Porcupine Ridge authentic battle damage

The sand and stone maiden drifted forward, stepping light as she favored her foreleg. She gingerly eased herself down in front of his outstretched paws, tucking all but her injured limb fully beneath her. Peering up at Taggarik, his acerbic expression caused Diane to brush away his concern with a dismissive flick of her tail. "It's fine," she understated timorously, tucking her last leg too now, and wincing slightly as the pierced muscles in her foreleg flexed to accommodate the movement. "I'm more concerned about you," she added, quietly (though earnestly) deflecting. "You.. you let your wound fester," came an equally as timid tone, and then a little harsher: "That could kill you, you know! You, you can't just be so angry you don't take care of yourself," she added sharply, only to abruptly remember who she was talking to.

Her eyes widened, a flush happening invisibly beneath furred cheeks, and she drew her muzzle away in discomposure, clearing her throat. Looking back at him, her eyes were guilty. Apologetic.

Diane was at a loss for words. She didn't understand a lot of things about herself these days, and she would be discovering her true personality for a time to come—But more than her being unable to comprehend the changes within, Diane simply couldn't fathom the pitch wolf's anger. She could feel it, simmering beneath his skin, tempered by either her presence or the passage of time. She didn't know. "The mighty Taggarik, killed by mud blood... Some legacy," she muttered—Diane's obscure way of showing how truly upset she was with him.