He moved closer, breath on the back of her neck. She should've been nervous. The last jaws to breathe down her neck found a home for their teeth there. She was reminded, in a single fleeting moment and even still, it wasn't quite fear. Her muscles tensed, ready to erupt, her lips lifted to uncloak pearly canines if only for that brief second before the tension faded. It wasn't even him. It was that fight that had reared its head once more, anticipatory, if not a little eager. She looked to his paws if only to remind herself who stood above her.

She might've become a wild animal, ripped at his face. Logic overpowered.

The wretch sat still for most of it, no stranger to this process; she knew how she liked her patients, so it was only right to practice as she preached. Even so, she couldn't suppress the few winces she did let out when his tongue washed over the deepest wounds. In some perverse manner, she found it a little thrilling; enough to let out a quiet giggle, as if it were ticklish rather than searing. When he moved to prepare the herbs, she shook her neck out a little, even gave him a quick look as he went.

She wondered how her blood tasted on his tongue. Was it sweet or was it foul?

Was it similar to what she had tasted? She hoped not.

"Maaaybe." She answered his query with a shrug, sweeping her hind legs out from under herself to lay sideways. "Guess you'll hafta' find out."