Ravensblood Forest the swirling stream of what is and what was

This post is lame, I am very sorry! I am trying to get stuff done before I need to go to sleep.
There is some powerplay of pretty much everyone. Let me know if I need to change it!
The number of times I have said “flesh”, “wound”, and “laceration” are embarrassing. ;-;

The little Groenendael, preoccupied with her patients, busied herself with helping Olive and Dakarai sluice river water over their wounds. Doe and Isley’s combined caches were carefully nosed through, and when Seelie located calendula and yarrow, she delicately set them aside. Leaving Lotte to help the pair bathe any inkling of congealed blood or infection from the wicked looking lacerations, the atramentous healer foraged through the surrounding area until she came up with some sphagnum moss. She returned with sprightly alacrity, motioning to Lotte to aid with Olive’s wounds while she helped with Dakarai’s, and the nightingale complied without demur. Although Seelie trembled slightly at the large male’s nearness and the pain of what she was about to do, she drew a deep breath and put her faith in him. As long and as much as Dakarai allowed, the sheepdog licked at the angry red edges of his shoulder wound, trying to give him as much time between her ministrations as he needed. The cold water should have numbed the wound somewhat, but there was a great deal of debris embedded in the revealed flesh that needed to come out.

With her incisors, Seelie delicately nipped away any dead flesh, debriding any contaminated tissue so that the clean edges would heal. It was grisly work and turned her stomach, but she set her tender heart against the involuntary leaps and quivers of Dakarai’s abused musculature. Little whimpers and whines danced from her lips to his skin, apologies she could not give voice to, as she turned her finely tapered muzzle away from him. She took up a large portion of the calendula and yarrow and began to chew, keeping her lips tight over the small bundle of foliage as she sluiced fresh river water over his taller frame. It ran red in little rivulets, but the blood was crimson instead of clumped with the rust and black of dried blood.

Lotte, taking her cues from her much smaller counterpart, took up her own bundle of yarrow and calendula and also began to chew. At Coelacanth’s behest, they switched places, and each inspected the other’s work as they helped the star-crossed lovers to bathe. When the debridement and lavage were completed to the sheepdog’s satisfaction, she and Lotte helped the pair from the water. “Where is your den?” Lotte asked gently, her words garbled through a mouthful of plant matter. “We will steady you.”