Ankyra Sound calling doctor jones

Making some assumptions @Rosalyn! :) I will set thissss.. maybe after his visit to Lasher so that we can move on with the story?! It wouldn't have been a very long absence.

Rosalyn was leaking fluids that was never meant to see the light of day, and after careful consideration, Vlad decided not to proceed with the second leg of their short journey. He would bed Rosalyn down at the edge of the Monolith Forest, and was excavating a nook under one of the vast sequoias into something resembling a home. His patient lay with her face in the vicinity of a thin stream - not enough to bathe in, but plenty for her to drink. "OK!" Vlad declared, emerging muddy, panting, and - of course - grinning from the hole in the ground. "Thees den two time gud - eef Stenderds soon dead, Vlad caaver veet urth, put flower - ees already grave!" Wonderful! You're so clever, Vlad.

i was gonna start one so you read my mindddd!!!!

Even if she didn't feel two steps from passing out, Rosalyn probably wouldn't have felt bad letting Vlad do most of the work in getting her here.  And in digging the den.  And in likely keeping her alive for the next few days to weeks at least. Possibly (probably) longer. Though the idea that her fate rested squarely in the paws of her Russian compatriot was terrifying at best, of all the Saltwinter wolves, he was the one she trusted most. And while she didn't mind taking care of herself, she wasn't about to feel guilty about (or fail to enjoy a little) help freely given. As much as she depended on him, she knew, on some levels, he depended on her too. That was how pack worked, right? She'd avoided that codependency a long time, but now couldn't be more happy to have it.

Even in her state, the joke didn't fly over. "Convenient," she returned from where she lay on her stomach nearby, unwilling to roll on her side and inflame the gouges that littered each. She felt like a pile of seaweed, all the tension having left her muscles the instant Vlad announced they were stopping. Dragging herself into cover might have to wait an hour or two. "but you better make sure I'm good and dead first. Bury me alive and you'll be the first one I haunt." She'd always thought being a ghost might be a good time. Plenty of laughs to it.

Do you want to bump this to after Blue does her healing biz?

Vlad had no medical way of assessing the state of Rosalyn's health, but took consciousness and the presence of sass as a good sign. He made an aghast Oh noes! face at her threat and flopped on the narrow stretch of ground between her and the water, not bothering to wash the mud from his face and paws. "Vat ghost-of-Stenderds meck do for haunt Vlad? Teck Vlad creb? HA. You cennot!" Vlad's face was all grin and teeth topped with eyeballs and mud. She would not dare threaten his stash, dead or alive!

shore! ;D

Take crab? Really? What kind of ghost stories did these Russians have? "Yeah?" She was melting into the ground, she knew it. Pretty soon she'd be one with the dirt. Damn it felt good to just lie here. "You don't know the magic to stop me." She shrugged carefully, the pull on her newly torn and patched wounds uncomfortable but not unbearable if she just took deliberate care. Which she remembered to do about 30% of the time. "Ghost magic is dangerous stuff."

Vlad was not much of a 'believer' as it pertained to the mystical, but it was only because it had never really come up. The Bratstvo had not housed many deep thinkers, and Vlad himself was not exactly the ponderous type - the sun rose and set, all lives ended, and he wasn't really sure why or how any of it happened. If Rosalyn was still kidding around, he was not able to tell. Perhaps he — and not Caoimhe — was the odd one out for not hearing the trees.

Vlad remained suspicious. He shuffled closer, narrowing his eyes at the patient. Knowing Rosalyn, she could very well be lying to make him look a fool - he had to proceed with his guard up. "Vaat thees 'megic' being? Ees for stories time for smol paapies wulf?"

His answer delighted her as it let the game continue.  In her home, ghosts were an accepted truth, but she'd seen enough of death that she didn't believe it much.  Surely there'd be an angry spirit or two on her heels if that were the case.

"No. Serious stuff." She grinned wickedly. "Perhaps I'd come back and convince your crebz that you taste good." The whole ghost thing was attractive, she couldn't deny it. She almost wished it were true. Life might be hell, but it'd make death a whole lot more fun.