Redhawk Caldera Blue Hours

Nightmares. He frowned softly, but he glanced over to Bridget, made hopeful by how freely she shared her experience. Perhaps his nightmares were a normal thing, then. It was almost a relief to hear that someone else went through something that sounded familiar, but who looked so strong, despite it all. Bridget likely hid some of her true feelings, but at least she was at a point where she could talk about it without breaking down. It seemed like she'd done a lot of thinking, and had had some time to process things. 

She implied that the wound had gotten infected, and seemed to blame herself for a little while, at least, until she'd realized how fruitless it could be. Bronco was inclined to reassure her, though. "Nah. Infection...Like you say, it just happens sometimes, but it can take out even the strongest of us, sometimes even under excellent care. It's a bitch." He said. He knew it was irrational to begrudge something so much, but grief could be undiscerning. "You're one tough son-of-a-gun to have beat it off." His voice was quiet and genuine, but he didn't smile. It was too hard to pay a compliment to one wolf for beating infection, when he still mourned another who'd not survived the battle. 

"How long ago did that happen?" He asked. Not that it was necessarily right to compare timelines, but he was curious nonetheless. Hopeful that he might not be too far away from being her level of healed.