Firefly Glen I've been burning my heart out

Holland typically begrudged, but this time he accepted it. Lunaria was not so bad. He rather liked to spend time with her, and he assumed that she found his company enjoyable else she'd be somewhere else. He snorted again, half exhausted and half humor.

But he chose to focus on her curiosity. She had taught him about stars. He had taught her about religious differences. She now wanted to know about dressing wounds. "It depends on the wound" he utters truthfully "some do not need plants to heal them. Some need a good lick."

It helped calm down someone in distress faster than a foul smelling poultice. "Unpopular" he says gruffly "because they expect you to shove plants down their throats. If you don't, they question it. As long as they stop the flow of blood after it secretes enough to stave infection..."

He pauses, closing his eyes. "The wound will not open if they're careful." They only then needed to be further careful, else he would make a poultice.