Luneshale Pass your body laid out on these filthy floors

keeping super vague

they retreat and lick their wounds. sangre looks like she went through a log splitter. and soto is no medic; his passing understanding of botany allows him enough knowledge to stymie infection, but not heal.

they need a medic.

he pauses as a pair of bats swoop low, their chittering sonar pinging around him. they land upon a cactus that soto strides past, his own search carrying him across the moonwashed plains for moss.

a silhouette pulls his attention. soto approaches warily, golden gaze flickering over the wash of cinder that comprised her pelt. he says nothing, chin jutted out as he surveys her openly and without shame.