Dragoncrest Cliffs a woman young and old

when mireille came home, it was caked in mud and smeared with pine-sap, paws torn, and the anger finally abated to a low and gruesome simmer. she stalked across the borders, meaning to wash herself at the hidden beach and perhaps even sleep there a while.
but she did not find respite on the sands outside; she found a slight girl choking on seawater. the obsidian's lips twitched; she was quick to come over, to place a red paw on the heaving shoulder. "angle your muzzle down, yes, like dat. breat' t'rough your nose." she crouched closer, worry starting to replace her tired rage.