Swiftcurrent Creek I lost a friend, like sleep on a red-eye

The girl had just slept.
Trauma, probably—mind and body—and he told himself not to care, but he knew it would only be a matter of time infection would set in, or dehydration if she didn’t stir.

So when the hours passed and there was still no sign of their redheaded attacker, Akavir gave a grunt of annoyance, finding a chunk of wood that had rotted in the middle and carving it to a small bowl-like fashion. Filling it from the creek, he took it to where she rested, hearing the shuffle of foliage as the girl fell down, an ear sliding back.

He’d done a number on her, but survival was a bitch like that.

He plunked the makeshift bowl of water in front of her, sloppily at that, allowing it to slosh to her muzzle slightly. “If you don’t drink, you’ll die.”