"Well I can't leave it there, can I?" She huffs softly, pressing her hand over the open wound until the blood scabs. All the while she keeps scratching his chin and rubbing the fur on his cheeks, trying to break down some of the dried blood.

At least, she decides, if she hasn't died yet then the creature must understand that she's trying to help. It certainly seems docile, and she appreciates that greatly. Perhaps, for now, she should just keep it company. In the state it's in, she can't even be sure it will survive. She coaxes Ivar's head onto her lap, careful to keep those fangs in a spot where they won't poke her, and runs her fingers through his mohawk.

"It's going to be alright... I'll stay as long as you need."