Sleepy Fox Hollow a little bit of suffering’s

@Nyra

She didn’t know how long she’d been alone. Thought was not given to it. It didn’t matter how long it’d been, all that mattered is she was and she needed to survive. A difficult task with so many festering wounds.

Since the night of the attack Pendragon could only think of gathering herbs. Not her assailants, not Deimos. Herbs. She knew which ones to look for and how to use them. She only needed to find them. The mercenary hadn’t any luck until now.

Within the meadow grew marigolds, and Pendragon happened to come across them.

She placed her stone at her paws (it was so dirty and worn down by teeth now) and took a mouthful of the flowers. She chewed them into a fine paste with a scowl on her face and spat it on the many cuts on her leg. It stung ferociously. Pendragon was forced to bite her tongue

---

Patrolling as usual, Nyra found herself in the Hollow, exploring the sights she hadn't yet seen.
Though in the autumn-touched colors, she couldn't help but see a gray figure in the grass. Sniffing the air, Nyra could only tell the wolf was injured and was applying some type of herb.

For now, the Grandmaster would only watch. Injured wolves could be violent, and she didn't really want any new scars at the moment.

The pain would be worth it, she convinced herself. This could not hold a candle to the hell that was an uncared infection. She’d felt such agony before, and she did not wish to go through that again.
Pendragon continued to apply the liquid to her wounds with her tongue. Her eyes closed tight as she fought off the persistent sting. She was too busy fussing over her injuries to detect anyone approach. It was only when a breeze wafted her scent towards the yearling she took notice.
Though her legs still ached, Pendragon shot up. She shot daggers at the woman. Large and fit, she noted. It’s a good thing she didn’t look to be any of the attackers. Pendragon was in no shape to fight.
The woman’s unfamiliarity was the only thing keeping the yearling rooted, though she still stayed on her guard. She lifted her chin and chuffed questioningly.

Nyra quirked a small smile at the yearling's alarm. 

Injured, it definitely seemed. 
"If you are hurt, I have a medic that would be happy to assist." The grandmaster stated without pressure.
She turned slightly, gaze watching Pendragon for the crystal-haver's answer.
"My name is Nyra. I'm the leader of the Saints." She furthered.

The woman’s — Nyra she called herself — offer did not put her at ease. Pendragon narrowed her eyes questioningly. 

Price? Such niceties never came free.

Nyra looked upon Pendragon without sway, thinking as the yearling asked what price she must pay for help.

"Recruitment." The Grandmaster said simply, after a pause.
Her intense golden gaze remained trained on the other. Would the youth take the safety of numbers? Or risk further injury by other evil fangs?

Recruitment the woman answered.

I can track. Hunt. Spy. Kill. She went down this list many times before with an even tone void of emotion. This time was no different. But I pledge myself to no one.

Pendragon fell silent again and awaited a response.

The woman went down the list of her skills, to which Nyra listened patiently. 
At the end though, Nyra frowned slightly with disappointment. 
"I see. Suit yourself then." The Grandmaster replied, turning to leave. Suddenly then, the pale giantess thought of an idea. One she should've executed when she ran into the auburn mercenary in Blackfeather. 
See if she could kill Ramesses. 

Thinking it over, Nyra shook her head and began to prowl away, giving a wave of her tail as a farewell to Pendragon and more or less a 'good luck to you' motion. 

Would the young adult change her mind, or stay steadfast?