Snowforest Taiga nibwaakaawin ikwe

qupirruarjuit watches the woman treat her own wounds. it is messy and uncoordinated and she nonetheless does not move to help. she has already offered in her own way, and she is no saint. shock colors her expression for a moment when the stranger offers her what remains. in an instant it is gone, and their eyes meet. fire against fire.

"you." not an order, but a request. she cannot see the wound on her face, cannot yet feel it-- adrenaline still surges through her veins like liquid fire. it will be easier, she tells herself, more efficient, if this woman will simply cooperate and apply the salve directly.

she lowers her head. not submission, but an invitation. vulnerability, even if only a trace amount. eyes of dull green follow the wild woman, searching her.

"hold." she advises softly, to slow the bleeding. it will burn like hell, but it is necessary. and she is lucky this woman did not take her eye. the mountain hunches her shoulders, leans down as low as she can to give her companion easier access- even as it stretches taut the old wound at her shoulder. a soft hiss through gritted teeth, but she does not complain.