Bearclaw Valley Friends, or Foes?

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

The boy was unconscious, and his tiny ribs gave under the pressure of Evien's nose. That was bad. The ribs could splinter and puncture his lungs, if they weren't careful. The medic rushed off to the side and grabbed the nearest decent-sized stick he could find, along with a few long blades of grass. It wasn't great, but it would do in a pinch. 

He laid the stick across the pup's side, where the injured ribs were, and carefully looped the grass around to fasten it to the boy's body. It would make for a makeshift splint until he could make a real wrap to hold him still. 

"Can someone carry him?" he asked, looking up at the others. "I can run ahead and get things ready for him at the den, but he needs to be carried slowly so he isn't shaken up too badly. He has some broken ribs." The explanation was short, but he needed to get going to get together the things he'd need to treat the kid. That plaster would be top priority.