Bramblepoint This flower is perfect!

teensy pp - i can edit out if need be!

he nods, parsing the information absently as he moves closer to get a better look at the man's shoulder. his ear twitches back at the impatience -- earned, he's in pain, okeanos gets it -- but his mouth is set, expression focused. the injury is bad, no skirting around that, though infection is the bigger worry. gingerly he leans over and sets to cleaning the wound with his mouth, careful to avoid worsening it. it is intimate, in the way a nurse cleansing a bad gash with knowing, steady hands is intimate (a metaphor obviously beyond okeanos, given wolves aren't aware of the parrallels between their attempts at healing and human medical professionals, but, well, we're working within limits).

at length he withdraws (assuming the man has tolerated his ministrations, anyway) and hums. "okay, i'm going to grab something," he tells him, "so actually, don't move." with that, okeanos goes in search of what he needs for an indeterminant amount of time i'll gloss for the sake of keeping this thread moving. he returns with a mouthful of garlic, wishing he'd been able to find poppy too, but so goes. he chews it, making a slight face at the stinging taste; around it he says, "this'll help the healing," sounding more like ths'll hel' th'healin', and makes a gesture he hopes indicates i am now going to apply this to your injury, so don't move, please.