Herbalists' Cache run, rabbit, run

star eater woke to the sound of her name.
a peaceful sleep, warm and safe, her newborns nestled against her belly, until it was shattered.
ishmira, what is it—
the words barely left her lips before she felt it. the tremor in the girl’s voice, the way her breath hitched, the way her grief and panic pressed into the space between them, thick and suffocating.
the words landed like a blow to the chest.
her breath caught. too many emotions. too many, too fast.
what?
no. no, he would not—
but ishmira’s voice did not waver. her tears did not lie.
her heart plummeted.
for a moment, she was frozen, caught between the war of what she knew and what had been torn apart before her.
then, instinct took over.
she rose.
her body moved before thought, the pups falling from her teats with warbling cries as she surged to her feet, heart hammering in her chest.
her husband.
her gjalla.
she fought back the chaos in her mind, fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. this was not the time to break.
ishmira, she said, voice tight but steady, listen to me. you will tend to him.
she could not. she would not. not until she saw gjalla safe.
she moved to her cache, fast, decisive, snatching herbs with a practiced touch, thrusting them into the girl’s grasp.
take yarrow. press it to his wounds. it will stop the bleeding. her voice was sharp, commanding, unshaken despite the grief she swallowed back. "or pain, use willow bark. chew it into a pulp, let him swallow it.
her paws found one more bundle.
for infection—goldenrod. and honey, if there is any left.
a pause.
do not let him die, ishmira. come back here and watch them. be fast. go, now!
and then, without another word, star eater turned, and ran.