Oh, hells.

Whoever it was that lay below, he seemed delirious; he hadn't moved an inch at her command, instead appearing dazed and almost listless in his stupor. Clearly he was injured, and medical attention was required.

Unfortunately, she wasn't a medic.

Valeska, stout and hardy, built for sheer cliffs and bitter polar winds, deftly began her descent toward the unfortunate soul who had washed up on the shoreline. Measuring one step at a time, she clambered down with the sharp precision of a mountain goat until at last she reached the bottom, breathless and concerned as she swept to his side.

I did not mean for - it to hit you - she rasped, looking him over for any further damage. The stranger wasn't bleeding, at least, although an angry bump thrust out from his forehead in a way that might have been comical if she hadn't been so distraught. Where did you come from? You are soaking wet - и, скорее всего, у меня сотрясение мозга, это моя вина (and likely concussed, which is my fault) - we must get you out of the damp!

The little wolf nudged him with her snout, urging him to move up and away from the shoreline, ushering him toward a somewhat gentler incline leading over the cliffside. If he could rally himself, perhaps they might make it, but she could not carry him alone.

You need rest, she admonished him, And you need food. Can you walk?