Shadowwyn Moor that blackness called night

Two more rounds? (including this one) 

He answered, and she spoke. Velvety silver ears pricked, listening intently to what the more experienced healer had to say. Normally, he would never have stayed this long around a stranger to hear them speak; he had more important duties to do back in Bearclaw Valley. But this time, Raziel stayed. For what reason? She was an experienced medic and he was an apprentice healer, her words would help him in the future. What if she was a fake? The silver Roman didn't think she was; a fake would not be able to supply so much information and look so convinced that what they were saying was true. He had always been an expert and checking if one was lying or telling the truth, and right now, he knew she was telling the truth, genuinely coaching him on how to treat these kinds of wounds.

Raziel's silver crown dipped in a nod as the brown furred wolf told him to be wary of those who advised the use of goldenrod, that they were most likely inexperienced and were looking for a miracle. Truth to be told, the greyscale man never knew that wolves could be allergic to goldenrod so he was glad that he'd met this skilled medic or he might have given an injured wolf goldenrod, meaning well just to have it backfire. Thank the gods that hadn't happened yet.

A smile graced his weathered features when she finished speaking. "Thanks," he said quietly and sincerely, "I've learnt a lot." He glanced around, then towards the direction of Bearclaw Valley and smiled apologetically at the brown furred female. "I've got to go. My name's Raziel, by the way. What's yours?"