New World, Old Wounds

Isla this won't hurt a bit The infirmary had been set up properly for a few days now, and whilst Isla spent as much time cleaning it up and organising and trying - trying hard - to get some equipment, medicine and supplies together, she was at least starting to feel slightly more at home. Things were chaotic - between Spire demons and bear-men dropping their pants on her doorstep, she had her hands full. But Isla wasn't the forgetful sort, and there was one patient in particular that she still needed to keep an eye on. She had no idea where Dodge was living, but she had sought him out in all the communal spaces they'd made until she finally found him. Phew. The hardest part done, she'd invited him along to the infirmary as soon as he might possibly be able so she could check him over. The injury he'd sustained was nasty, and she'd spent most of a night elbow deep in it trying to save him. Isla wasn't about to let that all go to waste now.

Where had Dodge been? Well, he'd been doing what a hurt coyote does best: laying low to lick his wounds. He'd watched that little girl he met a few times now, more as his back knit itself together and he hoped his insides had done the same. Theea had proven to be a bit fast to keep up with at first, and just where the fuck did she learn to fight? But he made it work, he liked the little beggar and she liked scratching him behind the ear and using his ribs for a pillow.

He hadn't in a few days now however, and it was when the sandy-furred canine had been discreetly slinking about a common area that Isla had found him. Generally he avoided most familiar faces, afraid of facing his friends.. one friend. It'd been so long, he'd been gone so long before they woke up here.. had things changed for the former Overseer? Did he still look at Dodge and see a friend? Or had he banished the ex street rat from his mind the longer he remained away? He wanted his friend back, to tell him he was here, but he wasn't sure he was ready to face the rejection. He didn't even know where to begin, or where to find the man.

Isla though? She was a gods damned welcome sight, the woman that had pried him from death's fingers. He wagged his tail and padded after the woman without complaint or hesitation.

He shifted before he walked through the door, the sharp scents of blood and medicine fading in its intensity. Dodge found the first empty bed, wincing as he did - he was not so nimble and chipper as he once was, but it'd all heal back to normal right? It had to. The Storm Army was long gone, but surely he could find himself something if he healed enough.. he was surviving fine, of course, he'd lived on the unforgiving streets of Northwind for quite some time. But he was reluctant to resort to that again. He could already see the eagle-eye glare if he started picking pockets and lifting food from kitchens again.

Smiling crookedly, the young man tilted his head and watched the golden-haired women, a sense of relief diffusing him. ”Gonna make sure I's not comin’ apart at me seams?” he said amicably. ”I thinks I's jus fine, jus been a lil sore, ya kin? Nuffin’ too off.” He cast his warm brown eyes about him, taking in more of the infirmary before he looked back at Isla. ”When ye think I's gonna be in workin’ order again?”

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."