Fox's Glade As if your soul were on fire from within, the moon lives in the lining of your skin.
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#7
The tundrian hummed softy in agreement, falling silent and still with Tahani's next command. The spearwife lapsed into statuesque-like stillness, not daring to move even as the healer spit a poultice of green plants - oak leaves if her guess was correct - and saliva right into her leg wound. Her scarred muzzle wrinkled slightly with distress and she turned away from the sight.

The berserker settled into a comfortable position after her wounds had been bound - leaving her pale coat looking oddly striped with green - stretching out to rest as the medicine worked its magic.
"And you're tired of not being strong."