Duskfire Glacier I'll find my own way down, as I should

News of her sister’s death has sent her spiraling. She makes the decision to confine herself within the borders for a time, not trusting the way her head spins as if she’s falling when she lets her thoughts wander too far from her. The yearling has dealt with death before, but somehow this time is no easier than the first. She feels far away and featherlight, a bone-deep chill rooting in her body.
The scent of blood tethers her back to reality, if barely. She lifts her muzzle slightly, breathing it in, and turns toward the source. It mixes with the scent of a packmate before long, then that of a badger — it doesn’t take a genius to piece it together. She’s not certain she’s up to the task, but she quickens her pace nonetheless until she catches sight of the pale woman. She recognizes her — she’d brought a recruit to the borders not long ago.
She chuffs as she draws nearer, resisting the urge to wince at the sight of the blood pouring from a gash on her face. You’re hurt, She murmurs though she knows the woman can't understand her, taking a breath. She knows a few basic herbs, enough to keep a wound from infection, but she’s never been fond of the practice. She’s not necessarily bothered by blood, but fondling wounds makes her a bit… queasy.