Blackwater Islands daft notions of pitfalls

Bridget came to the call as quickly as she could. By the time she arrived, Cerulean was already taking care of the stranger. She smiled gratefully at her packmate, but the expression faded to professional seriousness as she took in the sorry state of the wolf in the sand.

Lacerations that would need treating, likely exhaustion and malnutrition, potentially even inhaled water if they had washed onto the shore. She'd need to check their breathing.

There was no need to ask what had happened, it was obvious. I have something for those, once you're done. Don't worry, we'll have you patched up in no time. The second she addressed to the wolf whose name she didn't know yet. She was making a pretty big assumption, but as far as Bridget knew, they'd never turned a wolf who needed help away yet. We'll need to get you somewhere a little drier, though. Here.

While Cerulean worked on the wounds, Bridget began to work through their pelt, getting the worst of the water and grit from it. It was still early in the spring and illness was a danger as well.