Herbalists' Cache just like you

anoré finds the wound at the woman's neck, already noting the edges of torn fur and blood that has started to congeal. she picks a sprig of yarrow first and crushes the leaves between her teeth to release the juices, their scent earthy and faintly bitter on her tongue. she presses the poultice against the gash.
the woman's flesh feels warm beneath the coolness, "still." anoré says, but she does not soften her touch. she watches as the blood begins to slow under her care, but in doing so, she notices something else. another set of teeth marks. not meant to maim, not driven by malice or hunger. a claiming.
anoré finds the stranger's gaze, "... may i?" a nod is all she needs. she presses her nose just above the woman’s scruff, inhaling deeply, searching for the telltale heat of fever. the sting of blood lingers, but something is not right. it is warmer, richer, like earth after rain.
to be certain, she lowers her muzzle to the woman’s flank, brushing her nose along the firm plane of her belly. there is no swell yet. but something within takes root. she straightens, "life." a paw ghosts the woman's side, where she would soon grow fat in the coming months.