Arrow Lake Birds don't fly, they soar

too cold in the season for cobwebs, mahler mused as he tucked comfrey into his jaw and began to chew a sticky bolus. he would have to hold her wound closed until the plant had knit the edges.
"it vas nature. ve could not stand against it, and i vould not have made us stay in an unsafe place," the gargoyle muttered, nudging crushed valerian onto the deep seeping tear before he looked up at the she-wolf again.
"this vill hurt," came his grunt; a brief pause before he spat the comfrey onto her flank and placed a heavy paw over it, pressing downward so the edges of the flesh might begin to stick to the cooking paste.