Sleeping Dragon consulting the self

Sangilak can smell sickness, as well as any wolf could. She seeks it out with purposeful strides and by the time she arrives, there are two familiar figures before her. Sangilak dips her head in greeting to Thuringwethil but moves past her to the clearly unwell creature she had scented. Fevers could be contagious, but she knew of preventative measures. Sangilak was moreso a poisoner than she was a healer, but her hunger for knowing all meant that Sangilak had learned the remedies for things such as this. 

Nonfatal, she revealed. Not yet, in any case. Treatable. If she wants to survive. Some wolves did not have the mental fortitude to survive the fever; they fell into the delusions of nightmares, and let themselves die. Still, Sangilak knew what she must collect. And so she turned on her heel and bounded off, hunting for the herbs she knew of. Yarrow and feverfew she knew would do the trick. 

It took her time to find these things, but find them she did. It took her an hour to return to the others and she deposited the herbs on the earth, looking to Thuringwethil. Chew them, until they are softer. If the others throat was dry, or ached, it would make swallowing them as they were difficult. She turned away again, departing for a brief amount of time. 

Again she returned, this time with a sizable broken stone. It held some water in it, and for now would be suitable until they could move the she-wolf nearer to a watersource. Sangilak placed this on the ground inelegantly, water rolling over the edges of it. She glanced to Thuringwethil and sought the herbs to check their status, and see if they would be ready for the other.