Firefly Glen blood in eden

When Lane looked up from her supplies, the white woman had already whirled to face her pursuers head-on. There was a sickened thud as her face collided with Antares's, and Lane winced. She couldn't recall if she had ever been this close to real combat before. Her parents had provided some training in triage principles and battle-medicine, but that had been done with the caveat that she ought to never put willingly herself in the position to use such knowledge. She'd been instructed to avoid all pack entanglements when possible, and to never find herself tied to a pack during wartime. 

When Antares and the white woman pulled apart, Lane could see blood on his muzzle. Was it hers, or was it his? She disappeared before Lane could get a good look. 

With the departure of the white woman, a heavy stillness fell over the remaining wolves. Lane was relieved that the group hadn't taken off in pursuit of the fleeing wolf. She took advantage of the quiet to bark softly once more, again ushering the dark woman towards her. If allowed, Lane would tend to the injury on her flank before moving on to assess Antares's nose and mouth. She would look over Keyni too, and anyone else who would submit to a quick physical. Perhaps at some point, someone would pull themselves together enough to address the group. Tell them they did good work, or whatever it was those leadership-types liked to say when the savagery and bloodshed was over.