Ghost Lion Crag don't worry about him, he's getting fired in the morning.

she noticed after a moment the sorry state of his pelt, the scabs and bits of dried blood and clumped fur. while her first reaction was oh, ew, a sentiment strengthened by the odd smell she figured might be coming from his ragged pelt, her initial plan of asking what she wanted to know and leaving him to wallow by the stream was abandoned. she'd already decided that he was not okay, and thus his answer was met with a "don't be stupid." she set her paw back against the stone took a couple more steps toward him before pausing, nares wrinkling as she drew in his scent from what she saw as a safe-enough distance. 

she met his gaze a moment - struck by the weirdness of his eyes - before speaking once more. "I'm sorry whatever happened to you, happened." pause, allow the sincere sentiment to sink in, and then, "but your fur is a little - well, gross." oh, no. that didn't sound good at all, and while it was true, her father had told her time and again that she shouldn't go saying every truth that came to mind. "I could help you clean it, if you want." it was just blood, after all, and he didn't smell sick in the way her brother had that one time. perhaps she could simply roll him into the river, though despite how sorry he seemed, he was just intimidating enough for her to sideline that idea for the moment.