Well, that had gone... a way.
Johnny (with the assistance of an NPC) had carried Littlepaw back to camp not long after she'd passed out, tucked her into the medicine den where she belonged, and then stayed to make sure she didn't spontaneously die on him. That would be especially bad, but it would be especially especially bad since he'd just told off Ver for telling him off, and... everything else that had gone down. His anger had subsided since in small quantities at a time. First he had to calm down from the horrid rush of arguing with the Veiler, then he had to calm down from the fact that Lily had passed out and coughed up blood, and then he'd had to calm down from getting so riled up over his memories from the Ruins, and then some after that. He didn't like that he'd gotten so angry. He had probably said things he should regret, at least; but he didn't. He hated Ver's guts, and she hated his, and as long as they lived he doubted it would change.
Blue gaze finds the battered girl again and he frowns, brows furrowing above his eyes, creasing his forehead with worry. He's been sitting here for a while now, watching the soft rise and fall of Lily's sides, hoping that wasn't too weird since it was part of his job. Ears flick to pin against his skull, a now-familiar position. Has he overstepped his bounds? He knew he spoke a lot on the girl's behalf, and perhaps he shouldn't have, but he knows why he did. Truthfully, he saw much of himself in Littlepaw, and while he didn't know her history, he has a sneaking feeling that they are far more alike than superficial conversation will allow them to discover. He isn't sure whether he wants to discover it or not.
He stares a moment longer, then retreats to farther inside the den, deciding he doesn't want to watch Littlepaw sleep anymore (he feels a bit weird about it even if he is making sure she doesn't die for whatever reason), and begins to rustle through the herb store, taking inventory.