(Untitled)

[milkbonesoldier]

It's not that he's afraid of them, exactly. Wells knows that even this far from the full moon, being shot by ordinary arrows isn't going to take him down for long. But when you've just threatened an entire village by proxy and run some unknown distance through the forests that cover the foothills of the mountains that ring Thessaly all around,

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[dog_civilians]

One steps forward, obviously the leader, and looks both to him and to Bruce behind him with a critical eye.

Then she glances to him. One eyebrow raises.

It's a prompt.

[milkbonesoldier]

"The wolf's a friend of mine," Wells says. It's been one of those days. He's in no mood to prevaricate, or pussyfoot around the matter. "We were hunting. He got shot."

[dog_civilians]

She nods and peers behind him at the creature before turning her eyes to him.

"Hold his muzzle?"

She gestures with a hand and one of the women walks up with a very crude sort of slapdash bandage and a small flask of something. While the goddess didn't concern herself much with healing, human beings on the hunt did occasionally need such things and so they were kept with one of their number.

[milkbonesoldier]

That's something, at least.

Wells crouches down and balances with the touch of one hand against the ground. Bruce, he says, I reckon these women are going to help. Hold still.

What do- mmph, Bruce answers, or the equivalent for a wolf with his muzzle being gently held shut.