Hideaway Strath i watched the work of my kin, bold and boyful

For a prolonged instant, the irisvar was so swept up in the golden pools of Vein's gaze that the medicine man's words almost didn't register. When they did sink in, the healer grimaced and  leaned back against the Altar with a hiss of pain. She could reach her paw, which she drew close and bent over. Diligently, she took to lapping at the wounds on her foot -- pain lancing through the appendage as the sticky blood clotting them closed broke and fresh beads of crimson welled to the surface. The gashes and bites around her neck were inaccessible, at least to her, but she was sure Vein could help her with those.

Once the injuries were reopened and bleeding again, the patient slowly shifted and stretched to lay down on her side where the wounds wouldn't be sullied by the mossy top of the Altar stone. She tried to arrange her battered body so that she was as comfortable as possible, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the redoubled agony stinging at the raw flesh silently with her brow rumpled. "That is kind of ye," she murmured, wanting to refuse and insist that she could fend for herself but knowing she would be incapable of hunting for at least a week. There was always the communal caches of the pack but perhaps that was what the priest meant, that he would bring her food from the Saint's stores -- or maybe he had a knack for hunting as well as medicine. 

She hummed softly at the mention of Whrist, opening her eyes as she whispered, "I donnae know if she knew vhat she vas doing at all. It vas like she vas not there anymore...like she vas possessed by a spirit."