Moonspear let it be

Her surprise only went partly noticed by Atreyu, who still hadn't regained quite enough awareness to pick up every movement made by the woman — or the world in general, really. He only focused on the scent that emanated from his stub of a leg, along with the sensations that passed through it. Sometimes it burned, sometimes it ached, most of the time, though, it was simply numb. He didn't mind when it was like that. Whether it was a good or bad indicator was lost to him.

It began to sting with renewed pain as the healer suddenly started forward and began to clean his wound. He had only caught her last command of don't move and obeyed willingly, even as his hackles and lips raised as she aggravated his injury. She had licked away the clotted blood (he heeded no attention to what it might taste like for the poor stranger), exposing fresh skin to the air. Atreyu fell into a sit with his foreleg extended as he complained quietly through soft growls. He was in no position to refuse her help.