Blackbeak Bluff apricot

What could she do! The thought of leaving this poor man to his wounds, even to forage for supplies, felt like the wrong thing. She tried to bed down next to him and thought maybe that was wrong, or hurtful, and got up after a beat to try something else - but thought she caught movement in her periphery.

Was there a beast out there? Whatever had caused these wounds - did it lurk nearby? If it was here and hunting the man, Wilwarin would have to protect him. Her lips pursed in a silent whine; her tail went low, almost tucking to her belly, her whole body a tangle of worry.

Maybe she should try to wake him? Get him moving? Oh, but he was so hurt! She paced around him but her attention flickered to every scraping branch, every whistle of wind, agitated and on high alert. If only she could call for help! Wilwarin had to do something.

She began to scrape at the earth; there were some plants close-by she could at least use to pack some of the wounds, and she hurried, having never seen so much blood before; the feeling she was being stalked did not abate as she worked to free these weeds and work them to his wounds.