Wormwood had been quite concerned when he had first seen the reaction of Selby to his sister's death. Worm certainly couldn't blame him – he had mourned an innumerable number of days when Poetking had disappeared, and the other male hadn't even died, he had just abandoned Wormwood and everyone in Tanglewood. Still, it was incredibly unnerving to see the usual calm and kept together Selby reacting with such despair, not being even able to figure out what he should do next when he had come upon Pastel's body. Worm had admittedly reacted wrongly in the moment, blaming himself for the death of a girl he hadn't even known, when in reality it was the fault of that bastard Jervis, but he had regained his composure since then, and had even tried to help out when they had been figuring out where to bury Pastel. He had flown throughout the forest that surrounded Tanglewood's main swamp, searching all over for a suitable fruit tree that would fit the legacy the girl had. Eventually they had found one, and she had been buried carefully underneath it, and afterwards, Selby had vanished from everyone's views, save for maybe Crow.

In the two days since Selby had disappeared into his house to rest his distraught form, Worm had been subjected to his odd transformation into his current grotesque hellhound form, and he knew that not everybody knew it was him yet, so he was hesitant to approach many people without an explanation. However, it seemed as though approaching quickly was an urgent need, given what Selby was doing at the moment. The oddly colored canine had been passing by Selby's old home when he heard a commotion. The snapping of branches, and faint grunts and hisses of anger filled Worm's newly enlarged ears, and he frowned worriedly, moving over to where the medic was yanking urgently at the bush in his garden box as if it was what had killed his sister, rather than the bastard leader of The Pitt. Worm wouldn't have stopped him – after all, this could he a good catharsis for the male, as he clearly needed it – but he quickly saw the thorns and the blood, and immediately his frown deepened, worry driving him forward to where Selby was tearing both himself and the bush apart. Although at this point it seemed as if the bush was doing the most damage.

Leaning forward, the hellhound tried to carefully avoid the spiny branches near his face as he attempted to grab Selby by the scruff of his neck to pull him back and away from the plant, being especially careful with his newly sharpened teeth as not to hurt the younger male. He said gruffly as he tried to pull the male back and put him in front of the box rather than inside of it, hoping that he didn't sound too harsh with his newly raspy tone of voice, "Selby! Selby, knock it off, you're not doing anything now other than just hurting yourself. This isn't going to make anything better, you're just gonna end up another person to heal." He figured he would be straight and to the point, not wanting the smaller feline to lash out too horribly, although honestly he expected the worst. He was glad to see that Selby wasn't in a total state of lethargy right now, but this wasn't much better, since all it seemed to entail was ripping himself apart and sacrificing his own health over his grief, which Wormwood knew about very well. He was only just now beginning to recover from everything that had happened as of late, and he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain that Selby was in right now, but making himself bleed out wasn't going to bring Pastel back, no matter how hard he tried.

Wormwood's desperate calls yet reverberated inside the hound's breaking mind. Bouncing around Leroy's skull as if it were a hollow vessel, the loudmouthed quotation bedeviled every waking moment of his.

"Leroy! Leroy, I need you to come with me to the junkyard as soon as possible. Crow and Selby... they're not okay. Someone is dead, somebody close to them, and Crow is completely zoned out, and I thought you could help, and just... please come, alright?"

The male's condition wasn't fitted for a trek to the scrapyard at the time. He'd risen at the then-lion's summons, only to collapse moments later. Fatigue corroded away at his mind, rendering Leroy into an eternally-tired heap of shag, limp muscle, and bone. An urge fought the exhaustion, however. An urge so great, it dispatched waves of energy into Leroy's system. Without warning, the enervated proxy was brimmed with life, and inspiration. Pastel mattered not. His disease mattered not. All that mattered was him telling the pussycat to shut his big, fat, loose-lipped maw for once in his perfect life. Unfortunately for the irked cur, Wormwood had disappeared moments after requesting the proxy's presence. In the fashion of a movie camera, he had once again departed to the centre of the action.

The fate of Pastel Roux was nothing less than a tragedy. Based on Wormwood's muddled wording, the canine could infer that the deceased individual was the general's adopted daughter. Hell, he accepted it as fact before even acquiring Crow's confirmation. Her demise saddened not the hound. She hadn't shown her face around these parts in a few months' time, hence the soft-hued feline's passing left him unfazed.

It was Crow that concerned him.

The alabaster tom's deadpan glare pierced right through Leroy's roughneck motif and struck a chord within the wolfhound's failing heart. Generally emotional over trivial topics, Crow was about as dry as a raisin during the days ensuing Pastel's cessation. And it scared Leroy. Death drastically changed Tanglewood's leader for what was hopefully the time being - but with his own termination just around the corner, Leroy feared yet another change awaited Crow, this one more dire than the last.

Space is what the mourning yearn for. They'll say "you don't need to go". They don't mean it. Being by themselves is what they truly want. Assuming that time is what heals all wounds, and acknowledging the fact that time is best passed while alone, the proxy would evade the Roux family household for the next while. Instead, he would spend his own time getting the fresh air he so fiercely needed.

Wobbling along the worn road, he spots a scene a fair stretch away. Selby, discombobulated by the looks of it. And Wormwood, apparently supporting the Sawbones.

He closes in on the fray, and discovers that the hellhound's aid came in the form of a sermon. At this, his heavy brows began to furrow, his dehydrated lips falling adjacent to reveal snarling dentition. Quickening his pace, the mongrel hollers a vexed "Hey!".

