Stone Circle Trashin' the camp

Her mother retreated to give her space, the soft sobs of her siblings having her ears tilt back. What was she doing? She poked the marigold before beginning to chew the goosegrass, trying to ignore Murdock and Nanook as they took on the bison, tried to ignore the cries of her siblings. She'd cleaned up the blood as best she'd could, but it oozed still, staining the snow around the girl. 

Carefully, she began to apply the goosegrass, trembling slightly as she pushed it onto and into the deeper cuts. Would it even work? She'd only ever tried it on herself; what if she was wrong, it didn't stop the blood - and there was her mother, asking her to please save her while her siblings looked on. She waited with baited breath a moment, before turning back to the marigold, preparing it too and carefully applying it to the small wounds, sharp relief stabbing through her as the blood seemed to ooze rather than seep. It was slowing; though whether that was because of the herb of the mass of vegetation in the wound, she didn't know. 

Her mother, again. She will live, right?  She looked to her mother, ears flickering as she neither nodded or shook her head. She wanted desperately for the girl to live, but if she didn't -carefully, she dipped her head the slightest fraction, hoping the herbs would stop the immediate danger of death by blood loss; but there was also the potential for infection and underlying injuries. Choosing to focus on the now, she girl turned back to her work, raspberry leaves at the ready should the girl awake.