Dawnlark Plains Got no time to waste, I'm already late

As Midar speaks, he's overwhelmed so suddenly by a feeling that it takes him a moment to name it — what's the word? Incredulous — yeah, that describes it pretty well. This, coming from the man who'd snapped at him for sleeping a few yards from his own pack's borders! The herbs fall from his jaws again as he snaps: Are you kidding? Oh god, he's not kidding, is he? What the fuck — that's not fine! You're not fine!
Whatever Midar says after that, he doesn't listen. He snatches up a few precious pieces of the plant he'd been carrying, separating root from stem and setting it aside. He doesn't bother asking permission before he moves to clean his companion's wounds, starting with the worst of what he can access — and if he gets bitten, he gets bitten. Any other form of protest is met only with a very frustrated growl. He's in no mood for an argument right now, when all he can think about is the fact that Midar just had to go and pull this shit right now.