Dragoncrest Cliffs up in arms, it's just the god of thinning dreams,

@Dacio! anyone else is just tagged for reference <3
Setting Apothecary, mid-morning. 12/22, a day before this!

Not once had Aure stalled when she'd heard the war had ended - unless several minutes of dozing counted as such. Otherwise, her eyes had barely shuttered closed. Not even when she'd seen a flock of dark and distant valkyries retreating to the Sound. Rather than feel relieved, all that washed over her was another bout of trepidation; with double of the stock she and @Rose had gathered, she just hoped it would be enough to last, should there be another attack. With that settled in mind, she returned her attention to the russet she-wolf, jaw set.

Whether patients trickled in through the wee hours of night (exceptionally exhausted, unsurprisingly) or made themselves know when the sun crested the sea, the supposed-to-be-skayona - under the watchful eye of opkepa - Aure tended to them, practically flurrying and thriving in the activity it brought, the focus that was needed. Most of her life, she'd only had slight knowledge of herbs and other properties; now, she gobbled up the auburn opkepa's shrewd wisdom in the hopes to provide a better outcome for their patients.

So when the time came for the briefest of respites, the sun had curled its way across the sky. Within the dimmed, spiced quiet of the apothecary's realm, the pale she-wolf slumped against the cool walls; letting a faint grimace work over her marred facade as she stretched the tendons in her neck, her shoulders.

A few heartbeats of terse quiet, and then her ears flickered to the sound of paw-falls; and her fine-crafted head swung up to attention, eyes fatigued but earnest.

The battle of Drageda turf just days prior seemed so trivial in comparison to the tragedy that swiftly followed. Portia's death had wounded him anew, far deeper than any Rusalka dog's teeth could ever pierce. Everything else was insignificant. Grief kept him from those he loved most, choosing instead to venture at the edge of the pack's claim. For a time, he'd believed his mother natrona like Sequoia before her, and guilt suppressed his appetite. 

He simply wished to be alone, to process what had happened and figure out how he might move forward.

Dacio's sleep was tormented often, with dreams of the golden beast who'd sought to maim him and others of his disowned litter-mate forcing their dam into the sea. He was a mess, baring teeth to any who sought to reach out to him. He deserved this, he was sure. He deserved to suffer, for ever believing Portia could be capable of abandoning them.

It was only when exhaustion weighed heavily on him and the largest of his lacerations at the side of his neck began to fester that he sought the company of another. Where previously his mother would tend his scrapes as a babe, he now sought her... replacement? He had always been fond of Rose, and Drageda needed capable healers (who better than she who was trained by the late Fisa herself?), but there was something unsettling for Dacio about her taking Portia's place.

It was not the crimson medic he found, however, and he blinked in surprise as he pale gaze settled on the alabaster features of a wolfess he didn't recognise. "Oh," he lashed his tail, uncertain. "Sorry, I... was looking for someone else," he said, and turned his face away in preparation to leave her be.

"Rose is away at ze moment," her voice nipped after him, and she started as he made to leave. Straightening herself up and rising to her paws, her piercing gaze whisked over him, snagging on the raw hurts he bore along his neck. She would examine elsewhere later. But, for now...

Tone lower than usual, but not too frozen, "Allow me to attend to you. You are hurt, tânăr," her words bulwarked against any disobedience. Beckoning for him to follow with a feathering of her tail, she vanished into the suffusing warmth of the apothecary. Her mind had already hurried to the stores before her body did, and she chirruped for him to find a place to rest. 

First, she would have to clean the festering part of his neck herself before apply any earthen properties. All the same, though, she went to retrieve what would be needed: root of chervil, some lavender - just in case he was more distraught than he seemed - and webs. Soon enough, the pale she-wolf returned to boy; she set her small abundance aside, allowed the soothing scent of the purple-sprigged plant to emanate gently.

However, her words remained equal and unchiding, "After having been through so much ze past evening, I don't expect you to allow yet another set of fangs near you," gazing at him a bit impassively, eyes leveling to his own; as her mind was focused elsewhere, "not that I intend to use them. But... I am going to need to clean out your wounds. Are you comfortable with that?" Regardless, she was going to do what she needed; however, she wasn't about to force herself upon a patients' person.

Her accented words were sharp enough to stop him in his place, and the silver Gona peered coolly over a peppered shoulder as she gathered to her paws. Dacio took this moment to get a better look at her, to furrow his brow in silent curiosity over whatever might have marred such lovely features, before he reminded himself that it was rude to stare. She barely seemed to take notice of it, however, instead urging him to follow her toward the stores with a sweep of her feathered tail.

