"Ran into a Grappler Bush." Greg patiently worked at washing the blood and mud off the wounded leg despite the sheep's increasingly shrill protests. He murmured low nonsense words to the animal, trying to calm it for all the good it did. "Ah," he said finally and uncurled a long slender and still moving Grappler tendril from the cut, "there's the problem." He flung the thing on the stone floor several feet away. It continued writhing around in search of its lost meal as Greg slathered a poltice on the sheep and bound it up.
"There," he said, deeply satisfied simply by getting the work done. Greg set the sheep on her feet and let Cuddles, who'd shown up at some point during the struggle, herd it into the far end of the mudroom for his special brand of mothering.
Only then did he really remember that Lavender was there. "Oh, er, I'll throw that out," he said moving to take the bowl with its muddy, bloody water from her hands.