happenstance, apparently

Ellara moved through the cypress trees with a grace that belied the wild beauty of the Sea's Plain. The briny air filled her lungs, each breath a reminder of the sea's ever-present embrace. The cypress roots tangled with the sand, creating a delicate dance of life at the edge of the tides. Low tide was her favorite, revealing the hidden treasures and snacks washed up from the depths.

Today, however, her focus was not on the bounty of the sea but on the wounded figure before her. Ronan, his form towering and powerful, stood with wings dark and ominous, marred by blood. The red water lapped at his ankles, mingling with the seafoam in a grotesque ballet.

Ellara's heart ached at the sight. Her soft, warm presence was a stark contrast to the violence etched into Ronan's body. Her pink eyes, vivid against her latte-pink and coffee-brown fur, locked onto the wound with an intensity that spoke of her healer's instinct.

She approached him with deliberate slowness, each step measured to avoid startling him. "Hello?" Her voice was gentle, carrying the melody of the sea breeze, "you must let me help."

Crouching by his side, she inspected the wound, if he would allow her, with the practiced eye of a healer. The salt water had cleaned it, but the edges were ragged, and the bleeding persistent. She knew the sea's touch could be both healing and harmful. Her delicate paws began to trace the wound, and she could already feel the heat of infection starting to set in.