Coming to a halt, his fiery glare stares past a jet black nose towards the much smaller beast's ugly mug. "Look, Wormwood," the second-in-command starts coolly, careful with his words, "I appreciate ya helpin' Selby here, but yain't in no fucking position t' lecture him - even if ya only meant well by it."

Eyes flicker to the healer, making notice of the tattered vegetation trailing him. The younger Roux wasn't all there by the looks of it, taking his threadbare appearance into account. The sharp tang of blood lingered around his person. The thick, crimson fluid painted his forelimbs and area around his maw. A smaller cut had made a home out of the healer's snout, as well. Wormwood had done the right thing by hoisting the smaller feline out of harm's way.

His tone bearing traces of callousness this time around, Leroy returns his focus to the hellhound.

"We all wanna say th' shit that first come ta mind when somethin's wrong, but usually we only say what's best."

"But you just have t' say everything, dont'cha Wormwood."

Wormwood had been looking down in Selby with concern in his newly golden gaze when Leroy approached, and the hellhound didn't even lift his head because he was worried about the injured male in front of him. He finally glanced over at the proxy when the other mentioned his name, and immediately his long ears pinned back in aggravation, anger bubbling up in his chest immediately. Leroy was doing nothing but spouting bullshit, and he certainly wasn't helping the situation at all, given Selby's immediate distraught reaction to Leroy's anger. Ultimately, Wormwood decided to pay him no mind, turning back to Selby and grunting gruffly at Leroy, his frustration finally bubbling up and over into his words. All he had been trying to do for ages now was just help people, and he had  barely said three sentences to Selby to explain why he had pulled him away from his frantic task, "Fuck off, Leroy. Maybe you should be a bit more concerned with the injured clanmate in front of you, and a little less with what I'm doing." He wasn't even going to entertain an argument with the other right now. He was absolutely exhausted of being lectured and yelled at, and he wasn't about to become an emotionless fuck like a bunch of other people here.

Turning his full attention back to Selby, the hellhound shook his head and barked softly to the feline in front of him, looking over the other's wounds and wincing a bit, "No, it's not your fault Selby. None of this is your fault. You're just grieving, and you went about it in a way that most people do, even if they end up hurting themselves. There's no need to applogize, okay?" He glanced behind Selby up at the garden box and the bush that had formerly resided in it, frown deepening when he saw the blood that still lingered on the sharp thorns that twisted outward from the plant. When Selby mentioned cleaning up, Wormwood immediately shook his head from side to side, not wanting Selby to concern himself with cleaning anything up right now in his current state, "Selb... no. Don't worry about this right now, okay? You need somebody to patch up your scratches at the moment so that they don't get infected. We're all always gonna worry about you, you know. We're like a family around here, right?" He smiled reassuringly down at the other, the kindest smile that could possibly grace the twisted face that he now possessed, which he hoped wasn't too upsetting to the grieving young man.

He then said softly, glancing around as he spoke, "Somebody else can clean this up, alright? You go to Delilah, or Kiira, or whoever you wanna see that can patch you up. If you need any help getting to them, I'll go with you. I don't want you trying to patch yourself up and hurting yourself worse in the process... we all need help sometimes, eh? If you don't need my help, I'll help clean up all the dirt and plant stuff and everything here... maybe Leroy can even help." He sent the proxy the most frigid of glares that he had ever given anybody as he said this, before turning back to Selby to see if he would go and get medical treatment, as he should've in his current state, or if Worm would have to cave and just let him heal himself.

Wormwood tended up when Perseus approached at first, his hackles raising as he prepared to defend himself, but Perseus's words, while a bit gruff, were pretty much exactly what he had said: now wasn't the time for arguing. It was the time for Selby to be getting the help that he needed. He nodded, and when the other canine started to list off things he needed, the hellhound turned and bounded off to where he knew they had some supplies stashed away. Thankfully he had been training himself on what certain herbs looked and smelled like, so he actually knew what dock was, and soon enough he had the herb and honey and bandages gathered up in a small bag, since he could only carry one thing in his jaws at once. Once he had the supplies that Perseus had noted off, Worm left the supply building and carefully closed the door after himself, hopping down and jogging at a brisk pace back to where the little group was. Putting the bag down on the ground beside Perseus, the male barked in a slightly nervous voice, hoping desperately he had gotten the right herb – it looked exactly as dock had been described to him, but he still felt weary that he'd grabbed the wrong thing, "There should be the honey, dock, and bandages. If you need any help holding anything in place while you're patching Selby up, just tell me if I can." He made sure that Perseus knew where the bag was, since even though he knew the older male was perfectly capable, he didn't want to cause him any more hassle than was needed.

He moved to Selby and gently pressed his nose against the medical's ear in a soft motion of caring and reassurance, before he stepped back and sat back down, watching before glancing over at the torn apart rose bush. It would be a pain in the ass to clean, considering that the dirt was everywhere, as were splintered branches and blood and everything else, but he was sure it could be cleaned up with a bit of effort. He wasn't sure if Selby would ever use this garden and the boxes inside of it ever again, but even if he didn't, he didn't deserve a permanent reminder of the mess he had made in his panicked fit of tears and anger. So he moved over to the box and began to push the dirt and branches together with his paws so that it could eventually be moved into a sweeping tray and disposed of easily. His dark and shaggy paws were getting a bit dirty from the impromptu sweeping, but he shrugged it off, figuring that he could deal with washing them off later. Right now he just wanted to clean up, and keep an eye on Selby.