Firefly Glen Nighttime coming

With permission granted, the shadow grabbed his fixings and approached the extended limb with sharp eyes. 

Mothwing had taught him a lot of what she had learned within her early months as a healer. She had been so sharp and swift at adapting to the work that most had considered her to be a prodigy. Crowfeather believed in her at his core. Her death had carried him from home easily, like a breeze drawing snowflakes. 

Chewing the yellow flower with a sour expression, Crowfeather offered one apologetic glance into the canary color of Germanicus' gaze before he spat it onto the wound. It was disgusting, but he wasted little time before working to apply the webs on the cut. The scent of blood and flowers was surprising, strange. 

Finished, the dark wolf stepped back and stared unabashedly at Germanicus.