Swiftcurrent Creek little puppet made of pine.

A sensation of unbidden warmth flooded through River as she saw the way Figment looked at her. It made her nervous, confused, and excited all at once; she had to avert her eyes to keep herself steady, though remained hyper-aware of his gaze worriedly searching her.

I'm alright, she breathed, trying not to think of the plight she had inserted herself in. As the adrenaline ebbed, she felt a stinging drip at the crux of her hip, where the wolverine had marked her with its hindclaws. It had all seemed like a good idea at the time, but the recklessness did nothing but fill her with regret after the fact. Things could have gone much worse.

She looked back at Figment, silvered eyes falling to his injured foreleg. Are you? River stepped closer, bowing her head to sniff at the wound. Lightly, she drew her tongue over a swathe of dark, mussed fur just above the wound, testing his openness to her touch. A soft whine escaped her. I can't believe you were hunting that thing on your own, she murmured.