New World, Old Wounds

Isla take your medicine Isla smiled to the coyote-turned-man and stepped aside for him to clamber onto the bed; she drew the curtain about them once he was as comfortable as he might be, before rolling up her sleeves. Regardless of how his injury was looking, Dodge seemed like a different person in himself, and that was already putting her at ease. She laughed as he spoke, tilting her head and approaching the bed. With his permission, she'd lift his shirt so she could see to the wound. "I managed to stop you from coming apart at the seams when it was most important," she reminded him, carefully examining her previous handiwork and gently pressing here and there to ensure there wasn't any unexpected pain. "The rest is just making sure you stay together. Not that you've helped at all, padding around as a coyote." Her tone was mildly chiding, and though she tried to make her gaze flat as she glanced at him, there was amusement dancing in it. She'd told him not to shift, but that was like telling a fish not to swim, apparently. "I'd say a couple more weeks and you should be over the worst of it. You should still be careful, though - you'd be surprised how much your body tries to overcompensate for an injury."