Bearclaw Valley well me, i like plastics, and digital foils

the nightshade's fur ruffled, her gaze roving from healer to the sundry items he had collected. some she recognized by their scent, but others were foreign to her. a ripple of distrust flit across her gaze -- she did not know this wolf. he was merrick's, not hers.

lowering her dark head, the blackbird allowed him to inspect the gash along the back of her neck -- but any poultice or mixture he might bring to her cut was roughly inspected by deep sniffs before she allowed any to touch her pelt.