Hoshor Plains And besides in the mean-meantime I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart

She returned relatively quickly, all things considered; quick legs, this one.

In her jaws she carried a managerie of methodically chosen herbs, were she a doctor, she might've laid out a kit of surgical tools and flashed him a devious grin. "This won't hurt- much!" and cue an evil laugh.

She'd come up behind him, wasting no time on getting into his personal space to peer over his nape at at the wound beneath his chin, trailing up across his throat. Won't you at least let me see it? She chuffed out a command and would shove her face right next to his, her eyes affixed on that lovely tear.

The bleeding had slowed in the time she'd spent collecting her emergency supplies, and so it was of less concern to her now. It was relatively shallow but oooh boy did it look like it hurt like a bitch!

I've brought some mallow blossom, i can mince it up nice an' fine and spread it on that cut. Should have it in better shape in a day or two. She did always like to inform, not that he'd know what plants did what, or how hard they were to find and how grateful he should really be that she was using this ambrosia for him, but she found information did often quiet the protest from the more... uncooperative patients. Got somethin' for the pain too, but you're better to take that at home, or somewhere you can be all woozy without the risk of drownin' face first in a puddle.

She had set the herbs afront him, a delicate white blossom with a sweet aroma, plucked from the heights of the mountains she'd had to cross when she came to the prairie. Seer's sage, a treat plucked from the forests nearto the rivers and gorge; pain relief to the max, with the downside of a temporary frying of the brain. She'd even dragged along some leaves to shield the gash.

Still, she wouldn't quite get to work yet, she did in fact need at least a little bit of co-operation, if only for the location of this injury. She'd try to prompt him to lift his chin, pushing up under it with her own muzzle, she was many things, and patient was not one of them.

Suddenly she was up his ass and then right in his face. Dreven eyed her with growing trepidation. This was going to be uncomfortable and probably hurt like a b***H. He sighed and blew out a breath and waited.

Dreven knocked her head away lightly with his muzzle and turned so that she could see the tear better.

He studied the blossom. My father used that one. I think.

I never take pain medication. It fuddles up things too much and bad things happen. He shifted in irritation at the thought. He had taken pain medication for Atka, but she alone.

She was pressing and he lifted higher. A soft warning in his throat when she kept pushing. Hold on. I'm moving.

Was your dad a healer? She questions with a fair flicker of intrigue as she begins to get to work preparing the poultice. There was no room to waste such a rare medicine, and so she'd opt to mince it with teeth and saliva, spitting out the mixture onto one of the maple leaves she'd brought along. Mmm. Spit paste. What a treat.

And of course he wouldn't take anything for the pain. Ah well, that part at least was of less concern to her, although she admittedly would've liked to see him knocked off his rockers from the sage. His mention of bad things lead her to draw a conclusion that something of the sort had happened before. What sort of bad thing could happen out here? Life's been fairly mellow for us all lately. Most you'd do is take a long ass nap at the homestead. Unless you just don' want Arktos seein' you slack...

She'd let him move, adjust himself to wherever he wished to be, heeding the gentle growl that rumbled in his ravaged throat and waiting. Once he found himself comfortable, she would hunker down onto her belly, facing him and applying the poultice to the tear as they spoke. She was close, uncomfortably so, and yet the realization had no place in her gaze. She was at work, after all, and if anything could so accurately capture her attention, it was this very thing.

The bleeding slowed to a mere trickle, which she took as the opportunity to fully engorge the wound in this paste. Leave it there a couple days. It'll dry, get stuck to the fur, protect the wound for the time bein'. It can be washed off when I say so. She barked a command, one tattered ear flicking.

Something like.

His dad was a man if many facets. He did whatever the queen had needed. Healer, poisoner, torturer you name it. It was what he had been. But he had a small dose of affection for the beast in front of her.

You might take advantage. He barked back. A small litling of humor in his voice. He didn't tell her what he knew. How he had been abused because of such medicines as a pup barely able to stand up. No he kept that to himself.


Yes mam. He parrots back and swung his tail. He gave her a harder than necessary tap to her head in thanks. But he was not an affectionate sort. Nor did he say thank you ever.

we can move towards a fade going forward if that’s good with you :)

Oh me? Nooo... never. She feigned innocence at his trace of humour, as if she herself hadn't laid the crumbs that labelled her ever the opportunist. His tap knocked her head downward a smidge, to which she grinned, appeased in more ways than just having done a good job.

