The Bracken Woods don't look at me

"Yes," Zam interrupted, his voice terse as he dropped the clumps of greenery near his brother. He fixed a gimlet stare on Delight and Lily--surprised to hear her speak, but not over the moon about it, not now--face brooking no opposition. "You can stay near him, but you have to help me. Apply moss anywhere he's bleeding; he needs it most on that neck wound, and his eye."

He spent a few minutes patching up the more serious gashes, then turned to his stash and picked up the small bit of leaves and yellow flowers. Celandine--good for the eyes, and for pain. He chewed it quickly in his mouth, turning it into a thick paste before moving close to Alarian again. "This is kinda gross. Sorry," he muttered between his teeth, before spitting the wad onto his brother's forehead, just above his brow. "Keep your eyes closed," Zamael commanded, then began to spread the makeshift poultice over the injury, stopping only when a liberal gooey covering had been applied.

The man sucked in a deep breath, licking the remainder of the plant from his chops before turning to the other two, who were--hopefully--applying moss to the most damaged parts of Alarian. With luck, the bleeding would slow quickly; he didn't want this to be a drawn-out process. In the meantime, he began preparing poultices of marigold, which would stave off any impending infections.

Zamael was not a healer--far from it. He hated everyone way too much to care for them the requisite amount to be a medic, but this was a special circumstance. He liked plants, and Alarian was the one wolf he did love. . .and he might as well put those two aspects of his personality to good use. Even if taking charge of the situation, plus his brother's precarious state, was currently scaring the fucking shit out of him.