Emberwood Not The Plan

"Warbone," he answered, obeying her given invitation and rising so that he might lay at her side. Her age gave him little cause for worry, and her injuries took away whatever apprehension there was left. He could end her, he thought, as easily as he could end an aged doe, but she was kin to him— as all wolves were— and his newfound desire to prove himself useful and worthy of being followed, drew him to do this act of kindness without reserve. Settling beside her shoulder, he craned his muzzle, extending a gentle, rasping tongue over the tender flesh that had been rent open by an enemy. Her (mostly) dried blood tasted hard an unpleasant, but he worked to the clean the wounds, and soothe the stinging he knew plagued her.

"How did this become of you?" Warbone asked conversationally, only pausing in his attention to her wounds to ask this before continuing.