He was not a very competitive man, but when it came to his chosen arts, he was a perfectionist. So much to know and learn from plant-life that most never even considered for longer than to notice their prey ate of it. That was his starting point, after all, noticing the way his prey was growing strong and fat – that there were some who did not when they did not eat of certain plants. Strength in prey, then wondering at if he too could gain strength and instead finding that he was most certainly still too young to go experimenting without proper training and warning.

His people were much like those of Taviora, primal and family all at once. Native, if you will. It makes him especially fond of the leadership style of Amoxtli and his father, glad of someplace not entirely alien to him – although alien it was, these rumors of souls being sewn together.

He shouts excitedly to his Alpha, offering only submission despite his jovial tone and puppyish joy at working in his craft again. “”Blackfoot, I do have some time if you would like feel free to give it your opinion.” Comes the reply, his head lowered to offer no insult in the usual manner – seeming to spur the comments that came next. “No need to lower yourself. In Taviora we are friends and family. Equals in all rights. Now if you can Blackfoot I would appreciate the help you have to offer.”

In an instant, though it did feel strange enough it showed on his face, he stood properly, tail swung about his hocks and head tilted as his eyes snapped to the leg in question. Tendons. Muscle. Bleeding. Healing. He takes notes in his head in such speed that while Amoxtli contemplated his subject’s background, there was almost no hesitation in Blackfoot to whirl on his turtle shell cart and grab up the honey in an instant.

“So where are you from?” He is asked, and Blackfoot looks up with a silly look of realizing he might wish to first set the large broad leaves out for his items first. He does this without much ado, but speedily enough to answer promptly and not let the silence drag. “A no name country – because no one would think there was much world outside it . And it was vast, to be sure, but not vast enough for me. Not enough variety in company or plants. One pack to this world’s six, if you can believe it.” He shakes his head with a chuckle as he fetched tumeric and his little coconut shell of water to place on the giant lily pad beside a small clutch of eggs.

“I think it was a simpler place, and such a place has little need for my work. They did very little to heal anything more than what a simple cleaning would fix and rarely fought as I see this place encourages. The occasional young whelp would take a flying leap at a light-heeled elk, but it was so often damage that was only in Moon Mother’s hands to heal. I have found some remedies in my time, but a blow to the head by a hoof of nearly equal size cannot be easily helped with the right blow and pressure.”

He realizes fairly swiftly that he has been babbling without aim or goal and chuckled sheepishly. “Forgive me, I tend to speak especially meanderingly when I work. My home is far behind me and this one suits me better in nearly every way. Now,” he says by way of preparation, “I can see that you took quite the hit here. Pardon my intrusion,” and with a soft press of his nose to clearly tender flesh, he grows a concerned look on his face.

“It is warm, but not hot. I would suggest honey applied well into the wound to staunch bleeding, help speed healing, and to help with keeping infection and inflammation at bay…” He looks up to the male with something near to apology in his face, “but it will not feel very good in the application, I am afraid.” He sits back at last on his haunches and tilts his head in another way, seeming to work through a problem or two in his mind.

“Your connective tissue, too. That seems a little inflamed by how you walk… If at all possible, I would suggest more rest than not—but also a spread that I was taught to help these things heal in a more… accomodateable time, but also to allow the leg to remain unaggitated with bumps and rough walks...” He ruffles his fur, looking almost birdlike in his discomfort at asking a leader to do what would be against his nature.

“Chewing a bit of white willow would take care of some of the pain, but I could also go scouting for poppy if it got too much for the bark to help you… And perhaps some dandelion leaves, if you think you could keep hydrated without too much traveling.”