She was a newcomer, surely, not yet Kru, and the growing stubborness that often accompanied the period between childhood and adulthood was loathe to let him obey. The boy frowned thoughtfully after the strange female, seeing that she was keen to help ease his pain, and finally - reluctantly - padded after her.

The scent of lavender that flooded his nostrils was a strong but welcome one, for his dam had introduced the fragrant plant in a time before he could even remember. It soothed him, as was its purpose, and he breathed deep to accompany his private walk down memory lane. He paused, closed his tired eyes and imagined the warmth of Portia's smile, thr brightness of her vivid peridot eyes, as she beamed happily down at his infant self. Dacio was glad to recall her this way: pure and content, not drowned and broken in the manner his unfortunate father had surely found her.

"What?" Dacio barked, having been so lost in his thoughts that he completely missed what she'd said about putting her fangs near him. He figured it out though, when she went on to announce that she needed to clean his wounds, and he bobbed his head awkwardly. "Uh," he twitched his nose, "not really. But, if you must..." and he presented the worst on his neck for her to see.

Aure merely nodded, came closer, and promptly set to work. She bolstered herself against the stench of blood, and first focused her ministrations on where crusting was the most evident; and then delved into the infected areas with careful, gentle lavishes of her tongue. Well, as gentle as one could be, cleaning wounds and all. It only took a few, quiet heartbeats, and if she'd had any notions of the boy's previous observations of her, she either didn't notice or did not care. Where most took their time considering the looks of others, she seemed to be resolutely defiant of the fact that, heaven-forbid, she might still retain the loveliness she was born with.

She hoped not. Heavens forbid, please.

Shooing the meek thoughts from her mind, Rose' assistant retreated to the roots she'd brought with her. Out of nowhere, she mused, "I remember when I was a child, and used to think that war was ze stuff of glorious tales." A pale eye arced back to him from over the spire of a thin shoulder, "It is not what I'd thought it'd be. Even now, when I grew out of that illusion long ago." Turning away, she consumed the few roots and began to work them into a mash between her fangs, her gaze distant and here at the same time.

When the mash seemed to be sufficent, she returned to the overcast, young male, and bent to slab the poultice upon and into his lacerations. She didn't expect an answer - even before the opkepa's teachings, she was more of a born mediator than anything. Allowing a sliver of her own thoughts, before retreatng back into that enigmatic mind of hers. Had she arrived to Drageda sooner, she might've known or heard of Portia, and this boy and his family; she might've given her condolences. In her experience, however, condolenes rarely eased the anguish one would be in, so she kept silent.

As she stepped closer, Dacio eyed her with quiet suspicion. Never before had he suffered such a wound, and where Portia had expertly tended the minor cuts attained during scuffles with his litter-mates and unfortunate encounters with bramble bushes, he didn't know how careful this wolfess would be. He was not aware how painful her ministrations might be.

Still, he braced himself, and winced againsts the discomfort of her mouth as it began working on his damaged hide. Gritting his teeth, his hackles lifted instinctively as he fought the desire to clack his fangs and shoo her away. It's for the best, he was sure to remind himself, nostrils flaring at the pungent aroma of hiw own stale blood and pus. Twitching a lip, he wondered how wolves could stick their noses into the rotten wounds of others and not want to retch.

"I once thought the same," Dacio said of war, glad for the distraction from the pain, and followed her with his pale gaze as she set about chewing at something. He found himself wondering how others could remember all the different ingredients that went into making these things, having preferred to direct his focus toward becoming a warrior instead of a healer. It was unfortunate than none of Portia's children were fit to follow in her pawsteps. "What is this?" Dacio asked when the pallid female was done packing his rotten bite wound. "What does it do?"

Muzzle wrinkling at the webs left behind, she drew away once more, dusting rosy paw-pads along the curve of it. ”One of ze worst feelings is running into a spiderweb,” she grumbled, more to fill the quiet than anything. 

Giving a light shake of her head, she nearly missed his inquiry. For a moment, confusion alit in her eyes—it was a poultice, of course. He’d sat down as she’d asked and allowed her to tend to him.... But then she perked in understanding, ”It is chervil-root. It, and ze leaves, fend off infections. At ze very least, they prevent it.” A light nod and hum followed her words, her gaze skipping over the rest of him. ”How are you feeling... emotionally? I expect sleep will be hard to come by.”

Reclining back onto her thin haunches, she swept her tail about her paws, patient and observant, despite the flurry of tenants to come later in the day. But she watched him openly, and gave another, safer alternative, ”Is there anything you need?”