ooc: Set right after the raid. Patients form an orderly queue and the Doctor will see you when he is available. Fellow healers feel free to jump in and give a hand/take patients as well! Sorrel was no fighter. There was no way he was going to pretend he was and certainly no way he was going to die trying to demonstrate that fact. Everyone would just have to believe him and instead he would wait here safely out of the way. He'd put himself to some use though he'd decided, he could heal after all and was ready with a pile of herbs for various ailments he imagined they could possibly come back with. Hopefully none were too badly beaten up though of course, he may have lacked in the compassion department but he still cared about their general health. Ellingham was currently a little more daring than Sorrel and the owl had ventured closer to the borders to check the fights and be ready to guide any injured straight towards the waiting healer. Whether any other healers in the pack would join when Ellingham returned he wasn't sure nor was he certain he particularly cared.

Walk | Talk | Think It was done and over with now. The raid was lost and the Yfir wolves had received their reward, and as much as Miksa would have preferred to head straight to bed and try to pretend it was all some terrible dream his injuries very adamantly said no. There would be no sleep just yet, or at least not until his jaw had been tended to and the pain in his aching shoulder subsided enough for him to relax. Even with everything over the white wolf felt tense, and each limping step he made away from the border was slow, small, and cautious. Any jostling motion was going to make his shoulder ache, and any cringing expression he made was sure to make the bite wound to his face act up. All in all, he felt like he was in a pretty bad spot. He was not sure where he was going to go - sleep would not welcome him but he hardy felt in a good enough condition to go trekking across the territory, but as he spotted the owl that appeared to be trying to get the attention of anyone heading back into the territory from the raid he hesitantly followed its direction. Not at all sure what he was going to find, Miksa kept at his slow, careful pace, mindfully keeping his left foreleg suspended, and eventually came upon one of the Threar wolves. Though he was unsure, he caught the faint whiff of plants - medicines, he hoped - and still hobbling along he wandered silently closer.

After guiding the first of the returners in the right direction, Ellingham set himself back at his post to wait for the others to make their way back home. Sorrel would be alright on his own he was certain and surely would show a slightly better bedside manner with his pack mates... right? Perhaps not quite the case.  "You look like a mess." Sorrel commented bluntly, probably the first words he had spoken to Miksa and hardly ones that would feel the brave fighter with much confidence or comfort. "What injuries have you got?" Evidently the cut to the side of his face was pretty nasty and he seemed to have a little limp as he walked but he'd rely on the patient to fill him in on what was wrong. "Don't lie either, just tell me what hurts. If you don't I can't help." He warned, just in case the white male before him attempted to put on a brave face about it and pretend he'd be fine without some medical attention.

Walk | Talk | Think If he expected coddling or gentleness about the raid and the condition he was returning in, MIksa was sorely disappointed. The first words the Threar wolf spoke were not kind or soft or even remotely sensitive to what had happened, but were blunt and hurt somewhat in their own right. The brow over Miksa's yellow eyes furrowed more into a dismal, almost pitiful look, his tan ears threatening to fall back against his head. He had not given much thought to how he might look after everything that happened, but the description seemed fitting for how he felt. Still, it stung a little to hear someone say it so pointedly. His suspicion that the blunt wolf was there to provide care for those coming off the battlefield was confirmed as the wolf questioned what his wounds were, warning him not to leave anything out or else it would go untreated. Not that Miksa had been inclined to hide anything that had happened to him - he very much wanted any assistance for all of his injuries that he could get - but the prompting helped to get him talking right away instead of awkwardly tiptoeing around the issues as he finally came to a stop. "This," he stated, turning his head slightly to the right to expose the bite wound he had taken to the left side of his jawline. Even that movement was enough to make him wince as it smarted. "My paw," he added, dropping his gaze to his suspended left forepaw and the scrapes across the tops of his toes, "and my shoulder." While the bite and scrapes were obvious, he was unsure about the state of his shoulder. It no longer ached as much as it had when the Yfir wolf had wrenched it in place, but he was afraid of awakening that pain again and continued to treat that leg gingerly.

Frith limped his way to where Sorrel had set up camp to receive the wounded. While he was lucky and had only suffered a bruised shoulder, it still wasn't comfortable and he knew he'd appreciate a slight pain reliever. Sighing softly as he walked up he couldn't help but try and offer Miksa a supportive smile as he sat down and awaited his nephew's attention. He was more than proud of the both of them as he sat and watched the healer work. Miksa had done well to appear and defend his pack, it made Frith feel good to know he had not been wrong in offering the boy a place in his pack. He'd sigh again as he sat back, disappointed in himself for not being able to hold back the enemy, but proud of his pack for stepping up and standing behind him. ""

