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Oh, this was a terrible idea. She stood poised outside the den with fangs ready and her shoulder, glancing once around the make sure she was alone. Abruptly, her head moved and she quickly, neatly, tore open her shoulder. She winced, both at the taste of her own blood in her mouth and the sharp pain, but did not waste much time before moving to the small piles of herbs she'd assembled. She wasn't all sure which ones made poultices and which ones were eaten, but vaguely she remembered Krypton having her eat the spiky green ones, once. 

For a moment she contemplated, before deciding that the healer wouldn't have stockpiled herbs that could kill a wolf and delicately plucking the withered leaves from the ground and chewing their bitterness. Swallowing, she sat in nervous wait, glancing at the other unknown or mostly unknown herbs and trying to determine (read: guess) which she ought to apply as a poultice.