Bramblepoint Blue spotted tail

Fearful that he was losing steam, the dark figure gazed at the man's wound with a crinkled snout. The blood had been washed with water in their journey. It was cleaner than it had been a day prior. 

These reminders pushed him through it as the shadow wrapped the foreleg in webbing. When he had finished, it was with a cold touch of his nose to the man's breast. 

There, Crowfeather hummed softly. Ready for rest. The appraising of his dressing was swift. The seer wondered if Mothwing had not been killed, would she have taught him more about her arts?