G A R E T H
The stallion is at the back of his home, down a set of old stone stairs. The cellar is one of the few places he can store extra ingredients, as well as keep the more… versatile of his inventory safely. In the hovel is one of the few places where Gareth is not side by side with his bonded animal. Though Noor was more likely to enter the small cottage than he was most other indoor spaces, he still would rather spend his time in a shelter that Gareth had built outside for him specifically. And the stallion had to admit, it was pleasant to have one space that was truly his own, even if the constant companionship of the elk was normally a comfort.
His heavy steps bring him upstairs as he hears a familiar voice call out from the doorway. He chuckles to himself, plucking a few things off the back shelves as he moves through the modest home to the open space of his shop and public space. The home is made of various parts of the forest and mountains, a mosaic of stone and wood, held together by other elements of earth and perhaps just a sheer force of will. The walls have a multitude of shelves, plants growing from oddly crafted pots, jars filled with various powders and liquids alike. One wall carries a fireplace, unused during the Summer, but never spotless. A set of crude but comfortable chairs sit across from each other, beautiful pelts thrown across each in a languid manor.
The large brute smiles, setting his materials down on a heavy wooden slab that serves as his table. He looks Ira over, quickly spotting the injury that has brought his friend to him today. It’s not nearly as bad as it could have been, knowing the creature that gave it to him. But Ira was a man of the wilderness, and he knew how to handle himself around such things. Most of the time.
“One of these days you’ll find a friendly wolverine who’ll be delighted to turn into a nobleman’s rug,” Gareth jests. He nods to Ira. “Well come on in so I can get a proper look at you.” He starts to organize his materials on the table.
Gauze, wraps, a curved needle and a thick spool of waxed thread. He was never sure if he would need sutures, especially when it came to Ira, but when the man had announced it was another wolverine incident, the dappled medic had thought it best to bring everything just in case. He set aside jars with poultice and went to a shelf to bring down a jug of clean water, a bowl, as well as a cloth to clean the man’s cannon.
“Aside from the wolverine,” the draft stallion smiles warmly at his friend as he finishes setting aside all of his materials. “How goes the hunting? Profitable, I hope.”
