Duskfire Glacier But she'll bring out the best and the worst you can be

She worked carefully on him, and as soon as his breaths began to slow, she abandoned his tangles altogether, and simply caressed the top of his head with her tongue, the way a mother might. She didn't hum, or speak to him, then, not wanting to disturb him as he settled into what seemed like a very deep sleep. It didn't take long for him to begin snoring. Then, she went back to work. 

She was still gentle, and with a watchful eye she minded his breathing so she could stop as soon as there was a hitch in his breath. Some tangles were difficult, and were best chewed free from his fur with her molars. Pulling it out would surely wake him up. He would have some rough patches in his fur from where she'd removed matts and stubborn knots, but he'd shed out in the spring and look as good as new. 

She tended to his injuries gently, furtively. She did not want to betray his trust by awakening him with pain, but she could tell that his wounds needed to be cleaned. She detested every minute of it; and was nearly overcome with the urge to vomit when she lapped up some old, musty herbs that had been slathered on him, days ago. 

She wasn't a medic, but she'd tended to her own wounds, and had kept them clean enough to heal. She'd done what she could for him, and eventually lay down beside him so that she could rest as well. 

A bit of snow had drifted against her side when she awoke, but it meant that she'd shielded him from the wind, and that she hadn't lost heat from her coat, either. The afternoon had passed and the sun would set soon- and when it did, the temperature would drop. Gently, she nudged Quennell. 

"Hey," She said softly. "Hey hey, time to wake up," She urged in as gentle of a voice as she could manage. "Thun'th goin' down, we better get off the glacier for the night."