Lost Creek Hollow The Sharpest Lives

The stranger introduced himself as Sherlock, and immediately Harlyn noted the weakness in his voice. Her ears perked sharply, sparing Mordecai a quick glance before lowering her head and stepping nearer to the sick creature. Her co-alpha proceeded to explain what he'd learned thus far about Sherlock while Harlyn sniffed at the air surrounding him. Her muzzle twisted into a frown. There was nothing about him that spoke of any terribleness disease or infection. He needed food and water, and sleep to be sure, but otherwise she was not alarmed by his condition, only concerned for his wellbeing.

"There's a cache not too far from here, a few minutes to the South near a large, knotted oak," she said, turning to Mordecai, "Luke and I have just barely begun to fill it, there's a groundhog carcass in it with this fellow's name on it." Harlyn looked back to her patient with a gentle smile then. "We need to get you fed and watered. I can get you something if your throat or head is sore, but it'll only make you sick if you have nothing in your stomach. Do you have strength to walk?"