The Sunspire he held my hands above my head and i commenced to pray

for what it is worth, praimfaya's annoyance abates just as quickly as it rose; the sting of insult salved over with the invisible balm of his wounds as she drifts nearer to study them. frostbound gaze studies the lacerations: on his flank, on his hip. they are ugly ( not that she's one to talk about ugly wounds ) and left untended. praimfaya's frown deepens. her first instinct is to place his wounded hip and flank in saltwater but as they are in the middle of the mountains that is not an option. she tries very hard to keep the slight tremble out of her legs that threatens as she keeps drawing the line between this man's injuries and dacio's.

she might not even know the the saints' name before her but that doesn't mean she wants to watch him die. an ironic twist since she made a living out of killing.

it should've been treated much sooner, praimfaya starts with, leveling a stare at him. i'm no medic so i can't promise that the damage is entirely irreversible, at this point she was merely going off of logical deduction. i saw some yarrow a little ways away, she gestures in the direction. i'm going to go collect some. i'll be right back. despite that she thinks he isn't going anywhere, her words still carry that 'don't move' warning tone anyway.

it doesn't take praimfaya long to find the yellow flowered yarrow and she collects a bunch betwixt her jaw, likely much more than she'll need. she makes her way back to where she's left her pack mate with haste and sets the crushed collection of yarrow upon a nearby rock, nudging thru the broken stems as she tries to recollect what stryx and sugar glider had done to dress her wounds; wishing all the while they were here.

i'm going to chew these into a paste and spread them on your wounds. she announces, gathering a good bit into her mouth to begin the process. yarrow, as it turns out, doesn't taste good and the pollen saturates her tongue as she works it into a paste, drawing nearer and, if he allows, tentatively and as gingerly as praimfaya can, spreading the yarrow paste upon his wounds. her work is messy, clearly lacking the refined precision of someone with experience dressing wounds ...but as long as it was effective she didn't much care.