Otatso Wetlands get up from there

forgive me all I know of herbs is warrior cats

He wasn’t dead.

He did scare poor Lonesome though, the girl letting out a short wark! of a noise, more coyote than wolf. She scampered back a few steps, ducking low and staring at the corpse.

That was a bummer, to her at least. But hey, at least he wasn’t dead. He was kinda messed up though, so Lonesome crept back over on short, slinking strides.

She stared at him, watching his flailing, before she raised her head up and around the swamp. Well, she was a battlefield medic (read: aggressive bandager of paper cuts) so she had this well in hand.

She went slinking forward, craaaaning her head up and over the man’s body to catalogue what she could make out. Then, she scampered off. A few minutes later and some mildly frantic chewing, she came back, still chomping on the swamp goldenrod she’d managed to find. 

She hoped this stuff wasn’t poisonous in some way. With the skull of a toddler playing operation, she pressed the poltice shed managed to make onto a pawpad, reaching out to gently slather it on the wounds she could see. Or, rather, she patted at them rapidly.