Stavanger Bay I. The flames climbed in to the clouds.

He spent a night among the spires of the Sentinels, and when he woke his wounds had coagulated across his chest. His full-tilt run had done a number on them. Purple-red tones had bled in to his silver coat but he didn't know it until the smell hit him, and then he was awake—sharply brought back to his body from the netherworld of sleep. From this section of the forest he couldn't see much, just the shadows of the trees criss-crossing his hulking shape where it lay. Revui was caught by the strange smell in the air—the saline, the lack of minerality like he would find on the mountain.

Then, he remembered. He wasn't on the mountain anymore.

ooc; hope you don't mind me!

it had taken a few days to reach this area. more than she would enjoy admitting. least of all to herself. the coast was not vaguely different than places outside of this land. herein lay a familiarity if anything, the salty breeze tickling her nose. yet that was not the only thing that did; blood. the iron-clad scent of it a trained smell, and even a trained reaction. she shifted her body from the outward of this particular location, to follow the scent. curiosity drove her further in, not compassion. 

she had no idea what could transpire. whether a predator or prey had been injured. whether another creature like herself had been. someone was behind such a smell. she was going to seek it. the heavy woodland she stepped into now blocked most of the surrounding viewpoints, causing the woman to become briefly disoriented. a slow shake of the head before she proceeded. her happening upon the other was pure chance. if she had not spotted him, she would have kept walking. simple, really.

"are you well?" she said upon her approach. a cornered animal was a dangerous animal. she kept her distance, her eyes lingering on his frame and his wounds. yes, he appeared injured. but she was not going to press if he became violent. neither was she if he did not want her company. let her find another thing to tend to. a small bird, perhaps. start small. she did not exactly inspire confidence and a healer way.

Sleep had come to him easily once his body landed in the gully, but it was waking that brought the issues. His blood may have stopped flowing so mercilessly but he still ached, his muscles stiff from poor care and too much strenuous activity the day before. The boy sat up; he hoisted himself free of the dirt and pine needles in time to see a flicker of white among the shadows. He would have bristled if he'd had the energy, and instead trailed after that pale shape with his sleepy eyes until it was closer, and it had formed itself in to a face. The stranger drifted nearer and their close proximity finally roused a response from him — a ripple of movement as he lurched to his feet and an array of platinum fur spiked along his broad shoulders.

Are you well? She asked — or, he thought it was a female's voice, and he thought he heard a note of caution. The boy's gaze dropped from the stranger for a split-second as he inspected himself, unsure of how to answer. The dried blood had caused his chest fur to tangle in to a mess, bits of leaf-litter stuck to the coagulated mess, twigs and pine needles twisted throughout his densely furred underside. Things ached, but that was all. He was not worried. When he looked to her again, his nose tipped in silent acquiescence; I am fine, he was conveying.

Then he took a breath and tried to stride confidently away, but as soon as he was moving he was struck with an acute vertigo and swayed to a stop, blundering against the wilted ferns which had caught his hefty body in the first place. Okay, not so good.

she did not move from her spot. her body did not even sway. she was a speck of ice upon the earth, frozen to a stand-still, a being made of matter. her eyes glanced easily to the blood, remarking to herself it appeared dried and perhaps the wounds had closed. however, she snapped to his face at the quiet nod. the woman was not one to, ah, interfere if others wished to harm themselves further. he did not appear fine to her. however, he was a stranger and not one to coddle easily. let the man leave if he so wished.

and he even attempted this, should he have not been hit with his vertigo and swayed to the side. his body caught on ferns. she regarded him for a moment before moving forward. Huntington still kept her distance. both physically and emotionally. though now she knew she could not simply ignore him. dizziness, it seemed, was an aspect of his wounds. blood loss perhaps? or was it a further trauma? "rest is required" she uttered quietly, tilting her head to the side slightly as she regarded him. "though I can leave if I have interrupted it?" if he wanted to walk away simply because she was there... 

well, there was no point in allowing him to depart due to his pride. she had encountered others like this. they did not want others to see their weakness. yet if he had half a brain, he would accept her services. "though if you do not mind the company, I know how to patch wounds." 

He was not in an accepting state of mind, and would've rather been left to his own devices (stubborn, like his brothers and sisters, until the very end), but she was quick to offer her services and the mention of patching wounds made Revui think of Speedy and the raspberry leaves. The question of whether this person could be trusted had not entered his mind; he was not being difficult out of spite, but out of weakness. Revui loathed that he was so weak — that he could be a target, whether she means him ill or not — but he does not know enough about herbs and medicine to counter her offer. It would be best if he accept, and he knew it.

The boy managed to get up again. He trundled a few steps and then stopped when he had gotten nearer to her, dropping his rump in to the snow, and after a few moments to catch his breath he shifted his weight so that his bloody chest and shoulder could be looked at. His way of accepting, one might suppose. The blood was thoroughly matted in to his tangled fur but the wound itself was in the process of stitching itself back together. In another week or so he'd have been well enough to roam his family's mountain but it was his sudden sprint away from Moonspear that had torn apart all the good the healers had done.

she did not so much as smile in pleasure, even though she got what she wanted. having accepted her help out of, perhaps, desperation the man sat before her now. Huntington had waited until he made his mind up. she was always willing to boaster her skill further with practice. this was not out of the kindness of her heart. this was merely an opportunity. he did not speak to her. mayhap unwilling to form a connection with the woman or was unable to communicate. either way, she shifted a bit closer to look at the wound. 

it was healing on its own, as nature intended, yet she could still do some things for it. her eyes drifted away from the blood to find a plant she knew immediately. balsamorhiza, commonly known as balsamroot. a rare find in the winter. she plucked it from the ground, leaning over to do so, and dropped it at her paws. cracking it, she discovered a good supply of the sticky sap. her eyes returned to his. "I am going to apply this to your wound. it will prevent infection" she told him, before dropping her skull to the flower and rolling her free paw in it. "yet you must clean it, best you can, before I do so."

there was little a plant could do over a dirty wound, after all. she patiently waited for him to do as he was told. or if he even would.

