stay low move slow like animals

The petite femme seemed completely unperturbed, and continued on her tirade without care for her own personal safety. “I am a healer, and you, Sir, are injured. what did you think sitting there was going to do. You suppose to clean it out with salt water, not sit in it, kicking up sand into the wound, and I see no other herbs prepared.” without a moment to consider the possibility of her own untimely demise for berating a stranger, she dropped her ass in the sand and started to rifle through a bag at her side with her snout.

Somewhat irked by the accusations made towards his own skillset, the male growled deep in his chest. Lip curled in irritation, he stepped out of the water and onto the warm sand. Broad paws splayed across the unstable substrate, and he shook the water from his pelt. Where he stood, little more than a foot to her right, she was likely to be assaulted by the chilly spray. Good. "We aren't all fortunate to be able to carry our stores with us," he growled, levelling her with a cold stare. She was quite lucky to have been able to collect both the materials, and the equipment within which to carry it. He hadn't been here long enough, nor would anything have survived the trip to these lands. "I make do with whatever I find."

The dead skin that had been nibbled away by the little fish had revealed pink flesh, clean and healthy. Blood began to weep from the wound again, a slow buildup of crimson around the edges that began to flood inwards. "Could I trouble you for some horsetail or cobwebs, perchance?" he questioned in a tauntingly aloof tone, brow cocked as he glanced in her direction. He held the wounded limb aloft, in an effort to stem the flow. "If you name the pack whose scent so readily clings to you, I can return the favour once I have the materials." he assured her. There were no free rides back home, and there were always strings attached. Why should it be different here?