Bearclaw Valley when i was young, i needed it

Her altar's preparations are slow, but she does not mind. Proper ablutions take time and she will not skimp in the quality of her offerings simply because winter limits her choices. And her daily routine brings back a sense of normalcy that cements her decision to follow the portent. This is not such a bad life for a sinner.

Her meditations are broken by a howl summoning her; the sound is frantic and she rouses herself with more quickness than she'd usually grant. The scene as she comes upon it is grisly and it takes a moment for her to process more than blood and despair 

(a flash of something deeply buried: shocked, wounded silver eyes, tufts of fur in the field, the taste of blood --)

Instinct is something easy to fall into. Poet descends to the girl's side, opposite the other tending to her, and looks at Xan, eyes bright and clear in a way they've not been in months. "What's caused this?" She asks, voice brisk, and then softer, to the girl, "may I examine you? I won't touch without permission."