She was starved, so starved of even just simple physicality. Each night back home she'd nestle in alongside a sibling, or a friend, each day she'd encircle another of her circumstance. Though fleeting, there was a trace of her that was sad for a moment, reminiscing on all the meaningless comfort she'd sought in the absence of what was owed to her when she born. Leave it to an urchin to be love starved long into her adulthood.

There was hesitance now in her actions. There had been for a long time. Since her tail found its crook and her ears became savaged. She was no pariah of personal space, but she held back now more than she ever had. The world could be cruel, and worse so, the world could be cruel for no reason at all. Purpose was what made cruelty worthwhile, and when there was none, it shattered her view of things and left her picking up the pieces.

I suppose you can have half the fawn to get your strength back up. She mused as she sat up, taking a few steps the other way to drag her quarry nearer to them.

She was grateful, really, that he was here, even if he had gotten injured for a whole lot of nothing. The least she could offer was a portion of the meal she dragged him out here to catch. ..I do appreciate you helping.. No need to worry bout bein' dissected in your sleep.... A pause, a joke, much as her tone struggled to convey.

Please, as if she would waste a packmate on something reserved for vermin.

I only do that to the ones I don't like, anyways. Envy snickered, tongue sweeping briefly across her jaws.

...D'you want a shoulder on the way home? She'd offer optimistically, head crooked to the side.

Fine with me. Iapologize that I have been slow. But i do enjoy their threads.

Dreven knew that his paw would very possibly knock the girl flat. But he had used it anyway, before he thought about it. But she didn't seem perturbed at least.

She was careful now. He wasn't sure what had changed. And honestly he didn't really want to take the mental effort to think about it. Had she invaded his space. He couldn't say what he would do. Even he no longer knew what he would do in his day to day actions.

Dreven laughed. Little one. I would bear you to the ground. Unless you mean the fawn. And i'm good. I can even carry it. You did good.

The last part said gruffly and with no care. But he gave a swift nod.

All good! I've been swamped with irl chaos lately, no worries

Oh, validation. How sweet it tasted in these little doses; as much as an inflated ego worked to soothe the gaps in a deprived soul, it was a bandaid solution. Hollow and empty. This was the real stuff.

Of course she did good. She always did good. Yet still it sounded so much nicer when it fell from a different set of jaws. She would always need more. She was nothing if not ravenous, and that feeling stretched out into every aspect of her.

Don't know til ya try. She remarks with a shrug, before standing and fetching the mangled neck of the fawn and dragging it over in a graceless few tugs. If even this was a weight she struggled to drag, it would be a hopeless endeavour to try and hoist Dreven's hulking form onto her own. Not that it was even necessary, it wasn't like his legs had been injured.

But she thought herself on top of the world; big mistake, giving what sounded suspiciously like a compliment. C'monnn, don't be modest. Y'let me help you this far... She muses, girlish amusement plastered across her face.

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Dreven was not a man of many words. And validation was a fools choice and not something he believed in. It was usually pretty lies wrapped in pretty bows, to ease a hurt that had been given. Though he did in somw off kilter sort of way mean it.

He chuckled. Sorry darling. Only time I'd let you support my weight was if I was dying or I was fucking you. No need to hurt ya. But

He searched for the right thing to say. It was kind of you to offer.

A smile hard and strange. Didn't fit the moment. The words hard to push past broken lips.

He reached for the fawn and motioned her to walk. Where do you want your meal?

Tags for reference ;)

Gah. She lets out something between a scoff and a grumble, it was hard for something said so plainly to go over her head. Third times a charm!

...Hmm... here's fine. I don't want @Bard's disgusting breath tainting it back home... She clasps onto the hind leg of the fawn, pulling it down to the earth with her. A pearly underbelly met with the dirt, and her crooked tail saw fit to swish and disturb the pebbles beneath. She was not eager to meet another challenge with that shitstain. Her shoulder still hurt. She hoped his leg felt the same.

Wooo! Comraderie! The wolves of Yellowstone were truly quite the close unit.

You gonna have any?:: She inquired with a tilt of her head, sharp, torn ears flicking invitingly.

Dreven was not one to hide his vulgar nature. Did he mean anything by what he said, half the time no. It just sort of slipped out. He had been used for one purpose a lot. So it was only normal his mind wasn't entirely right.

He chuckled at her scoff and grumble and shook his head. He slid to the dirt himself, but he hit it with a loud unf and a puff of dirt. And he stretched. The shit on his neck itchy as hell.

But he dipped his muzzle. I'll take a leg.