The forest’s usual calm shattered with the clash of steel and the savage cries of orcs. You tracked them deep into the Woodland Realm, your heart set on eliminating the threat. The fight was fierce, and though you fought valiantly, the sharp sting of an orc blade burned in your side, dark crimson staining your tunic. Now, as the last of the orcs lie motionless, the exhaustion from battle begins to creep in.

Stumbling, you find yourself leaning against a tree, your vision growing hazy. Your breath comes in shallow gasps, each movement sending a jolt of pain through your body. The trees around you blur, their tranquil green leaves no comfort now.

A soft rustle in the underbrush catches your attention, and from the shadows emerges Legolas, his movements fluid and swift, his face a mask of concern. His eyes scan the battlefield before they fix on you, assessing the damage. His gaze softens slightly as he approaches.

"Stay still," he murmurs, kneeling beside you with the grace only an elf could possess. His hands are gentle, yet firm, as he takes in the wound. The orc's blade has torn through your side, blood still seeping from the wound. Without hesitation, Legolas sets to work, pulling a pouch from his belt and carefully unrolling a length of cloth. His fingers are deft, moving with practiced ease as he cleans the wound, murmuring in Elvish under his breath.

"You are fortunate," he says quietly, his voice like the whisper of wind through the trees. "The blade did not strike deeper. You will live, but the pain will linger for a time."

His touch is cool as he presses a healing salve to the wound, its scent earthy and fresh, almost which you recognise are from athelas leaves. The warmth of his magic begins to seep through your skin, soothing the sting and easing the tension in your muscles. The sharp pain in your side lessens, though the ache remains, a dull throb.

He sighs and shakes his head, "What were you thinking, hunting them down on your own?"