It would have been easier to lead her to Whisperer's Gorge or Dancefloor of the Gods. There someone could have assisted them, but that would also mean explaining the random girl he was allowing to trespass. Which while Medusa trusted him and was generally a nice alpha, Ghoul had lost too much blood to leave room for explaining. For all he knew, Medusa would blame Henbane for their misfortune and attempt to rip her to shreds. He wouldn't blame her for trying to protect her Beta, but also at the same time, it was something he wanted to avoid. Skirting the territory line, thanks to their longer legs, they thankfully made it to the Whistling Willows before Ghoul collapses not far from the den he shares with Cricket and the pups. Mac's den isn't far off either after he'd been able to convince his brother to move homes and helped carry all of the dead carcasses over. His legs tremble, stumbling a few steps before he falls and his head hits the grass. His breathing is labored, eyes half closed, barely able to let out a distress call to anyone before he turns to glance at Henbane. "You good?" Ghoul asks, his words ragged as he rests, trying to recuperate some of the energy he's lost. All he needs was a few stitches, a good meal, and some cold water.

Adrenaline beginning to wear off, Hen was beginning to ache. Beginning to feel the effects of the blood loss. Aching to the core, if she had to be honest. Don't make her be honest. She wasn't going to let either of them die. Not after they'd made it this far. Call it sunk cost fallacy, or whatever else you might need to. Henbane's shredded shoulder aches, her head, her chest. All of it, aching and spinning. She feels like she's about to be sick.

Grateful that there's nothing in her stomach to throw up, Henbane collapses into a heap beside Ghoul. She's in similarly rough condition, now that there's nothing in her system to shield her from it all. At his inquiry, she turns her head, catching sight of just how much of her coat has been stained with blood. Ow. "Never better. You?" At least her sense of humor was intact. A giggle that's quickly cut off by a pained whimper. Fuck.

"Least it's pretty out here." Her remark is quiet, but gruff. She'd pretend that she wasn't melting on the ground, hurting.

"Speech"

He hears her words, but doesn't quite register them. Her giggle rings out and he can tell the difference between hers and Cricket's. Deeper and not as manic? Cute, but not Cricket. Wait, she asked a question, right? His chin turns slightly, looking at her as everything inside of him finally started to settle down. "Good as I can be," Ghoul answers back, no humor, but that's Ghoul. It doesn't quite reach him, but that's okay. They are in a pretty place and he enjoys admiring the weeping willows. Turning his gaze back up to the canopy, he notices just how dry his mouth is. "I hope Cricket comes soon with some supplies," he comments offhandedly before rolling away from Henbane toward a stream of water that weaves around the base of the nearby tree. Leaning up onto his elbows, he scoots over close enough so he can dip his muzzle down into the chilly water. Practically guzzling the clear liquid until his belly hurts, he pulls away with a loud exhale and rivulets of water streaming down from his jowls. "Fuck," he whispers as he falls back onto his side.

She's trying to focus on the trees, trying to keep her eyes open. Trying to stay awake, despite... despite all of this. Fuck, she can't fall asleep here. It's dangerous here, and she wants her dad. Dully, she's aware that he's moving around, somewhere to her side. Dizzy. Why's she so fucking dizzy? Everything hurt, and Hen wasn't convinced she wasn't dying. Maybe she's just being dramatic... that had to be the case, right?

Water. Hen can hear him, but she doesn't quite know where he's gone off to. Anxiety prickling through her system, though Henbane can't quite put a name to the exact feeling. A bit like throwing up, actually. She feels a bit like throwing up. "Hey don't go too far," though she tries not to sound scared, maybe she is. Maybe Hen is a little more nervous than she'd like to be, maybe the adrenaline is truly wearing off.

But she hauls herself up on her elbows too, grumbling, pushing off with an errant hind leg. A couple slow half steps forward, though her shoulder is on fire. "Bastard did a number on us." She's rueful, a bitter edge in her mouth. Everything hurts.
"Speech"