I've sailed a thousand oceans to be here in your arms.

Land shark, lots of teeth? What? Did he hear the poor bleeding woman correctly? Raylin had clearly entered the stages of delusion brought on by blood loss, the warlock was sure of it. Poor thing. Looking at her broken body now, she looked like a pale representation of the feisty little creature that he knew all too well that she was. It was wrong, it lacked justice. Even that vibrant hair somehow seemed less so from when he remembered, that not even the darkness of night could steal. It was not just blood that was leached from her then. At least for now. Her spirit was like flickering like a wavering candle. Yet even still, there was never any mistaking who she was, even covered in granules of sand and soaked in nearly black appearing blood. The warlock took no time in scooping up her petite body within his strong arms, holding her almost tenderly to the warmth of his chest. He was like a protective nest that she all but laid limply within. She felt so cold within his touch. Her eyelids fluttered in a losing battle to remain open. "Land shark? How much did you have to drink?" The warlock questioned and yet no less baffled by the imagery of such a thing.

The young woman muttered that she wanted sleep. Oh no that was not a good thing for her. "You can't sleep yet, little lass. You only just got here." He denied her, his gentle but chastising words intent on keeping the woman present. The Irish warlock seemed to hold her tighter in that moment as he leapt onto his boat with an easy surefootedness. Barney seemed extremely concerned, his light brown gaze watched his master and the young woman with a sharp intentness, the dark canine followed a protective closeness that could have almost tripped him, especially upon the steps down into the hull. She looked bad. Really bad. He strained amongst the usual sounds of that boat to hear her breath. At least he could see the wound upon her shoulder within that better lighting. The soundtrack of the ocean fell into nothingness as he focused on her and her alone.

He placed her with care on the cushioned surface, only slightly aware that it would have probably been easier to put her on the table. She looked equally as limp upon that couch, strewn there like a broken doll, half propped up. The only thing that allowed him to know she hadn't died was the whine upon her lips. "I need you to focus." He moved with time of the essence to diligently grab at his easy access supplies, as impressive as a doctors kit. After all, the man was no stranger to caring for his own wounds.

He placed it beside him, on a smooth surface so that all he needed was within reach. He needed to stop that flow. He put direct pressure to stop that blood from seeping out more. That at the very least caught her attention. She cried out with a startling shouted curse as the woman flinched beneath his touch. He hardly allowed that to assuage him as that pressure was far more vital than her comfort and like all things, it would subside. "Ah, there she is. I knew you had the mouth of a sailor." He stated almost proudly, his irish accent easily interwoven with each spoken word, no less thick since the day he left ireland. She seemed so entirely disoriented and yet that was to be expected. He lowered to crouch before her, so that he could maintain level with her. It made his movements to treat her far less awkward.

Now that he had her attention, he intended to keep it. How clear it was she was straining from the unrelenting pain that pinched her face. But her pretty eyes still managed to find his own as she questioned him. What suited her? Even now, she was demanding. He was unable to prevent that distinct upturn of his lips into his iconic roguish grin. "Well...A great deal, actually." Yet he does not elaborate, she would need to fight him for it and clearly she was in no shape to do so.

"I hate to admit it to you, but it's going to get a hell of a lot worse. At least you will be screaming my name by the end of it." His brow shot up suggestively, clearly unable to help himself. It would seem the warlock had no shame, even in dismal situations. After all, flirtation was usually a good method to keep one awake. Especially when a charming Irish man was doting upon you. "Drink this.." He offered her that bottle of whiskey he had procured, the one he had been nursing before he found her. Oh she was going to need it, even if it would likely do much, but it gave the mind a distraction.

He peaked behind the towel to ensure that she wasn't losing any more blood, it was just about there."Now, do me a favour and take your free hand hold this towel for me. Tightly." He ordered. They would deal with the blood soaked clothing last.Barney watched closely, like Brennan was the doctor and he was somehow the helicopter nurse. He looked into her pain laced eyes for some kind of recognition before he proceeded.

Brennan O'Connell

a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor