Swiftcurrent Creek all of my holy

no prob!

so just so i'm clear on wounds, and please correct me:
fox - wounds to ribcage and side of neck
jinx - wounds to flesh between shoulder and throat, sides of neck, and inner thighs

also there is mild powerplay, please let me know if you don't care for that.

Surprised that Fox would follow, Lecter turned reluctantly, fighting the urge to glance back at Jinx, who followed with a distant look haunting her once-fiery eyes. He quickened his step, then slowed, remembering their injuries as he led them into the dark heart of the woodland.

Entering his bone-strewn clearing, Lecter looked back toward Fox. "Wait here." His eyes slid past her for a moment to the ethereal form of Jinx, before he disappeared into the musty log that housed his herbs.

Comfrey for binding, spiderweb for bandages. "Feverfew," he muttered through a mouthful of plants, glacial stare traveling over the plants he would need for Jinx. But there was more that needed to be done for his lover; he had the sinking sensation that the children in her womb were the cause of her obvious misery.

The slyph needed warmth and rich food, daily infusions of yarrow and angelica — but she had held him away. And yet he would attempt to heal her, if she would allow it.

Returning to the redwolf, Lecter lay his burdens upon the loam of the forest floor. "Lie down," he ordered, needing the best possible access to her wounds, but he was at her side before she had presumably complied or refused. Rough prods of his muzzle against the punctures in the flesh of her ribcage brought blood to the surface; Lecter inhaled deeply, scenting for infection. Sensing none yet, the madman lipped a bolus of feverfew, chewing quickly before spitting it onto a wide oak leaf on the ground before Fox. "For pain," the shaman mumbled.

The bright scent of citrus filled the air of the clearing as he bit the stems of lemon balm in twain, before chewing them into a loose paste. Ears sweeping back momentarily, a glance of his icewater eyes to those of Fox, Lecter leant close and swept his tongue over the punctures, forcing the fragrant plant into the wounds. Her neck also he ministered to, disliking the intimate proximity, and the pale shaman was relieved when at last he could pull away from her.

Lecter grunted to himself, grinding comfrey leaves into a bolus between his backteeth. This he set upon Fox's wounds, atop the lemon balm; the sticky plant would pull the edges of the lacerations together. Deftly he worked, finishing the bindings with a thick layer of dusty spiderweb.

"If you have more pain, come to me. I have stronger plants. Leave your patrols to another for three days; lie still and rest." Lecter did not know if Fox would attend his words; that was her own affair, and he turned his full attentions toward Jinx.

She would need the same, but the wind had shifted; pus had set into her wounds. Ideally, Lecter would have her bathe before applying medicine, but it was imperative to tend her before fever set in, bringing with it the deathly teeth of deeper infection.

"Jinx," the pale witch murmured softly, padding across the loam toward her. Halting a scant few feet away, Lecter regarded her with worry bright in his eyes. From here he could smell fully the blood and the oozing fester of her wounds. Her scent no longer carried the undercurrent of children, and his heart sank sickeningly. "Jinx, my love, let me help you."