Redsand Canyon the lady who played hide-and-seek with death

AW but @Dove if you don't mind? :) (set in territory #12, Blood-soaked Beach, dated before the BWP)

Eventually, she found the strength to wander from the caverns. 

Strangely, she may have been one of the best equipped for life in the desert. The land mimicked her first posting, a terrain she had conquered once before - and despite her northern blood, her coat was thin like a domestic dog's. She made the most of this, retreating to rest in the light like the cougars that had once claimed this dominion. 

A ghost or spirit she might've seemed to the others - hidden away reclusively in recovery, venturing out in the moonlight painted in the dried blood of the canyons. 

In the first few days it was all she could do to explore the territory - first by walking and then by running, as a child would learn. When her legs could bear her own insubstantial weight, the agony of aquatherapy began. 

Nightly, she conditioned her atrophied muscles and weak limbs in the water. And when that came too easily, she sparred ghosts. 

Sodden from the swim, taut with fire, she danced across the sangria dunes - whirling, facing invisible opponents, pacing through the steps Yuudai had taught her. 

Such how was the witching hour found her, panting and shifting through strategies - battling some unseen demons.

Derg had decided to check up on their new charge.
The woman who had shown up broken and battered on their borders.

She took a little bit of hunting, but he got to her all the same.

He felt at peace next to these waters, which were a far stride from the harsh desert terrains that surrounded it.
And the Rusalkan seaside.

The pale woman slipped from the water, and he wondered what she was doing.
It wasn't as salty and didn't have the medical properties that Erzuile spoke of.
And then she was off! Spinning with soft snarls and growl, snapping at the air.
Was she sleepwalking?

​He watched for a beat longer before he chuffed softly, a wave of the tail as he approached, still at a distance.
He didn't want to spook her.

At the chuff, her head jerked upwards faintly, eerie silver gaze glinting as it zeroed in on her solitary audience member. 

She shifted instinctively, shoulders and head lowering from their alert positioning as her auds and tail tucked submissively. A faint wag took hold of it, plume swishing against her heels and slinging a few errant droplets. I'm not a threat.

Opalites slid down the scarred cheek to dusky agouti paws, body language prevalent in the mute's silent dance of welcome - a hushed rumble emitted from the pale column of her throat: hi!

He was familiar but she could not place him amidst the sea of amnesia.

He dance faltered, and he was disappointed.
Perhaps she would've continued of he'd just replaced the imaginary foes she fought.
Perhaps she would've been even more scare; everything about her screamed fear.

"You're a Saint, do not fear me," he smirked.
She needed confidence, and some solid stone to build those foundations on.
He could provide that stone.
His head dipped in greeting. He didn't want to be rude now but hoped she'd open up her body language, seeing his easiness before her.

"Tell me about yourself," he invited, he didn't even know her name, but would find out.

Her head cocked, eyes flashing with something like kinship as they flickered up to him. 

It was not fear but respect; she was not such a fool as to hold herself above those that had built her. 

She was well aware that her selective mutism irked some of the Canyon's occupants, curiously, but even she was in the dark as to why it had manifested. But a safe bet was the circumstances that led her to join the Saints - try as she might to deny it, the ordeal had effected her. It was the mere subconscious attempt of her mind trying to protect itself. 

"Tell me about yourself." 

"I do nae fear anything anymore," the sainte croaked, voice hoarse with misuse. Her chin lifted a fraction as she said it, pride evident in the gunmetal of her gaze. 

Then, her brow furrowed and the pale moons dropped once more as if even she didn't know who she was beyond that. 

"I like...birds," she told him. "An' snow." 

"I like rum," she admitted with a tiny shrug, ears perking as she glanced to him to gauge a reaction. What could she tell him, really? Not the tragic tales of lives past. 

"I like ta dig...an' garden - I am a 'ealer an' 'erbologist," she revealed. "But my passion is children," and here a sweet smile crossed her lips, "I am a midvife an' milkmother foremost."

"I do nae like people. Or ze dark. I vant ta be strong, a varrior," the tiny wyvern declared, a determination so fierce it sounded almost desperate coloring her octaves. 

"I vas calle' Awenfen. I vill come up vith me own name.. eventually. But ye might call me Fen fer now, if'n ye'd like," she offered with a slight, yet kind smile. 

Her moonlight optics lingered on him a beat, regarding him thoughtfully. "Ye vere zere," she stated suddenly as the realization struck her. 

I remember you, the beaming grin she sent his way seemed to say.

Her voice croaked out the very words he wanted to hear, earning her a full smile.
He was glad -- but what had she endured to make her so full of courage?
She was pretty fucked up when they'd found her, so whoever harmed her so was evil. she wouldn't suit this pack unless she turned into that wolf.

He settled down, letting her talk. She seemed nervous, perhaps she hadn't been asked before.
A herbologist who liked birds and the snow.
Perhaps perfectly inadequate for this canyon.
But rum? He'd not heard of it before. "What's rum?" He implored her to tell him.
Fen. A pretty name for a fitting woman.

But her declaration of him being there startled him. When? At the time she was attacked? No, she was grinning. His tail waved softly, "Yeah, I found you with Donovan," a stab in the dark at what she was referencing.

She was vaguely surprised but then, maybe there were more brewers amongst the druids than in other clans. Briefly, she found herself wondering about the male and his homeland. 

"It is a..uh, 'ow ye say? A..fermented drink? Like vine or brew. It makes one feel..light, 'appy. As if nothing can touch ye." She smiled slightly, fondly remembering the festivals celebrated in the Falls. 

"I vill 'ave ta try me 'and at crafting some. Zen, perhaps ve might drink together," a chiming laugh left her as she said it. 

"Yes..I am sorry ye 'ad ta see zat," she grimaced, unable to remember the state of carnage she'd arrived in but knowing that it couldn't have been pretty. "But zank ye fer 'elping me, truly."

A rotting liquid that can make you feel like a god?
Would the Mother hate him for trying it? Well, she couldn't hate him anymore surely.
He wouldn't call his life blissful.

"Sounds amazing," he grinned to her, "I can't wait to try some." He knows that if she needed something she could get it. Or have the sense to ask. It may not be the safest course of action for her to leave the canyon yet. Perhaps accompanied would be most suitable.
"If you need help, ask me." Another soft, inviting smile. He may be busy, but his pack was the reason for it, and so his duty was to also help them.

She apologized for him finding her, but why?
"I've seen worse," he chuckled softly, tilting his nose to emphasise his shredded face.
"I'm just glad we found you when we did." A softly stern expression clouded him. What may have come if she'd been dead? If some enemy found this woman, mauled on their borders?
He had no idea where she'd been and who she knew and what trouble she may yet bring.
But they'll handle it.
They always did.

After talking for a while, she mentioned it was late, universal talk for wanting to go to sleep. He smiled softly and bid her goodnight, returning to the dens himself after patrolling for a few hours more.