Phantom Hollow Der Winter wird auf den Wangen,

The darkling agrees, as mute as Fen had been rumored to be - another life, inconsequential now, in this moment. 

The botanist seems to shift, undergo some metamorphosis as she draws near on silent steps - a confidence in her gait, an efficiency to her movements, collected calm painted over her pale mask. 

Twisting, she pulls the worn pelt from its perch atop her shoulder blades. The remaining herbs left to her pharmacopoeia scatter to the ground, ivory paws flashing in the gloom as she pawed through them with only a touch of franticness. 

Goldenrod and cherville, into her pink maw they go, chewed quickly and then unceremoniously spat on the corvid's weeping throat. 

It was the rabbit fur itself she wound around the woman's nape tenderly, thick and absorbent - better equipped to ebb the bleeding than thin cobwebs. 

"Dandelion leaves, mi'lady, fer ze shock," she wisped as she nudged the medicine in her latest patient's direction. 

"I know ye may nae be able, or up ta, talking right now but I must admit..I 'ave a great reluctance ta leave ye on yer own, mi'lady," the midwife expressed with great concern. 

Perhaps this was a sign of fate from the stars, without finding each other the darkling would have surely bled to death. Maybe she'd crossed Awenfen's path for a reason, yet unseen.