Blacktail Deer Plateau it means beauty

The Gerbera daisy was known for its vibrant colors and soothing properties. Forrest had learned about its surprising usefulness as both a decoration and cure for arthritis as a child while under the care of her family's matriarchs; Aunt May was particularly interested in the latter use, as her joints seemed to ache from morning 'til dawn. There was a small patch in the southernmost corner of Morningside's territory which she had made a point of visiting once she noticed its presence.

That morning, she had been able to gather a fair bunch and carry it back to the rendezvous site. She didn't have a den (she preferred sleeping in the open), but there was a small, makeshift cache that she had started beside a branched out hedge. It would do fine, she thought; no need for it to look much prettier, so long as it did its job of keeping her collection dry and hidden.

Sunny's idea had worked for a little while to ease some of the tension, but now that the numbing effects were wearing off, Sorrel noted that if anything, her ankle hurt more. Now, rather than being able to walk short distances as she had been before, she had to limp everywhere she went. For the most part, she stayed around Kieran's den, only leaving when she had no other choice. 

There was a new scent nearby that coaxed her out from hiding. She was curious as to who it belonged to and wanted only to get a small peek from the mouth of the den. Sorrel watched the older wolfess in silence, trying to figure out what exactly she was doing..

Forrest finished tucking her daisies into a shallow hole, then sat back on her haunches to take a break from the stress she'd just exerted onto her body. Something in the corner of her eye seemed to move so she turned to look, noticing the dove brown body of a girl peeking out at her. No need to be shy, she teased, sending a smile the girl's way, I don't bite. 

When the girl didn't reply, Forrest folded her ears down a bit and wondered if she had said something out of line. She had a habit of being a bit too raw for some, though she never meant it. I'm Forrest, who're you?

Sorrel looked on in silence, anxiously biting at the inside of her cheek. When Forrest spoke, it was enough of a surprise for her to clamp her jaws shut a bit too hard and draw blood from the thin skin. It was as if something beckoned her from within the walls of the den out into the open. Something about Forrest drew her near, though she couldn't place what exactly it was. Sorrel, she replied, now limping over to where the other woman sat.

Once she'd closed the distance, Sorrel sat back with her legs splayed out on display. The injuries she had sustained were clear, from the scars to the frostbite to the twisted, discolored leg she'd been battling with for the last few weeks. Her head hung low and her eyes stayed on the ground in an effort to convey her submission and helplessness. If Forrest attacked, there wouldn't be much to be done about it; Sorrel was still sick and injured with not much knowledge on defense.

Sorrel, her name was. Forrest thought that it was a name befitting of such a rare gem. The girl, although clearly uncomfortable and nervous, was someone who Forrest could tell had a good heart. Maybe it was in the gentleness of her gait or the softness of her voice, but something about Sorrel gave away her peaceful nature. There was a grin on Forrest's face until she managed to look down at the girl's battered frame, at which point her expression became one of concern. 

There didn't look like much could be done for the most extensive injury, and though it did come in thought to try treating it, Forrest wanted to focus on the other issues for now. There was a sort of mucus buildup in the girl's eyes and nose that seemed to be accompanied by a quiet wheeze. Illness was common in the winter, especially among younger wolves, but that in combination with her other issues might have been more dangerous than it appeared. How do you feel, Sorrel?

The look on Forrest's face was one that she had seen before. It no longer embarrassed her, but was welcomed with understanding; Sorrel knew she didn't look too hot, but it'd been that way for quite some time. Okay, she replied with an affirming nod of her head, Good. It might not have looked like it, but this period of her life had been one of her most healthy, save for her infancy. She'd lived a life of pain and illness; none of this was new.

Forrest took a deep breath and fixed her face with a ponderous expression. If Sorrel said she felt fine, she didn't have much reason to not take that as truth, though she didn't see how that could be true with such clear ailments. Maybe it was a defense mechanism, Forrest thought; maybe she didn't want to share how she really felt so that she might not be viewed as helpless. Though if that was the case, then her posture wouldn't have made much sense. 

She looked at Sorrel for permission before moving her nose down to feel at the ankle, only to find with great disappointment that it wasn't as warm and, well, alive as she had hoped. There were many ways for it to have been said but in short, the limb was a lost cause. Forrest took a deep breath and sat back up, though only at a height that gave enough leverage for her to meet Sorrel's eyes. You sure, honey?

The prodding was welcomed without much protest; Sorrel was tired of fighting, and she couldn't have done much damage if she'd tried anyway. I'm sure, she said again, I'm okay. There was something about the way that Forrest said it, the way that she looked into Sorrel's eyes, that made her think maybe her concerns were worth mentioning. She didn't share, of course, but the thought was there.

There was a rock nearby that remained just uncovered enough for a patch of moss to grow on its face. Forrest knew what she would have to do to get some sort of relief to the injury for the time being, but it was going to be a bit messy. I can help with that if you want, she offered with a smile, but you gotta trust me. That sound good, sweetpea? There was a moment of apprehension from Sorrel, then a nod. 

Forrest took a few slow steps toward the moss patch and tore off some of the drier pieces from the northern face (the sun helped to keep it from retaining too much moisture, which meant it would work perfectly), then came back to where the girl sat and laid down on her belly to begin preening the wound. My son had an injury like this, she said, and this helped him a lot.

There was one last look given to reaffirm the previous permission before Forrest bit down on the swollen ankle. She tried to be as gentle as possible while applying enough pressure to break the skin and bleed the wound. Sorrel yelped and drew back but Forrest was sure to hold her in place throughout the process. Once the draining had begun, she was able to draw back and watch for progress.

It hurt! It wasn't a sharp pain, but a prolonged ache which Sorrel thought was much worse. Although, she did have to admit that despite the discomfort, feeling the pressure slowly alleviate was something she was grateful for. You bite me, she whispered, adding the tiniest grin at the end. There was a certain relief that replaced Sorrel's normal apprehensiveness with trust. Forrest was helping her more than anything else had, though she wondered what would happen next.

A fair amount of time passed with Sorrel sitting and Forrest humming before anything changed. The moss that Forrest had collected was slowly pushed onto (and slightly into) the puncture wounds, calling a wince from Sorrel's body. The leak was still coming, though much slower. Forrest said something about having to replace the moss every now and then, though Sorrel wasn't listening as much as she should have been.

That's where you sleep? she asked the girl. Sorrel nodded and went back to watching her ankle while Forrest thought about the schedule she would be building herself. She'd be back later to see how she was doing and look in on her cold a bit more, but for now, there wasn't much more to be done aside from keeping the girl company for the time being.