Bitterroot Valley one night only

the call was loud and clear, especially in the silence of the cold, winter night. Portia was not sleeping, instead she laid beside Dio and groomed through his fur quietly, thinking about God knows what. it caught her off guard, pausing and raising her head and perking her ears to get a better listen. it was Freyja's voice, and though it didn't seem panicked, there was urgency, and neck and bleeding were clear. she left Dio, who remained sleeping, and moved quickly to her cache shoving her jaws filled with cobwebs and moss and marigold (for infection), rolled into a ball the size of a softball (damn girl what dat mouth do). 

she ran as fast as her little legs could take her, panting hard as she carried the ball. she sprinted down the mountain, a bit more ungracefully than usual since it was so damn dark and she was in a bit of a hurry. when she arrived she could only pray that the wounded had not bled out-- and was thankful to see it wasn't Freyja who had been wounded (as badly, at least to her knowledge). 

she moved to go help, but from the corner of her eye saw an orange blur rush forward. she let out a loud bark, dropping her herbs and beginning at a full sprint towards their Bandrona. Portia hit the woman, aiming to at least knock her to the side, trying to block her from going. "the boy is injured-- it is not Freyja," she willed her to listen, though the Skayona was less than a semi-challenging obstacle.