Neverwinter Forest ctrl+a; backspace; begin again

I fell asleep four types times in my chair trying to finish this. I apologize for the crappy quality. So, so tired.

At long last, the mahogany-eyed wolf was clean enough for Lotte’s meticulous standards. The foul stench of infection had been wiped away, replaced with the honest, metallic scent of fresh blood; as much as she could, she’d debrided the wounds with thorough, somewhat unforgiving sweeps of her tongue and nibbles of her fangs. When she could manage it, she talked to the three silent men — but more often than not, her mouth was busy. She thought, not for the first time, that being able to tame a raccoon and keep it as an assistant would be incredibly handy; their deft little paws could manage things that made a wolf’s jaws look clumsy and ill-equipped by comparison. Another trip to the water source loaded her thick fur with chill water that she dumped rather unceremoniously over the wolf — “little mud puddle, what is your name?” she asked immediately thereafter, hoping to catch him in a window of coherence — and then taking up the poultice she’d made from sprigs of celandine and yarrow, she spread it into every wound she could find. She didn’t have oak leaves to cover them over with, but she stepped back from the boy nonetheless. “I need medicine for his fever,” she said without preamble, her tail whisking as she bent her head to Scimitar and Pasha, “but these lands are new to me — where might I find a willow tree, please, great lords?”