This didn't go to plan

“I remember” Basilisk said gruffly, he’d spent enough time around Halo all his life. The prattle about the concentration of solutions went in one ear and out the other. He didn’t have much interest in healing. He knew even less than his Grandfather, who had at least learned the basics of trauma care in order to keep men alive on the battlefield. Basilisk’s raising had been a little less… intense.

When Ollie returned to him, and warned him off the alcohol, the Warlord raised a brow. A little amused. “Everything in this pack belongs to me. Including you.” He said, voice dry enough that the other wolf might hesitate to tell if he was joking or not. Did this wolf consider himself in charge of the healer's den now? That was interesting.

“Do what you have to” Basilisk agreed, braced for the pain now. Mostly to distract himself while the other worked, he talked. “So, you shooting for the lead healer position then?”

"Speech"