Firestone Hot Springs mare's milk

anoré stalks silently along the bank, the spring wind the only comfort as she made her way through unfamiliar grounds. she had no particular destination—just the need to keep moving.
her ear flicks when she hears a quiet, belligerent grumbling from the pools. there was someone already there, assaulting an unknown figure with slaps of water. without hesitation, she approachs.
"what is this?" she asks, her voice gruff when she addresses the night-clad female. her gaze falls. a body. half-submerged in the water and awkwardly sprawled. there was still a shallow rise and fall of the chest, and weak, broken mutterings that made no sense. well, if he was talking, he wasn't drowning.
for a moment, she contemplates leaving the man there. he'd wake up on his own, eventually. but she decides against it when she looks at the waggish girl.
"wake up." her paw prods his side, "þú ert ekki dáinn ennþá. hættu að láta svona." her heavy paw finds purchase on his shoulder, nudging him again, this time with more force.