Moonspear it's a cold world, you should cover up for the snow

Her notched ear splayed to one side at his response, and she had to resist rolling her eyes. Of course it does, you daft idiot. She felt some sort of small sadistic pleasure in having caused him extended pain, even though she was also trying to reduce it. Perhaps she could just wean him off the flowers early; she was confident he could handle it. The less comfortable the Redhawk man was without outright claiming abuse to Hydra or another pack member, the better.

She moved to his side, nose wrinkling as she inspected his leg. She had no idea what signs to look for — bad or good. It looked well enough for all her efforts and guessed that he'd be able to hobble about at least in the next few days. The areas where her fang had pierced flesh were healing, and she sniffed at them cautiously to make sure there were no indication of infection.

When she pulled away, the girl sighed, sparing a quick glance at his boyish face. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry," she said, forcing each word out hesitantly. She wasn't really; she was more sorry for the fact that they just hadn't killed him then and there and now she was stuck with the clean up.