Northstar Vale my mind, my gun, they comfort me

Witchhazel had yet to regain consciousness, and so Starbuck had been unable to feed her, though every so often she could manage to get some water into the girl's mouth. Her charge's chances lay upon a thin thread, and every day that passed with the girl still asleep was a day closer to her death. Indeed death seemed inevitable, no matter how dutiful Starbuck was in caring for the child's burns. I must find some way to stave off infection, she muttered to herself. She closed her eyes, meditating, hoping to recall some distant lesson taught long ago.

She remembered nothing, but a light breath wind ran its fingers through her fur, and for a brief moment she saw a half fallen tree and tasted a burst of sweetness upon her tongue. There was peace, here, in her vision. But the peace fled as the wind gusted stronger, reminding her of the burns across her face. It ended too soon, but it had served its purpose. She remembered.

Before she could do much else, Starbuck looked again upon Witchhazel and found that she had relieved herself. Ever mindful of the girl's comfort, even in her sleep, Starbuck carefully lifted and replaced the girl on a clean patch of earth. She had only just finished when a stranger spoke, startling the Seer. Oh! she cried, then turned to face the stranger, a black-furred woman with remarkable eyes. Hello, she said, trying not to sound as tired and downtrodden as she felt and failing. Tell me, please. Is there a pack nearby? The girl is not... not well. Without proper shelter I fear she will die, Starbuck's voice cracked and faltered as she choked on a threatening sob. Please. Help us.