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.

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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.