Scraps

She took it all in stride. Perhaps she was accustomed to her life being upturned at the drop of a hat. She accepted the job he gave her without complaint, and continued to tend to her wounds. Despite what she had been through, her paws seemed steady and confident as she applied the herbs. She was well familiar with what she was doing. That would come in handy, but he wondered how often she had tended to her wounds in the past. He hadn't called upon his healer because he had not wished to crowd her, but perhaps that had been a mistake.

"Of course, little one" he said. He wasn't the least bit squeamish, and move around to the side of her so he could work without leaning over her front. He mimicked what he had seen her doing, smearing the herbs and pulling the skin together again. His paws were large, and made more for hurting then killing, but he made care to be gentle in his movements. "Do you have a name, little one?" He asked to distract her from the feeling of another pressing at her open sores. Of course, Deathbelle would also need something more to call her by then 'little one'. She preferred to be loved then feared by her slaves, and he would try to steer this one in the right direction before Deathbelle arrived and took over ownership of her.