After the Hay-yen puppet dropped dead, Michael immediately rushed to Spek. He was on the ground, Michael kneeling besides him, ripping one of his few still intact t-shirts from home, to rags. He pressed the material tightly over the old boarman's open gashes on his neck.
"URLA! URLA! SPEK IS HURT! URLA!" Michael roared out with desperation strangling his throat.
"There's a lotta noise, Michael. I'll go and try to get her." Woh croaked as she hopped off and began zipping from building to building in the direction of the village gate.
"H-hurry!" He said gasping as blood still dripped from his nose, the bloodshot shakey eyes now looking back down at Spek.
The old tuskir let out a wheezed blood dribbling squeak as one of his hands staggered to Michael's shoulder, giving it a tired squeeze. "S- sthap... yellin' boi. Ye'll end up ki- cough!... killin' me hearin'." The old boar chuckled with groans of pain, wheezing and then coughing to the side a bloody loogy.
"D-don't laugh, it really got you good, Spek. Urla's gonna be here any moment. J-just stay awake, ok? Don't nod off. You can do that after she patches you up." Michael said while panting with heavy breaths, making sure to keep pressure on the still spewing wound.
"M-michael... is fine. It was me t- time to leave this place, soon, anyw- HACK! Cough-... -w-ways. I- I-... 'll get to see me wife... me sister... me lil' swines... huh... funny how ah'll be dying by da same fate as 'em..." Spek said as blood keept gushing from his snout, mouth and throat, the light in his eyes starting to slowly dull.
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"NO! NO! NO! You won't die like 'em Spek. You'll see 'em, b-but not like this... URLAAAaah!" The young human growled, teary eyed, droplets of his tears rolling down his cheeks only to hit the pool of blood around Spek.
"Agh-... huh? B-boi... I... I'm gettin' sleepy... w-... wah-... wake me... when it's mah shift. W-... Will ya?" The boar man gurgle grunted as his eyelids began to twitch and seemed to fall heavy, his breathing slowing quickly to a whisper.
"N-no-..." The voice seemed to die in Michael's throat, as his mind spinned in place to come up with a solution. Quickly he remembered some of the incantations used by Urla or Oinna to heal his wounds. At the same time the young man's mind flashed him the moments of his first time casting, nearly destroying Oinna's hut.
He peered around quickly, sweat dripping off his forehead. No sight of Urla, yet and the sounds of fighting continued around, a disharmonious cacophony of squeals, oinks, growls and cackling.
"S-Spirits heed my call, / Nature's healing bring to me / To make this man, of ailments, free / Heal his wounds, one and all / With my spirit I shall pay the toll!" The young man chanted, his brown eyes glowing a greener teal, like two beady beacons. The light radiated of the same color around his palms and he could see Spek's wounds starting to close.
Hope and relief came to Michael's heart, but it didn't last long as teal sparks began to shoot up his arms to his palms, more and more of them. Soon the teal flow of mana exploded in a pulse of force, shoving Michael a good 10 feet away, rolling on the dirt.
The young man's ears ringed, his eyes were flashed by white and his inner ear was shaken. As he slowly got his bearings, he groaned while trying to get up, looking in the direction of Spek. Sadly, the old boarman was there no longer, in his stead a large, old looking majestic tree, thick and sturdy, aged.
"N-no... Spek..." Michael's voice squeaked with a crack as he was on his hands and knees. The boy closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, pressing his forehead to the dirt. As tears rolled into the grass and mud he was silent, for the scream he let out inside would leave his throat raw and still wouldn't be loud enough to let him spill his sorrow properly.