Frith would arrive at the scene as well, slightly better shape than the male before him and Sorrel would keep his concentration upon Miksa for now. The white male wouldn't voice his emotional hurt from Sorrel's comments, not that it would have done him much good really, Sorrel had said the words without a care in the first place he wasn't exactly going to take them back and apologise. Instead he could get straight to work as Miksa highlighted the various injuries he had sustained. The jaw, being the first he'd mentioned and the most obvious was where Sorrel would choose to start. "Jaw first then." He informed him. He didn't have much periwinkle in his stocks in general, it wasn't the easiest plant to find after all what he had now though he would use on the wound at the side of Miksa's face, it looked rather severe after all and he didn't want the cut to get infected at all. Setting about cleaning the wound first, Sorrel then made a poultice with the periwinkle and horsetail before spreading it over the wound on Miksa's jaw. Despite the harsh words earlier he was careful with his actions even if he didn't fully explain what he was doing. Horsetail fortunately he had plenty of, it grew rather nicely at the bay and even various other places around the area. He'd create another poultice of it now for the cuts on the paw. "Paw now." He warned again in the same short manner before applying the paste to the cuts on his paw. Finally he was left with the shoulder injury. There were no visible cuts upon it though Sorrel couldn't tell if it was an issue with the joint itself whether dislocation or some sort of break, or just some nasty bruising around it. Given the fact that Miksa had walked here however, he figured it was a safe bet that it would be the latter. Dandelions would help with that, taking down inflammation and the bruising and there were plenty of those around as well. "Shoulder." Came his warning now and another paste was formed and applied to the injured area. "Eat this, it should help with the pain." Sorrel directed him, nudging forwards some meadowsweet. "You'll have to come and see me again tomorrow to check on it all." He informed the other, he'd probably keep a close eye on it for a few days afterwards as well but he'd take it a day at a time for now.  "Go and get some rest, can you walk back on your own?" Sorrel wouldn't put himself to use a crutch, smaller size meant he wasn't exactly the greatest for keeping someone stable though surely there was someone around that could help if Miksa needed it. Besides, he had to take a look at Frith next it seemed.

Varda was no fighter either, and though as a pup she had once been so determined to try every field for the experience and possibility that there may be something other than hunting that she enjoyed, she now had her answer. Teeth and claws flying everywhere, family being injured, it was nothing that took her fancy. Others may be built for it, and she respected that, but it certainly wasn't her style. If she knew what she was flinging herself into, perhaps she wouldn't have done so. What was she thinking? Blindly throwing herself into the ordeal, no knowledge to guide her way? Her pack and family, the ones who she had wanted to fight alongside, drive out the darned intruders and prove loyalty towards, had been disappointed. They had been let down as a smaller yet agile woman bet her in a fight, both fighting for equally zealous causes. It wasn't the most suitable way to introduce sparring, was it? And oh, wasn't she in the best of physical states? Her beautiful alabaster dress, prized and adorned by the very wearer, always meticulously kept in flawless manner, was ruined. How could she be more angered? No scars or bruises had ever dared to mar her coat, and here they were now, noticeably daunting her. Forget mud, these wounds could become permanent if they weren't treated. Fortunately, she had limped her way to find her cousin halfway through the process of patching Miksa up with her father standing nearby. Awaiting her own examination, she rested most of her weight on her painless three legs, twitching her nose like a rabbit. Heck, her hunter's nose had been wrecked, and that was the most significant tool upon her body. Oh, but was the use? Rage and stress was all that filled her mind, boiling her thoughts in the process. A loud sigh slipped from her lips as her head hung low with a depressed demeanour wafting around, briefly looking up at the Author before gazing back down at her sore paws. At least it was over, yet somehow, that just wasn't good enough. "Speech"

Walk | Talk | Think The quiet sigh from behind them drew Miksa's attention back over his shoulder, and after a double take he realized that his leader was there. Though of course there was a surge of guilt and disappointment that seeped through him and threatened to color his cheeks beneath his fur for the result - and his own part - in the raid, the white wolf was relieved and a little surprised to see nothing more than a supportive smile on Frith's face. He's not upset. He was not quite sure why he expected him to be - Frith had always struck him as a patient, caring individual - but he understood that there was enough to reason to be. It all depended on the wolf, and maybe he had underestimated his leader just a little. A quick, succinct phrase from Sorrel quickly drew Miksa's gaze back to the healer, and with a little wince he accepted the wolf's cleaning of his facial wound. His eye scrunched closed and he tried not to move his face too much since it only managed to cause more stinging, but with a gentle precision the healer tended and treated the wound quickly. As he watched Miksa wished he had been paying more attention from the start - maybe he could have tended to his own wounds if he only knew what to do - but Sorrel said nothing about what he used or in what proportions. With his paw and shoulder tended, he was at least grateful to know he would be on his way to mending even if he did not understand the process. Miksa did not hesitate to pick up the plant that the healer pressed his way for the pain. While the pain in his shoulder had slowly begun to subside, the movements and treatment of his jaw left it stinging and uncomfortable, and despite the discomfort of chewing he managed to get the meadowsweet down. That seemed to be the end of it, with prescriptions for rest and a return visit ordered of him. That was good; he liked the sound of both. He turned carefully, still supporting his left foreleg off the ground with care, and brushed off the offer of assistance getting to his den with a confirming nod of his head. He could walk. Slowly, but he could. He looked behind him once more, noting Varda had arrived to wait with her father and looking rather disheartened. He would have offered a smile, but was afraid of what it might do to his facial wound. Instead he offered quiet looks of acknowledgement to both the girl and her father and set about hobbling his way back to his den at a slow, cautious limp. -Exit Miksa-