Hit the reset button

No sooner had Irilyth made the move to begin moving the brute's leg to inspect his wound, she saw the flash of white as fangs snapped down on the air near her limbs. A startled yelp slipped from her as she recoiled, pulling back from him with wide eyes and racing heart. He looked enraged, borderline feral. She had expected some difficulty in treating him, but hostility? Aggression? No, that shit wouldn't be tolerated, no matter who he was or who the hell he thought he was. The male snarled to not touch him and Irilyth received the message loud and clear. He tried to make a show of calming down and speaking level again, but the damage was done and now he would receive no aid nor relief from her. She had come here out of the grace and kindness of her own heart, and a sense of duty as a healer, but violence toward her she would not tolerate. Had her Mistress been here, the stupid wolf would have already been torn limb from limb, his suffering at an end along with his pitiful life. He was fortunate in that regard that she wasn't here.

The stranger chided her, mocked her, derided her for daring to assume that he'd be a cooperative patient. Irilyth's raspberry eyes narrowed in bewildered frustration and offense. He was the one lying here dying. He was the one who needed immediate medical attention or he'd be gone within a day. And yet he was the one with the inflated ego daring to try to chastise her for doing her job and trying to help him? No, fuck that. If he had been hoping for her to beg and grovel to save him, he would be sorely disappointed. He seemed to forget that he was a nobody to her, a literal insignificant one-off character in her story. He could be written out right away and she wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it—not anymore after how he'd behaved. And then—AND THEN—he dared to have the audacity to try and behave as if he hadn't just tried to attack her and yell at her for offering aid! Irilyth stared hard into his magma eyes, trying to discern if he was incoherent from the blood infection, when she decided it didn't matter. He'd made his deathbed and now he could lie in it.

The wolf asked her name and the corner of Irilyth's lips twitched up into a cruel smile with a scoff on her breath. "My name is of no importance to you, especially since you won't survive past the night in your condition," she retorted back, her velvety tones now cold and detached. "And for your information, I told you to keep in mind that I was trying to save your life. Trying. Now you've lost that privilege." Wordlessly, Iri slipped her satchel of supplies back around her neck, then rose to her paws and shook the snow out of her sandy blonde coat. The genteelness in her berry red eyes had faded now, and she only regarded the injured wolf with contempt and pity. If the gods were merciful, they would take his life quickly, but she somehow doubted that would happen. "You just lost your one chance to survival. But I will do you the kindness of letting you know what your very short future holds for you." The diminutive fae tipped her muzzle towards the festering wound on his chest. "Your injury is infected. If left untreated, it will turn gangrenous, and as soon as it does, you're already dead. You'll have a day, maybe two max before your own blood poisons you from the inside out. Your body will shut down, attacking itself while you go delirious with a fever. You'll spend your final few hours in a mad fit, not even able to recognize your own reflection. And then you'll die. If the gods are kind, then you won't even realize you're dying and your mind will already be gone. Or maybe if you're lucky, hypothermia or exsanguination will kill you before the infection does."

With her gruesome and harsh prognosis of the stranger's ailments delivered, Irilyth dipped her head to the wolf and stepped away from him, back to the safety of the giant lion's side. The little wolf glanced up to the giant cat with apologetic yet resolute eyes. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to help him." She dipped her head in reverent apology. The cat asked if there was anything she could do to help and Irilyth cast one last sideways glance to the wounded wolf. "Yes, you can. When he dies, bury his body somewhere in the snow and ice. Don't leave it for the scavengers. Infected meat is no good being eaten." As she turned to leave, Irilyth gave pause and reached into her satchel. It was far too much kindness the brute deserved, but it was the one last thing she would be willing to do for the poor bastard. The blonde woman pulled out a small vial containing a pale purple liquid and set it on the ice by the lion's paw—an extract of wolfsbane. "If he decides he doesn't want to die slowly, give him that final mercy. It will only take a few minutes." That was all she would offer the egotistical brute. Giving one last bow of her head to the lion, Irilyth began to follow their paw prints in the snow back the way they came. There was nothing more to be done here. She was heading home.

- exit Irilyth -

"Irilyth"