Otatso Wetlands i'm waking up, i feel it in my bones

This initial post will be long, but the rest should be much shorter. All welcome! :D

Shortly after waking, fever had claimed her mind.

With it came the whispers of spirits, confused visions of a path made of both life and shadow leading her onwards. A raven had become her constant companion, somehow the only real thing in her fevered dreams. Even so, its wings left shadows swirling in its wake, and on occasion it looked more like a bear, then wolf, then back to bird, then something shapeless and terrible. When thirst burned in her throat, it led her to water with sharp strikes of its beak—then driving her neck downwards until her nose broke the cool surface and she sputtered and drank. Hunger did not plague her nearly so much, but the raven forced her to scavenge carrion in the same manner as it had forced her to drink.

She was covered in blood, not all of it her own, and stank like death. If she had crossed paths with other wolves, Zombie did not know it. If she had, they had likely left her to the darkness and stillness that was surely going to claim her, for she was slavering and constantly muttering. Her path, so bright and clear in her feverish mind, was erratic and dizzy. To any onlookers, it surely looked as though death was on the heels of such a piteous creature.

Near the edge of the wetlands, she finally collapsed; the shadow-raven allowed this. Zombie slumbered fitfully. Her breath was shallow and ragged, and her electric eyes opened on occasion as she woke only long enough to loose pained yelps and whines. She was burning up from the inside out, mind tormented by the crazed yammering of spirits and loa alike. And then suddenly, breaking out above the madness, a dark voice, "There is usefulness in you yet." A pressure in her head, causing light to burn behind her eyes. She screamed in agony, though it could have only been in her mind.

---

When Zombie awoke next, the fever had broken. Her head still ached and her body was ragged and sore, but the pain was no longer unbearable. She knew she should have died, but did not question it. As she moved slowly to her feet, combating waves of nausea, Zombie surveyed her surroundings. The cry of a raven caused her to turn around, where she was greeted by the sight of the wetlands and the sweet scent of death and decay. Unperturbed, she made her way towards it.

Such places, though filled with layers of death, gave way to the richest of life. Whatever had led her here seemed to know it would be the best place to heal; brimming with as many herbs of healing as there were of poison and harm. In her time amongst the wolves of Northstar Vale, Zombie had experimented with the effects of plants. Rather than hunt for sustenance, the yearling had injured and maim prey to test herbal remedies and poisons. Through trial and error, she had learned the many uses of the plants she had stored over the winter.

Slowly, she gathered the necessary sprouts to make a poultice and plants that would grant her strength and swift healing. With them held carefully in her jaws, she made her way to the clearest water she could find; most of the wetland was boggy, its waters thick with mud, but there were signs that pointed one to fresh water if they knew how to look. Upon finding it, Zombie sat at its edge, peering down at her reflection.

Her wound had been relatively shallow, but still dangerous; any wound of the head was. Miraculously, the fever had burned away the infection that had threatened to kill her—she was lucky for that, and the fact that it not caused lasting brain damage (at least, not that she was aware of). Blood had ceased flowing from it long ago, but it still needed to be cleaned and tended to. Zombie cleansed the wound to the best of her ability using the water, then began to chew the herbs necessary to create the poultice.

Hi! I'm assuming that Zombie still smells pretty ripe, and using that as an excuse to bring Bazi into the wetlands. :) Even if it's a tad unrealistic!

Occasionally, the wind would cut a sample of wetland scent and carry it south. Each morsel was dank and full of new secrets, teasing the Creek's budding outrider with the the allure of unknown things. But Bazi did not like swamps. She ignored each summons, resisted the pull, and kept her eyes on the mountains in the west - dry, cold, dead mountains that smelled clean, and safe; swamps were synonymous with disease, and the yearling's recent brush with death was still a fresh memory.

It was the distant scent of wolf that forced her to break the self-imposed diplomatic embargo on the Creek's darker twin. She cursed herself for venturing too close; had someone else caught the scent, the threat would have been their problem - now it was hers. Grumbling, Bazi set off towards the wetlands, keeping her head low to the ground. With no natural structures to reinforce their boundaries, the pack had to rely on the constant vigilance of its members - including any unwanted presence in the surrounding areas.