The wound across his chest was located in a place that made it difficult for him to look at, let alone clean. But she suggested he tend to it as best he could, and so he would try. Revui angled his snout by tucking his chin, causing his dense neck fur to splay out like some kind of draconic frill, and began to run his teeth through his coat. He pulled at the knots with sharp tugs. Eventually some of the red mess came loose and he could gather it with drags of his teeth and the working of spit, but there was still quite a lot of matted fur to work at — sections he could not reach. As he righted himself he turned his head and spat a wad of bloodied fur in to the ferns.

Then, looking to the stranger again, he showed her his work. It could've been better, in all honesty.

He let out a grunt to get her attention (since she had been preoccupied in gathering the required herbs or whatever), and looked over at the pile of plant matter. He had never seen a root system before, and didn't know what to make of it; the boy leaned over the pile and sniffed at the fluids leaking from it, but pulled back upon noticing a strange musky scent that he did not find appealing. It was very different from the sweet-green scent he'd noticed on Speedy's raspberry leaves.

she did not want to impose upon the man by cleaning it herself. though she had no trouble with gore and blood and what have you, it would do little good to clean it without proper supplies. water, for one. he could barely walk, let alone assist her in finding a river or stream to wash his fur in. and she could not leave the man here alone. the scent of blood would attract beasts of all sorts like it had with her. a healer's mindset, she had, and would not give up applying so easily. she watched him work, readying the sap on her left paw.

when it was apparent he was finished, she reached out and pressed the sap into his wound. he would smell dreadful for awhile while it sated itself. he had already jerked back at the foul substance leaking from the plant. Huntington was patient. she made sure to use all the herb had given her, giving generously to the injury with a thick layer. "yes" she uttered calmly "it does not smell very good, yet it is good for you." it was the best she could hope to accomplish given her lack of supplies.

the woman did not, however, ask how he came to this situation. that was his business. she finally pulled away, rubbing her paws upon the snow littered ground to free herself of the sticky substance. there. he may not have cobweb bindings applied to the wound or a poultice upon it, yet it was finished. the sap would hold best it could. "I advise resting until the dizziness has faded. if you like, I can assist you walking to find a more comfortable spot." though she was quite small, smaller than him, so all his weight upon her would be... a bit chaotic. yet, she could not leave him in the open as he was. 

It didn't sting as much as he anticipated it would. Maybe it was because his skin was numb where it was torn, thanks to the sharp winter gale that pulsed through the trees (and general frigidity of the season). Maybe the strange goo was actually doing the work the woman expected of it. Either way he was tended to and he was thankful for the help, just not a conversationalist. Revui watched the dark wolf work and then took heed of her words, nodding slowly - almost grim when he got to thinking about his weakeness. The boy knew he should have stayed on the mountain, deep down. He was selfish in that moment of flight. He had not thought about the panic that might sweep through the ranks or catch in the heart of his parents, but Revui hardly ever thought things through in detail; he was a beast of action, not of consequences.

Thank you, he managed to rumble, employing that voice he seldom ever used. He was thankful but had no way to show it, not really. He could try and pay her back in the future but Revui was not well versed in the nature of the lone wolf — had he known more about the world outside the realm of his parent's claim, he'd understand that this woman was probably going to pass out of his life forever after this.

When she offered to help him move, he shook his head and tried to prove himself capable by standing and walking. He swayed a little bit, but the dizziness was not so bad now that he'd taken a moment to sit and rest; certainly more rest would be wise, but he was not. The boy would not take too much more of her help. After taking a few unsteady steps (yet not falling on his face or anything) he felt confident enough to speak again — I will be fine.

true, she would most likely never see this man again. the thought had occurred to her more than once, yet it did not stop her from assisting him. bonds, others claimed, were important. names as well. something to tether oneself to another and force their interactions. the woman did not care about such things. of course, she was not completely emotionless. sometimes - very rare - she got what is known as loneliness. quick, brief little social aspects cured that easily. such as this one. she was not saddened over the loss of a potential ally. she accepted it as it was.

the man spoke, at last, with a creaking tone. as if he had not spoken for a long time. she gazed at him, yet again accepting his words. he was grateful but that did not matter to her in the way he wanted it to be. this had been an exercise to flex her healing - though not flaunt it - and grasp the flora of this area. it seemed a more northern climate, which was excellent to know. and should she have saved the other of infection? well, that was merely a bonus. "of course" she replied shortly, expecting nothing in return for her services. she didn't expect much out of other people.

he proposed he was fine, getting to his paws and experimenting with walking. she still sat, a critical eye over his movements before a small nod was gifted. yes, he would be fine. Huntington could not force him to listen to her, though if the wound indeed opened back up that was on him. "competent travels" she passed to him, for 'safe' was never certain. he was the living proof of such a thing. now she rose, walking away from the stranger. she would leave if not stopped. satisfied with her job, she saw little reason to hoard her patient from the world. though if he spoke again, she would turn around. 

if not, she was leaving.