Bearclaw Valley apertivo

Finding some grasses which might settle her stomach, perhaps purge the blood taste from her tongue, she plucked those and began to masticate. A heavy breath filled her lungs and then ached as it released.

She spat the wad of chewed grass out then reached for more, and saw something else beyond the cluster of green: a nameless herb with only the lightest frost crystalizing its leaves. This she took instead, and chewed thoughtfully.

The boy was nearby. Stryx only noticed him as she moved to lather the mashed herb against her hip, and when she couldn't reach, thought to spit it out too, until she saw him. The long strips of flesh pulled from his face. His crooked nose.

Boy, she called. C'mere. She unfurled herself a bit, and impatiently pat the grass next to her so that the patient would sit. If he did, she'd begin administering the mash to his face instead.