The bloodflood and sanguine severity began to crystalise wihin the mind of the sleuth, one who by now was coming to realise the true nature and damage inflicted upon these two individuals. Primarily, the gelding had assumed that the mottled dove who lay sunken in the roots of the glade had sustained naught but a frail collection of flesh wounds, and that the shock of it all had been the main perpetrator, the one to blame when it came to her filipendulous state. She was falling between the cracks, slipping futher away; they both were.

Looking to the sky, to the place where the dragon-like woman had sent her companion and spirits in search of help.
Please hurry.

Of course, the thief would not just stand in wait. He possessed no extensive knowledge of plants and herbs, and held a basic understanding of how injuries reacted to various methods of treatment, though really, how damage was dealt and dealing it was where his expertise lay in the scheme of things. Surveying each of the wounds, there was naught he could suggest other than compression; he knew nothing about herbs from this region, or even this entire continent. Should he stumble across some Kingsfool or Verzena in their general vicinity they would be in luck, though something told him that herbs from his country would not grow this far over the seas.

"Pressure;" Toulouse instructed, feeling it might be hte most helpful conclusion to come to. "Keep pressure on the wounds"  . Still, he assumed that the gilded stallion would not allow him near the bohemian miss; would he at least accept his help for himself?
That would be a most horrid idea, however. Should the blood of that golden eagle come into contact with the pale carnivore he might surely unravel. All these years of self-control; gone. Perhaps there truly was no greater curse than the one that bewitched Toulouse; with all the repurcussions it seemed as though every aspect of his life and any he encountered would be hindered for it. Here he stood, wanting and willing to help, and yet he could not.

Turning his crown away from the crowd, Toulouse turned to observe the carcass that lay at the center of it all. Reaching with his near-side hoof, Toulouse attempted to push the Tigers head upwards in a silent, brief search for any kind of identification. Collecting information from the perpetrator was something he would have to do post mortem, and as sad as he was he wouldn't be able to subject the creature to an interrogation, he was glad he wasn't going ot have to drag it to a cell up north.
Where had it come from? Why was it here? And what did it want with these two?
These were all questions that Toulouse was set on answering, and the keys for each lay within both victims and the body of the assailant.

With Boomslang uncoiling from his sleepy perch upon the pale one's horns, Toulouse turned his gaze over the beast in search of clues and hints, the leaf-coloured snake slipping to the ground beside him and coiling around the tiger's gangly leg.
Then, sounded the thunder; a brontide of racing hoofbeats which sent a flare of hope within the theif's heart. Light pooled where there had been none, and within a few moments the Doctor had broken his way into the scene.

"Tilney," the serpentine man boomed "They were attacked" was his next words as the palomino behemoth fell to his knees, slumping to the ground just as his rival had.
Certain the doctor would be on task within a matter of seconds, Toulouse watched with clenched, worried teeth for only a few more moments before his gaze turned back to the wrecked body before him, ready to continue his search.