Porcupine Ridge you only live forever in the lights you make

With the weather finally warm and summer underway, Poet has spent her time building back up her store of herbs. Occasionally she'll feel a pang, remembering Blondine and hoping the medic is well, wherever she is. 

She's a mouthful of lavender when Phocion's call rings out. There is a frantic undertone that alarms her; she takes off without a second thought, still holding the herbs. When she arrives on the scene she sees the reason for Phocion's panic, the still form of Cortland. Automatically her eyes lift up to the rocky ridges above. Oh, no. Dropping the lavender at her feet she steps forward quickly, pressing her nose first to Phocion's shoulder (I'm here now) before moving to examine the boy. "He's breathing," she says breathlessly, glancing at her companion as if to confirm. "He fell?" It's her assumption, but she wants to be sure. Internal injuries, broken bones, concussions.. the potential assessments flicker behind her eyes as she carefully examines him, afraid to move him too much lest she injure him further.