Wheeling Gull Isle crawl out of your cave

@Rokig maybe?

He'd done an excellent job of undoing much of Strand's work the other day, and was now tending to the freshly torn-open wounds to his hocks and hindquarters. There were a vast array of plants native to the isle he had never seen before, but Firefly was diligent in his hunt, and came away from a weather beaten copse of scraggy trees with some fresh greenery between his teeth. He was on the hunt for some place shaded from the spring sun now. The man moved at a hobble, his face set with grim determination and barely flinching despite the stinging pain of each step. As he came upon a band of large stones lining some dead, cropped grass and gravel, he slouched against it with a sigh.

He wasn't familiar with their newest collection of faces. Although a long look at the tattered creature made him wonder if he needed to be friendly with the face. How long would they last like that? Were they without a healer on the island? A strong huff escaped him, brows knitting together firmly.

He was hesitant but he moved closer anyway at a slow pace. His posture was neutral for he had his doubts that this man might be able to strike him down with the condition he was in. Who are you? The question "and who do you know?" lingered on the tip of his tongue but he didn't ask. Not yet.

He'd just settled in to place when — Who are you? a familiar question penetrated the air, voiced by an unfamiliar wolf. That earned a small twist of his ears but otherwise he did not show any signs that he heard the stranger. The island was small and the wolves loyal to Strand would've been told about his arrival (or so he presumed); the formality of meeting each member of the horde and making nice didn't currently fit in Firefly's repetoire. He needed to recover, not spend all his days filling the beach with hot air.

Instead of answer, he gathered the various plants now scattered beside him on the rocks and began to masticate them. Chunks wedged between his molars and he chewed, crunched, adding more and more of the pile until it was mashed in to a wet mass between his teeth; then he gathered what he could on to his tongue and with an awkward twist, tried to reach his nearest hind limb for application.

It was harder than it looked. Firefly was burly and his body was bruised from his tumble in the sea. A few straining moments later and he was too frustrated to do much; so the poultice was spat in to the sand and he gave a deep, world-shaking sigh. Now he appeared to notice the islander — he rolled his flagrantly herbal tongue across his snout and said, Argyle.

He waited with what little patience he had left in him. Mainly because he was interested in seeing how that male planned on using the plants and weird gunk he had created. Moments passed and the whole scenario seemed anti-climatic. It ended with some spatting and sighing. Perhaps he'd get along with this one most of all. If only because of that sigh that resonated so deeply with him.

Finally a name was presented. Argyle. Rough but that was coming from someone with a clunky name so one should take that at face value.

Rokig looked at the man's wounds openly, no use in trying to ignore the obvious. I'm not a healer. He began slowly and soft. But if you want to instruct me through it, I can help out. It was a weird olive branch to extend considering he knew nothing about this man except his name. Yet it seemed necessary considering how dickish it would be to let him sit there with untreated injuries.

His stash of carefully selected plants had been wasted. The man watched the mess he had spat in to the sand gather grains and settle, knowing it wasn't worth it to try and use the paste now. He kicked more sand across the surface of it and let it rest. But the stranger lingered - even offered his assistance, which surprised the castaway.

After thinking about it a moment he said, Thank you, but I don't think I have the energy to hike the beach again today. He could always try to describe the requisite plants to Rokig, however Firefly was not a true healer and did not know how to properly describe many of them. Maybe another day. It was an appreciated offer though, and the man offered something in return: attempted conversation.

How long have you been here with Strand?

His shoulders shrugged softly as he tried to figure out how much time he had spent back here. Two months maybe. It hadn't been that long exactly but time was creeping by to that point and he had no intentions of leaving. Not to mention he wasn't great with tracking time. It had never been a priority for him during his life.

He slumped down onto his rear near the male. I figure Strand has questioned you plenty already, eh? Sure, he could have fired off a billion and one questions but what was the point if the male had already been interrogated? He could just go ask the island's young dictator.