So I thought my day was improving when I wandered through the trees and spotted a familiar face. And not just a familiar one - but one I rather enjoyed the company of. “Albrecht!!!” I call out cheerfully toward our resident grump, assuming that he was just snoozing beneath the trees and with Jellybean straddling my back we come tromping noisily through the brush to get to him. Only, as we get closer we realize with a shuddering thought that this wasn’t just a peaceful little nap beneath the trees. I thought he was dead at first glance, the blood and wounds absolutely bleaching all of the happiness and joy right out of me and leaving me cold. “AL!” This never-spoken-before nickname rips out of me just as I notice that he was indeed breathing.

Well that’s good, but just how long he’s going to stay like that seems to be anybody’s guess.

“Jellybean has gone to find some help!” She looks at me, appalled at the suggestion of moving, but my tone seemed to have at least sort of gotten through to her and I bombard her with images of who to get - one of the healers, it didn’t matter which one. Whoever she could find first. So my pink and white fuzzball of a companion flutters down to the ground and half hops, half runs, half flies on her way to find someone. She’s already forgotten who I tell her to get, but she’ll pester the first one she sees until she gets the help she needs. Already I can hear her screeching as she moves, demanding that everyone pay attention to her.

Meanwhile, I’m at an absolute loss as to what to do. I don’t have healing powers. I’m made of candy and I can chill the air and make cloth and stuff but that’s about it. Well, maybe the cloth would help? I dig around in my bag to hastily grab out some wool and fluff. It’s not super clean but I don’t know it’s something? That wound on his shoulder makes me want to vomit and I can’t even physically do that. With a mouthful of the stuff I move so that I’m standing near Albrecht’s back and neck - out of striking distance of his hooves if he doesn’t appreciate my help - and I gingerly reach out to place the wad of soft material on that nasty looking wound.

I don’t know anything about needing pressure even though when I step back I realize that piling wool on top of a wound probably isn’t going to help at all. It looks like a blood-soaked topping to a sundae instead but, as I've said before, I don't know.