Blackfoot Forest Foolish Protector act 2

Olive knew the physical suffering that Dakarai must have been experiencing, as he lie there beneath her paws, but Olive’s emotional distress was comparable. She grit her teeth and tightened her jaws, trying to remain present for her patient despite her lightheadedness and her almost visceral desire to retch. Though she had some skill as a healer, it was never a task she enjoyed doing, unlike stargazing and prayer.  She always been averse to blood and death and pain — not because she was afraid of it, but she did not like the place it sent her mind spiraling to. She adopted a peaceful lifestyle, using this intuition as her guide, but Dakarai never had. He was seemingly always putting himself into harm’s way; a most willing sacrificial lamb. 

Her dusky, critical nurse’s gaze were trained upon Dakarai’s wound, despite her repugnance. He asked for a star story, and she very much wished to take away his pain with the power of her words/  If she had limitless time, she would have kept pressure upon the wound for much longer, and she would speak at length about the gods and their wonders, but time was not a luxury that Dakarai had, so she shuffled her priorities. When the blood flow seemed somewhat stemmed — at least enough to allow for clotting — Olive turned her attentions towards disinfection.

“Of course,” she answered him. “Just… one moment…” her tore her attentions away from the dark night at her feet, his voice and presence so feeble, to once again survey her landscape for any suppliers that might aid her in this task. Winter had blighted the greenery and delicate herbs that she would have made use of, but she knew this environment usually supported arboreal willows. It would take a dexterous and creative fellow to make use of it, but Olive was willing. She pulled herself away from Dakarai, knowing fully that he would not be pleased to be parted from her once more, and tried to make quite work of her search. 

The woman rummaged through the forest in the immediate surroundings and was pleasantly surprised to find a scrub willow growing at the base of a large pine. It was not the white willow that was preferred, but it would do in a pinch. Wherever she could, the sylph picked at the bark with her teeth until she was able to grasp it and peel it away from the branch, letting it float down into a pile of fine curlings at her toes. She scooped her supplies with her mouth and carried it back over to Dakarai, who lay not too far away. “I’m here,” the woman affirmed softly, settling the shavings down to speak and then picking them back up again when she was finished. Carefully, the shewolf ground the bark with her premolars until it was a fine, warm paste. Then, she deposited the makeshift poultice upon the worst of Dakarai’s wounds and smoothed it over with her tongue. Finally she sat back to regard her handiwork critically, knowing it could be a matter of life or death. The bark was both a disinfectant and analgesic, though Olive wholeheartedly believed the pain of losing an ear to be beyond willow bark’s capabilities. If anything, perhaps it would stave off death for just a little bit longer, until she was able to make the man comfortable and ease him into the process. 

There was nothing left to do now but wait and see and keep him hydrated. Olive pulled more of the frozen moss from the stores upon the low-lying branches, placed it besides Dakarai’s muzzle and warmed it with her breath so that the ice crystals would melt and Dakarai could sates thirst, if he had any. Then, she laid down beside him so that he could feel her presence, even if he could not see her presence. “The moon is in Pisces this month.” she mentioned, not one to forget a dying man’s request. “Did I ever tell you about Pisces?”