Herbalists' Cache never had to knock on wood

A summoning cry struck the frigid winter air, and in a flurry of ink and silk Coelacanth turned, tufted ears twisting eagerly to locate the source. Though she was clearly not in the best condition — the curves of her hips, spine, and ribs were clearly delineated beneath her feathery fur — her Neptune eyes were bright and alert and there was a visible spring in her step. Ensconcing her bowl beneath the heavy, ice-limned boughs of a nearby tree, she followed the fresh trail of wolfscent until she was near enough to make her presence known to the heavyset wolf of stone and ice. He was older than her and in good health, without any decipherable pack scent, and he moved with supple purpose. Lifting her finely-sculpted head, she issued a low whuff as she closed a modest portion of the distance between them. Skittish and unsure, she hung back to gauge his reception, keeping pace and offering space with the same fluid precision.