Blackfeather Woods Darkness is not my fear, for fear is my home

The trees had closed in on her and grew thicker, she had to push harder to find secrecy and hide her body in the undergrowth, though finding a spot that gave comfort and hid her was no easy feat. She gave a snarl in pain as she stopped and lowered her backlegs and dropped the different items in her jaws. Plants and bark of different sort lay before her as she carefully curled her right back paw up toward herself. The life of a loner, treacherous and full of fear, fear that kept her alive. She examined the wound that thankfully wasn’t deep or hit anything vital, it was not large but simply sore as fuck. Slate was a clever woman, taught by parents who never took the aid of packs to them and she knew better than to lick the wound, instead she had carefully kept it dry while collecting her resources.

She moved the small piece of bark to the wound on her leg, on it was a small amount of honey, not much as it had not been easy to come by in any means and bees rarely were forgiving on thieves, she had indeed paid the price with a couple of stings, but no matter. That pain would slowly fade, the honey was priceless in this situation. She smeared the honey on to the wound, cringed as it bit and sting on the skin. Her tail twitched as she muffled any sound she might have made and rubbed the last bit around the small wound. Her mother had taught her this, though honey was not easy to get without getting hurt in the process, in case of flesh wounds they could save lives. They stopped infections and made it possible to avoid entirely if applied right away, and if not eaten or removed. She tossed the bark away as she finished.

She did not know where she was exactly, she simply knew she was lucky to be alive with such a small scrape on her leg. She had been hunting desperately for some time outside of these dark woods, out where more light reached her senses and things seemed clearer. She had caught a bird in her luck and fed upon it in a hurry to quickly move before other predators would catch on to the scent. In that ignorance though she had not caught scent of a herd of deers before they crashed through the forest. She had quickly moved out of the way, ran like hell and tumbled into bushes to not get trampled to dust, in the jump she stumbled and somehow injured herself. She wasn’t certain on what object or how, but it wasn’t just a small scrape, fur, skin and flesh had given in so she must have been caught on something. It was minor though, easily fixed and didn’t stop her from walking or running, though it felt sore afterward. She had taken it slow, given it time to rest and now treated it toward infections.

She took the last part of the pile into her mouth, lavenders. She chewed it carefully into a paste and ignored the sort of bitter and horrid taste and swallowed it. Lavender had many uses, it seemed to help the mind a lot even on her own constant present fears, it slowed down fevers or lowered them and simply was a good cure for those ill in mind, such as herself. She curled herself into a ball and carefully placed the injured leg upward so the honey would stay in place. Now rest. Just some hours of letting the honey getting in and rest the leg and she felt certain she would soon be well again. It would take some days before the skin grew back, but nothing had been caught loose or hurt, she would be fine. Unaware of what border she had closed in on she tried to rest, she normally caved into fear and would never get close to unfamiliar forests or landscapes without checking for border markings, but fear had subsided to the pain and she had not treated with care.