought. He can’t just tell her offhandedly that her name is a little bit of a mouthful.

“Y’mind if I call ya CJ?” the farmhand asks. Cloudjumper tilts her head, frowning. He’s abbreviating her name? Well, it’s not bad. It’s kinda cute.

“Sure, that’s fine.”

They continue their walk, and with each passing moment she frowns a little more. He’s going to share his name, right?

“Do you have a name?” she asks pointedly, to which he seems to have a bit of a brain hiccup, his eyes widening.

“Shoot, sorry—yeah. Name’s Chestnut,” he says sheepishly, correcting his manners. Better late than never!

Cloudjumper smiles gently. Cute.

“It was hotter’n Hades out today, I’m tired as all getout,” he continues a moment later, looking down at her apologetically. With a gentle smile, Cloudjumper nods while hobbling against his side, seeming pleased with the information and apology. So he’s the work around here, she supposes? She’d seen him a little earlier working in the field, using that plow. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was the same pony all day, however. If so, good gods he needs to take a few more breaks.

A few minutes later and he finishes escorting her to the barn with care, opening the door and helping her build up a sizable stack of straw for her to lay cozily on. Chestnut watches the injured cat do a hobbled turn as she seems to knead her way with her good paws into the straw, plopping down just after.

“Cozy?” Chestnut queries. After receiving a nod from the cat-bird, he shares his tired smile with his guest and turns to walk out of the barn.

“I’ll be back shortly, that’s gonna need patchin’,” he claims, pointing toward her cut and sprained wrist. Before she gets the chance to fully respond, he’s turning to face away from her, walking out of the barn and toward the house, judging by his heavy steps.

She gets a brief, though definitely opportune moment to check out the backside of the stallion as well. Now definitely isn’t the right time to be horny, but she can’t help but admire that cute freckled butt, followed from below by the short tail Chestnut has. It allowed her eyes free access to what she would consider something along the lines of his quite large set of family jewels, contrasting his steady walk by swaying heavily between his hindlegs.

If he’s as nice as he’s been tonight for the time she’s here, she’d dare to say she’ll enjoy her ‘suffering’ this downtime. A handsome gentle giant with a burred, deep voice that’s complemented with a southern accent?—shit, she’s tickled to receive his hospitalities if he’s offering.

Due to her being relatively hungry, she manages to stay awake without much incident while Chestnut is obtaining the necessities to treat her wound. After a good fifteen minutes of thinking to herself, she starts to wonder if he’d forgotten until he re-arrives at the entrance of the barn, a first-aid kit in tow as well as cleaner fur. Judging by the scent he’s carrying when she’s close enough to pick up on it, he’d showered; he smells like an assortment of berries, dare she say like peaches too. She doesn’t pick up that he’d brought peaches and berries with him, though his shampoo coincidentally has a berry scent in it also.

“You comfortable out here?” the returning stallion questions, to which Cloudjumper nods. He says the kit and a cleanup towel down beside her, before laying down himself to open the kit and dig out some of the stuff she’ll need: peroxide, an antibiotic ointment and some gauze should do the trick just fine for the cut. About the sprain, well… he’s no doctor, so what she’s doing by keeping pressure off of it is probably just fine.

“Thanks for letting me stay. It’s generous of you,” Cloudjumper says as he unscrews the lid from the peroxide. She lifts her bad paw, knowing well what’s coming next as he slides the towel under it to stop peroxide from getting all over the straw she’ll be sleeping on.

Chestnut carefully tips the bottle over just enough to pour a suitable amount of the liquid over her wound, Cloudjumper grumbling under her breath as that familiar stinging sensation begins and the liquid starts bubbling like it’s supposed to, indicating that it could’ve led up to infection if it hadn’t been used. Thankfully the wound isn’t too wide, or it’d be far worse.

“Mnh, yer welcome,” he tiredly responds, though there’s a gentle smile on his face. He pours a little extra to be sure across her wound, a smaller but still noticeable noise of protest leaving the sphinx as less bubbling occurs. He uses the same towel, unfolding it carefully from under her paw to use the cleaner half to gently dab away the remaining peroxide. Thankfully it doesn’t hurt to touch the paw, only the wrist it’s connected to.

“All I ask is ya don’t make me regret it,” Chestnut says, looking up at her with a serious look behind his eyes. If there’s any indicator of him being unsure about this cat on his property it’s that, and Cloudjumper is well-aware.

“Don’t sweat it, I’m good company,” she beams with a toothy grin. Chestnut, not being used to that, naturally folds his ears as he sees her dangerous-looking set of teeth much closer than he had earlier. They look like they could rend flesh without much effort, and it honestly makes him a little uneasy… and maybe a hint intrigued. Mostly uneasy...

“Y’keep them pearly whites away from my hide, my family ‘n’ my animals ‘n’ we’ll be peachy,” he says, that serious tone of his returning. Her wings physically shiver at the sound of his voice, so compelling and deep, strong. She can feel her heart start to beat like a drum as she notices he’s staring at her, right into her eyes. Despite being quite the brave and hardy little adventuress she is, she feels a little paralyzed by those icy-blue irises of his. It’s like she’s stuck in place, frozen by the authoritative tone of the stallion in front of her.

In the blink of an eye, however, his expression settles into something calmer once more.

She feels like she just ran a lap. Her breathing had picked up somewhere in the past ten seconds, and her heart’s racing in her chest. Chestnut is clearly adamant on ensuring she’s true to her word; no trouble.

She swallows thickly, her pupils dilated from Chestnut’s tone and her ears flattened to the sides of her skull as he gingerly cares for her wrist, applying an ointment to the gauze he’d brought along, carefully wrapping it around the base of her paw, halfway up her ulna before tearing an end off of the bandage, sticking it to the rest that’s wrapped up part of her foreleg. He did a neat job of it; her claws would kinda get in the way with fabrics, so she’s thankful.

“There. We’ll change it daily, so if it gets torn up or somethin’ then we won’t have t’worry too much,” Chestnut says, before turning his head to get something from behind him. He presents a small basket with an assortment of peaches, strawberries, grapes and plums. It should be more than enough to keep her hunger sated until the later half of the morning, given she’s hungry.

Cloud’s certainly surprised, not having expected him to feed her. Her ears perk as she examines the fruits in front of her, looking up at him.

“I… thank you,” she appreciatively chirps with a smile. He gets up, his tail twitching behind him as he looks down at the cat who’s looking right back up at him. He’s nervous that she’s planning something. He makes a mental note to make sure all the doors are locked in and out of the house.

“Mmm. Sleep well,” is Chestnut’s rejoinder. He turns tail once more, though this time around Cloudjumper isn’t getting an eyeful of his rump as she looks down at the fruits, the bandage applied to her foreleg, the soft straw underneath her to sleep on…

She’s lucky. Really lucky. He could’ve just booted her to the curb, but he did all of this instead. The chickens in the barn with her would’ve looked appetizing earlier, even if she wouldn’t have stolen regardless of her appetite, but now they don’t even cross her mind.

She’s gonna show Chestnut what she’s made of, even with a scuffed leg. Repaying his kindness is priority until she’s all healed up and can make her way back to her adventuring.

For now, she happily munches away at the fruits given to her, finishing off the sweet and juicy treats in an acceptable amount of time before finding herself dozing. Full of food, warmth and something more comfortable to sleep on than the ground or a tree is more than what she needs to fall into wondrous slumber.