Whatever the difference was between a sprain and a break Yukiin felt confident that he had learned what the difference was between mild pain and moderate pain after the second attempt to break his fall went about as well as the first. It turns out that losing your grip on the way down a mountain, shinobi or not, had consequences and those consequences could not be waved away by breaking your fall with your hand. It especially didn't work when you used the same hand, thankfully precise control over his puppet was no longer required once he crossed the threshold back into the inner village. He didn't fear for his life as much here, although he supposed that might've been a dangerous feeling and still gave the place a token amount of attention by looking both ways before crossing streets, scanning strangers in the streets for weapon bulges in their coats or pockets, and making sure to conceal his weakness as best he could. It bit at the back of his mind like a canine jaw trying to crush the juices out of his skull but that was a good sign, he could still feel the body part which meant frostbite hadn't claimed it.
He'd make a very crude bandage from ice and the torn hood from his puppet's cloak, Tsurara wouldn't mind as long as he replaced it afterward, sealing the bandaging in place with a thin frozen coating to hold the digits and his hand in a fixed position to avoid pain from moving it. Makeshift jutsu, to be certain, and he didn't know if freezing an injury in place was the best way to handle things, he wasn't a doctor after all, but it was working for the moment. Thankfully actual medical professionals were available and while Yukiin was loathe to turn himself over for their assistance, further cementing the idea that he was an expensive asset to the village that might be better served dead in a ditch somewhere, he liked the idea of someone else finding out he'd neglected to have it treated much less.
Without both hands, however, this greatly complicated any use of kugutsu and that idea filled his gut with several anxious serpents, gnawing away at him and setting a paralytic venom into his veins, as he approached the front desk. He opened his lips, trying to speak, but after a few awkward moments of his heart moving much faster than his lips, Yukiin gave up and turned his head down, casting his voice out to a nearby pen. "He needs to see someone for a hand injury."
After a few more awkward moments the Genin, maintaining his solid eye contact with the floor, extended his hand for whatever paperwork he needed to fill out. The secretary handed him what he could only assume were the proper forms and Yukiin nodded, stepping away to find a seat to write out what he could with his non-dominant hand. When that went about as well as expected, looking like crayon drawings from a four year old, he lifted up his hand, strings reaching out to grasp the pen. It was easier for him to direct it like this from above, like a crude puppet, and made his writing more legible although it was a much slower process to guide the pen through each individual stroke. Time wasn't his most valuable resource at the moment though and he sort of hoped if he just took his sweet time the individual at the desk would forget that entire...incident.
Much like his luck in the descent, fate wasn't looking upon him favorably though and when he returned the papers the secretary responded snidely "Thank you, pen."
Maybe dying on the mountain would've been nicer...
He'd make a very crude bandage from ice and the torn hood from his puppet's cloak, Tsurara wouldn't mind as long as he replaced it afterward, sealing the bandaging in place with a thin frozen coating to hold the digits and his hand in a fixed position to avoid pain from moving it. Makeshift jutsu, to be certain, and he didn't know if freezing an injury in place was the best way to handle things, he wasn't a doctor after all, but it was working for the moment. Thankfully actual medical professionals were available and while Yukiin was loathe to turn himself over for their assistance, further cementing the idea that he was an expensive asset to the village that might be better served dead in a ditch somewhere, he liked the idea of someone else finding out he'd neglected to have it treated much less.
Without both hands, however, this greatly complicated any use of kugutsu and that idea filled his gut with several anxious serpents, gnawing away at him and setting a paralytic venom into his veins, as he approached the front desk. He opened his lips, trying to speak, but after a few awkward moments of his heart moving much faster than his lips, Yukiin gave up and turned his head down, casting his voice out to a nearby pen. "He needs to see someone for a hand injury."
After a few more awkward moments the Genin, maintaining his solid eye contact with the floor, extended his hand for whatever paperwork he needed to fill out. The secretary handed him what he could only assume were the proper forms and Yukiin nodded, stepping away to find a seat to write out what he could with his non-dominant hand. When that went about as well as expected, looking like crayon drawings from a four year old, he lifted up his hand, strings reaching out to grasp the pen. It was easier for him to direct it like this from above, like a crude puppet, and made his writing more legible although it was a much slower process to guide the pen through each individual stroke. Time wasn't his most valuable resource at the moment though and he sort of hoped if he just took his sweet time the individual at the desk would forget that entire...incident.
Much like his luck in the descent, fate wasn't looking upon him favorably though and when he returned the papers the secretary responded snidely "Thank you, pen."
Maybe dying on the mountain would've been nicer...