Bramblepoint We’re going to your place

the stranger's retort is off and condescending, but she is more or less unfazed by the attitude. it was the kind of thing she simply didn't find herself caring deeply about, for she found that true disrespect came in the form of ones actions rather than their words. still, her willingness to observe his injuries is unwavering in its curiosity and wordlessly does she unravel the bundle of herbs and begins to sift through its contents. to his question, she replies with a short, "no." internally, she smirks. two could play that game. pulling chervil root from the stash, scylla tosses it in his direction with a simple request, "for the infection you stench of. eat it." but it would not be enough to treat his eye, a severe injury that would only fester based on its extent. 

scylla pauses a moment, wondering if it would be too bold to command him to open his eye. it did not seem like the kind of thing she would get killed over, but yet, one could never be too sure. vaati had made sure she remembered that. but yet, she considers the fact that if he did not wish to succumb to his injuries (as he most likely would without her aid) he would be smart to obey. "you will need to open your eye." her calculating gaze hardens upon the other, waiting to see if the stranger would oblige or refuse. a wolf in pain was unpredictable, and a man in survival mode was something she knew to be wary of