I hate it here. The creek had thinned, split, and eventually disappeared, feeding the greedy bogs that made up the majority of the wetlands. The sun was even less welcome here, blocked by the crowns of strangely formed trees. Everything about it made her think of Lecter. But it wasn't Lecter she found, but an unknown female with the same ripe, rotting smell about her - and it looked as though she was busily sorting through a pile of herbs. Bazi stopped, flattening her ears as a sign that she was cautious rather than threatening, and woofed questioningly at the scraggly stranger. "Are you with Lecter?" This was not a Vale wolf, so the order to assert one's claim of the Creek's surrounding territories did not apply. And who cared about this miserable bog, anyway?

That's fine! She hasn't bathed at all, sooo. :D

I'm also really sorry for the delay! Life has been nuts... not surprised, but I feel like I should have waited until after graduation to rejoin, now... :P

If Zombie had noticed the approach of the other wolf before the woman spoke, she had made no indication. She continued chewing the herbs she had selected, pawing through the others as she did so. Those in her mouth would need to somehow make their way onto her head wound, and the others would need to be ingested to further ease the pain and promote healing. However, when the words of the other hung in the humid mist, Zombie paused and stiffened—suspicious, perhaps, that the fever had returned and it was merely her mind playing tricks.

But when the other did not leave and merely waited expectantly, Zombie spat the herbs on the driest patch of wetland she could find. "I don't know a Lecter," she answered, tongue feeling thick, her throat burning—as if she hadn't spoken in eons. If she had known that the stranger spoke of the shaman she had once idolized, had once wished to learn from, the emaciated female might have been more friendly... or at least, more intense and eager to converse.

She swung her head around, then, to finally look at the wolf that addressed her. Nausea roiled in her stomach at the sudden movement, a throbbing pain in her head, and Zombie winced pathetically.

That's ok! You're so nearly there now. :D

"I don't know Lecter."

That's surprising, Bazi thought, appraising the thin and ill-groomed female from afar. She looked unwell, to put it lightly, and made a face as if to warn of an impending vomit-attack. The much cleaner Creek wolf took a step back, even though she was well beyond the firing range.

"Are you sick?" she asked instead, drawn forward by Zombie's plight but so utterly put off by the matted blood and stale smell and spitty herbs that she stayed where she was, swaying to and fro with indecision.

The other female dropped her initial line of questioning, something that Zombie hardly noticed. Her head swam, and she could barely think through the pain and the nausea. Though the other backed away, as if Zombie might be sick, the thin female merely froze for some moments until the roiling in her body subsided. Slower, this time, Zombie lifted her head to look at the white female levelly.

"There was an avalanche," she explained hoarsely. "My head," she continued, tilting her cranium gently to show the wound. "I was trying to make a poultice, but I don't think I can get it where I need it anyway." Zombie sighed, eyes rolling, her tone every bit teenaged and moody. With a glance at the other, she rolled back heavily to her haunches. She noted the indecision, but didn't attempt to sway the stranger one way or the other.

Avalance?

Horizon Ridge had suffered a landslide recently. Their 'Viking' warden - whatever his name was - had told her as much. Was that what she meant? But that territory was miles away, and she guessed that some time had passed since that incident. Judging by the state of her, this was not Zombie's first day as a wanderer.

There was a hint of petulance to her reply, but Bazi barely noticed. Her mind was working hard, tallying up the pros and cons. Should she offer safe haven at the Creek? Or perhaps a bite to eat from one of the caches by the border? Would kindness make a friend of this wolf? There was something... slightly off about her, and it wasn't just the smell. She reminded Bazi of Jinx, somehow, and Lecter - of course.

"I can help you," she settled on, adding, "I'm Bazi. From Swiftcurrent Creek." Even if Zombie did not accept, she would know that the Creek had offered. She took a tentative step forward, eyes always on the ailing wolf's face, and waited quietly for an invitation.