Phoenix Maplewood ii. "and i will translate you"

Ears twitch at his reassurance though her eyes remain politely averted, form held unwaveringly unthreatening. Discreetly, not quite meeting those eerie ivory optics, as she had been taught by Hessía - the elf eyes the tic of his lips that betrays a want to smile. 

A tentative curve lifts the corners of her own lips, tugging at the puckered flesh of her scars, as she dares approach the mountainous man. 

She rests the otter medicine tote to her side, pale muzzle extending as she gently sniffs and searches. 

He has many wounds, though none life-threatening, that the girl laps clean of blood and dirt - methodical and doctor-like in her process. After a moment, she reaches for the bag, nosing the head flap aside. 

From one of the rabbit pelts she withdraws a sun-dried bundle of burdock roots - as they were called by the residents of Teekon. Taking the bitter, earthy roots in her mouth, Elve worked them into a pulp with her jaws grimacing all the while. A coating of mouse blood helped but it did not completely remove the awful taste. 

She pasted the wounds lightly with the ointment, foregoing binding with bandages of any sort. The superficial wounds would scab soon and heal - wrapping them would only extend the process of healing. 

"T'at shou'd help wit'...rotting," she struggled for a moment to find the proper word in his tongue, knowing that her selection was not entirely correct. She shot him a kind smile as she gathered her supplies, retreating from his personal space to sit nearby. 

Curiously, her turquoise gaze lingered, particularly upon his conformation and the features that hinted to dog. 

"You...you look like me," she whispered in wonder as the realization dawned, having never seen another wolfdog like herself before. She'd been too preoccupied with his sudden appearance and wounds to notice before. 

It was painfully obvious that the Sami woman did not look at all like Ulysses but it was clear that she referred to their canine heritage.