"Thank you, Nissa," says Garrison solemnly, as he takes the potion and pours it into a shallow dish, from which the horse can lick. the fragrant smell is a familiar one -- he's used these potions before, and arrow holes have sealed up before his eyes, punctured lungs have re-inflated. Garrison's orcish lips do not smile easily, but he wants to alleviate the suffering of the animal if he can. He trusts this will do it.