Bearclaw Valley Call for help

Néa struggled to wakefulness, the brightness of the sun blinding her as she blinked sleep from her eyes. The wound above her left eye had closed over, encrusted with dark red blood but thankfully, she noted that only the large wound on her stomach still bled, if sluggishly. There'd been times over her journey home that she'd been sure that she would bleed out, as the wounds became too much but she didn't stop moving. If you were bleeding, it meant you were still alive and able to move- so you had to move or you'd die. She'd lived by that motto for some time now and she wasn't about to abandoned it now.

She pulled to her feet, letting shaking paws bring her into the main room of the den as a fae wolf pulled up near Scarlett, the white queen who sat at the den's entrance and watched with a careful eye across the valley. The stranger was ragged and darkly coloured but she briefly recognised her from the claiming howl just a little while ago. "Scarlett?" She hated how her voice wavered weakly, as if to increase her shame at being injured and so useless.