Clash in the veil

She worked diligently. nimble digits flying over the wounds with practiced ease. Once she deemed the scratches clean, Scylla sat the scrap of skin aside and opened the crock full of a thick, waxy substance. It was when she was smearing to salve over the wounds that the horse said the funniest thing ever. Why didn't she kill him and drag him home?

A sweet, bell-like laugh pulled from Scylla and she shook her head. "You're too heavy, for one," she spoke through her laughter, resuming her work at his shoulder. "Second, you helped when you could have run. That means something." Once the salve was pressed into the wounds and covering the scratches, Scylla began cleaning off her paws. "You could have trampled me and avoided putting yourself in danger, but you didn't. Why did you help me?" she asked in return.

"Scylla"