Moonspear let it be

He seemed ruefully amused by her question, and Harlyn's heart sank, though only slightly.  Her hope had been slim that the blood was not his, but she cast all doubt aside now and steeled her heart against whatever came next.  When it came to healing, there was no room to be emotional.  Pity would weaken her and make her cringe away from what needed to be done.  You could not set a broken bone while your heart bled for the pain you put your patient through doing so.  You could not...

Harlyn's jaw dropped slightly as the young wolf emerged from his makeshift den, for all the mental preparation in the world was not enough to prevent her reaction to the sight of him hobbling on three legs - the fourth clearly torn off from some horrific incident.  She composed herself quickly enough and closed the distance between them, immediately setting her nose to work sniffing at his wound to search for the scent of poison or infection in his blood.  She fought the urge to cringe at the scent - he had gone for too long with his arm (or... lack-of-arm) unattended.  The scent was foul, but there was hope still.

"Your wound needs cleaning," Harlyn said softly, sucking in a deep breath and wishing like crazy that she was not alone in tending to him, "You won't like this, but don't move."  Quickly, she went to work running her tongue along the stub, wiping away all of the dried blood and dirt while wracking her brain to first decide what the best remedy for this situation would be, and then to remember where she could find what she needed quickly.