Sleeping Dragon consulting the self

As she began to slowly regain control of her thoughts, each one that crawled into her mind was darker than the last. Many came in the abstract form of unknown faces — the pack at Sleeping Dragon, a stream of warriors with power and impatience. Had one among them poisoned the pack's Gamma?

It was a sick question, and stung at the back of her throat. When Thuringwethil directed her to water, the grey wolf dragged herself towards it with great difficulty and pain, and drank every last drop of it until her tongue was pulling roughly over dry stone. She swallowed several times, and blinked up at her Alpha once more. You have s-aved my l-ife, she uttered with a voice like sandpaper. Th-ank you.

The scent of vomit finally reached her nose, and she twitched an ear and regarded the scene weakly. There were other scents, very recent ones. One familiar, one male and unknown. There were the remnants of chewed-up herbs she dimly recognised. What a scene...

Wh-at happened here? she asked, feeling that getting to grips with her immediate surroundings was the first step to total clarity.