Ozmorin listened carefully. To him, it seemed like a sound alibi, so he simply nodded and headed out into the woods, leaving Little Eden curiously looking at the stranger. When Ozmorin returned, he came back holding a queer assortment of herbs, ranging from dark purples to bright oranges, and he very casually handed them over to Little Eden. She quickly devoured them, and Ozmorin waited patiently with his hand out, expectantly.
"You may find this gross. Sorry." Ozmorin was soft and apologetic.
Little Eden hacked for a few seconds, but then regurgitated what used to be a gorgeous bouquet of flowers into a slimy pale mush, and the puke was promptly plopped into Ozmorin's hand.
"I know it must be rather putrid, but it came from a time before healing magic. It probably works better too." And with that Ozmorin smeared the disgusting chunky sludge on the wing, letting it seep into the pours and hopefully find its way down to the bloodstream.
"Your wing should be feeling better soon, and within a couple of days and a few more viles of, well, vile, you should be good to go. The pain should somewhat subside, so slow down and tell me exactly what you are doing, my dear fellow?" Little Eden stared ponderously.