"Discretion"- skekGra, skekTek
SkekGra hisses as skekTek smears some kind of pungent, stinging ointment across the nasty gash in his stomach. He’s called the Scientist rather than the Doctor for a reason- his interests lie more in poking wounds and studying their infection rate than stitching them up- but he’s the best they’ve got. Especially since he’d refused to let on to skekUng- who is at least a competent battlefield medic- how bad it really was.
“What sort of weapon caused this wound?” SkekGra knows it’s not small talk- he’s not the sort- but he still hesitates.
“Gruenak knife. They’ve-” he grits his teeth at the first jab of the needle, “got little barbs on the blade.” When skekTek raises a brow- surely wondering how such a creature had gotten close enough with a knife, he’s no fool- skekGra avoids his eye. “I was...distracted.”
He has no intention of mentioning what distracted him- a strange creature, a pair of soft, tired eyes, fixed on his from across the battlefield- before they had clouded with pain at the moment when skekGra’s flesh tore. Why had that happened?
“You will tell no one of this, got it?” he hisses, grasping the Scientist’s wrist hard enough to remind him which of them is stronger, despite their currently reversed positions.
“O-of course, my lord Conqueror,” skekTek agrees meekly, fumbling for the dropped needle and thread and returning silently to work.
SkekGra still doesn’t quite believe him, but at least he’s not skekSil (and at least he’d managed to avoid that one’s prying eyes on the way in). But by the feast tonight, the pain will be dulled enough to walk straight and hide it, and the others will never have to know of his moment of failure.