Blacktail Deer Plateau Cats don't play nice

She crossed the mountains with the eagle perched at her shoulder, overcome with thoughts of Lestan. It was a fit of melancholy which led her to drift so far from her home, a pressing sense of loss. Would the world ever look the same without him? Would the sun ever shine as brightly as it once had?
Reverie could only think of his gentle voice, his pretty blue-gold eyes, the way he'd loved her so wholly and so desperately. And in return she had given him her sorrow; her resentment; her blood. What business, then, did she have marrying again? Surely she would bring nothing but sorrow to Boone.
Lost in these thoughts, she almost didn't notice the panting figure lying prone in the distance. Reverie almost passed right by her. But something made her look up, some inexplicable feeling that she ought to, and the gilded girl let out a little gasp at what she saw. That faint hint of blood on the breeze had not been her imagination, then. Reverie rushed over, too panicked to be wary of aggression. Are you okay? She called, feeling foolish for asking when clearly the answer was no. Do you need help? She moved to sniff the dark stranger, to inspect her wounds, and thought no more of her own woes. They weren't important just then.