Blackfoot Forest From the glass on the floor

a pool of scarlet seems to erupt from one of calfuray's paws, and so her motion towards her is quicker, hurried. i am sorry, came quick words as she scanned the paw, looking down at the thorn that now laid upon the ground, coated in blood. she stamps a paw of her own against the ground once, twice, as if silent instruction to keep it against the snow, should she wish for the bleeding to cease. ever the doctor, the medical woman.

then, she said: i did not think they would hurt you, words low, remorseful, as her gaze lingered towards the fractured paw. i did not want them to hurt you, but in the back of her mind, she knew that it had to be done, for being hated by a woman she cared for was the only way she could ensure that said woman would not be hurt again - at the very least, not by rala's own packmates, anyway. she could not bear to watch.

nanuralaaq took a breath. is there anything i can do? anything at all? hunting, healing, the likes? i try and find you somewhere to rest, would that be good? for her way of apologising, of making amends, was through actions rather than words. she could only say so much, there was much more that she could do ...

... especially if it was for calfuray.