Swiftcurrent Creek little puppet made of pine.

When he did not pull away from her, River set to tending the fringes of his injury before taking a few tender rasps over the wounds themselves, cleaning the dirt from his foreleg. It seemed she had done this enough times to be proficient at it, though this was probably the extent of her medical training. Meanwhile, her guard hairs quivered beneath his investigative nose.

She listened to him but mainly focused on the tone of his voice, attentive to his emotions more so than the actual content of his explanation. She heard his anxiety and his relief. She heard his protectiveness, too, and suddenly it made her wonder if there was room in him to care for anyone other than his sister. Even himself.

She scolded the jealousy as soon as it rose up in her thoughts. It was easy to want that kind of devotion for oneself, no matter how unfair it would be to anyone else.

That tracks. Still being a stellar brother, I see, River commended him, straightening up. She followed his gaze to the dead wolverine, inwardly vowing to never fight another one unless it was absolutely necessary. Her eyes flickered back to Figment's face as he probed for own reason for joining in; she looked back toward their dead adversary in an effort to guard her expression.

Her ear twitched. It was hard not to. Though not the whole truth, it was part of it. The part that mattered, she supposed. I just saw you and I knew... I knew I wanted to know what you were doing and that I wanted to do it with you, whatever it was. She shrugged, looking up at him again. I'd do it again in a heartbeat, though I probably wouldn't be as gung-ho about it now that I know how tough those suckers are.

She swallowed, almost eager to change the subject. Think they taste as good as they fight? she asked, motioning towards the carcass.