Firefly Glen Her eyes like windows trickle in rain

The immature side of Bronco was incapable of smothering a snort when Holland made a comment about the importance- or lack thereof- of size. He didn't say it, of course, but there were a couple remarks he could have made as a joke with reference to that subject, but he didn't know Holland well enough, and he was in pain so it didn't seem to be the time to be making lewd suggestions. Besides, Holland apparently was all business, and trying to teach him something about how wounds worked. He made a face as he peered down at his claw, which was still somewhat attached, but broken. "What do I do about that? Just let it fall off or pull it off?" He asked. Part of him wanted to rip it off- but he assumed that might only make it bleed harder. 

He was provided moss and instructed to hold it down with his other paw, which was already crimson from blood. He knew less than most about using any sort of medicine or healing aids, so he was curious to know exactly moss had been chosen as he, with a fumbling but heavy paw, pressed down on the moss that covered the broken claw. "So what's the moss do? Will it like...Go into my blood and slow the bleeding, or prevent infection, or does it just...sop it up?" He asked. He was surprisingly light-headed, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.