Oh, the huge manatee!

Set a few days before the BWP.

The north had left its cruel mark on the priestess, ensuring that she would not return to the cold taiga again. When she was let go by the three that cornered her, she made a quick escape south, leaving a blood trail as her only mark on the peat-covered ground. Days had passed, and the priestess grew delirious, her wound festering despite her attempts of cleaning and healing it.
 
She could not hunt, feeding only on whatever scraps she could find in the slowly warming lands, but finding them was growing hard, as delirium took over. The once stoic, mystical priestess looked like a madwoman: haggard, deranged, a fevered look to her eyes. Whatever sane part of her was left laughed at the comparison as she saw her reflection in the marsh she found herself in. She truly looked the hag now. The irony would have been greater if she knew the name of the marsh she bunkered down in.

The priestess curled in a rotting log, barely noticing the mosquitos and flies that buzzed around her body as she succumbed to unconsciousness for...just...a bit...