Moonspear Fram, ber med bare føt, den tunge børi.

She didn’t move as he bustled around the den, fetching a fur to dry her—which was simultaneously painful and pleasant—and then procured some sort of pale green root, by the looks of it. Towhee watched in silence as he removed it from a pouch and cut it open with a claw. He then moved behind her, so she faced the den wall.

Towhee jumped a little at the first contact, mostly because it was colder than she expected. She could feel the moisture oozing over her angry skin, cooling and soothing it. The den filled with a refreshing scent. With the heavy rainfall, she fancied it smelled even stronger than it usually would.

She kind of wanted to fall asleep, though before Towhee let herself do that, she turned her head to say, Thanks, Alaric. Is there any particular aftercare I should be doing? Or will getting some rest suffice?