Whitebark Stream what’s expected of you, what’s expected of me?

Normalcy. 
She craved it. Something to do to keep her mind off the crippling sensation of panic every time she had left the den. 
She of course had medicine- lavender and chamomile, lining her den and chewed every few hours. Even poppies, very carefully rolled in her mouth. Too much and one became addicted. She even had been lucky enough to find a queer, musky smelling bush with sticky, waxy flowers that made her feel calm and disconnected- as well as drool quite a bit. It was a slippery slope between medicine and escape, and if she didn't have a pack to keep her busy she would be lost in her herbs and her pain. 
She made her way to the stream, preparing to bathe and perhaps catch a fish or two, when she realized there was a pup, dangling himself over the water. 
She gasped, rushing forward and snatching the boy by the scruff and tossing him away from the bank. 
"Be careful!" She gasped. "You could fall in and drown!" 
After a moment she relaxed, sighing. "What are you doing out here anyway?"