Lost Creek Hollow ain't been sober, since maybe October of last year

the woman was a shadow of what the huntress imagined her to be at full health; yet she was beautiful all the same, tucked waist and slim build made carefully and delicately. painted with the same hues that had brought destruction to the plain, she seemed ashamed of her prescence here, gaze downcast. though the biting question at the woman's tongue was what's wrong?, she instead echoed the greeting, flume waving softly at her hocks. "I'm Dawn." no distinct sick-scent wreathed the woman, at least none she could recognize, and she indicated the cache with a loose swing of her muzzle. "are you hungry?" she doubted company was the reason for the woman's prescence here, and yet she did not make directly for the slim offerings of the cache.