Barrow Fields shine a light into the wreckage

Alarian watched with bated breath as the man roused, half-expecting to glimpse teeth again. But the stranger only nodded, shaking and still incoherent. He swallowed hard, suddenly struck by a spike of panic— did he know enough to make this okay? Did he know enough to make sure the dark male didn't die?
It would have to be enough. He glanced around as if to confirm again that they were alone, that there wasn't anyone more qualified around. No such luck. The boy took a breath, retrieved his herbs to set them closer, and inched forward. He was slow and tentative, moving first to clean the injured leg with gentle licks. The man's fur tasted of salt, of the sea.
To be so near a handsome stranger— touching him!— would have set Alarian's nerves alight in any other situation. Now, he could only worry about the unknown wolf. He remembered the poppy seeds and quickly nosed them in the right direction. You need to eat these. Ali urged softly, not bothering to explain to the delirious man. He half-expected to be refused, so he didn't wait around.
Instead, he bent his head to chew the root; when it was a proper poultice, the boy applied it to the stranger's wounds with feather-light touches. He moved to secure his work, then, with the cobwebs. When he had finished, Ali did not turn away immediately as he had promised. The Governor was still, half waiting to be told to leave and half waiting to find the words to ask if he could stay.