Thunder Dome No one's telling me the cure

"what do you practice?" she inquires instead, choosing not to dwell on a subject that will lead them nowhere.  he then proceeds to surprise her for a second time by reclining to sit and openly offering his neck for her to scrutinize.  is he so trusting, or is she - somehow - bewitching some semblance of reliability?  she ponders whether it's a mixture of both, or neither at all.  perhaps he is a wolf with a thirst for a certain degree of risk.  if that is the case--

"you put great trust in me for a stranger," natshana remarks coolly as she approaches.  her eyes trace the length of his fresh wounds.  from the looks of him, he has quite a number of scars or healing injuries. "say i were a wandering charlatan who searched far and wide for wolves willing to let me put poison in their cuts... what then?" she poses the question as though they're conversing on the weather.  there is no real intent in her voice; that much is clear.  leaning forward, should he allow her, she gives his wounds a sniff. 

"no infection yet," she rules. "a poultice of marigold and goldenrod should suffice. marigold will stave any potential infection and treat inflammation. goldenrod promotes quicker healing." another quirk of her brow bids her to ask: "may i apply the poultice?"