Bearclaw Valley If I was born a blackthorn tree

He asked if she was okay, and her chest tightened. He was far worse off than she was, and his first words were to ask about her; it made his amount of pain even more unbearable for her. 

I'm fine, she assured him. Her leg was swollen and painful and the wound on her neck still throbbed but is was nothing compared to what the bruin-jaw suffered from, or the bear king for that matter. 

I need to clean your wounds and apply a new poultice, she explained. And I have more stuff for your pain. She wished she had something better for his pain, honestly, but the winter meant her selection of plants was limited. 

She picked up the wet moss she had collected this morning and gingerly scooted as close as possible so that she could start cleaning the wounds on his face. How is your pain? She asked as she worked. She hoped he would be honest with her.