Dragoncrest Cliffs So hard for a good soul to survive

Aure may have not been of higher rank, but she deemed to heed the cheka's call either way. Honestly, she didn't think she was physically able to say "no" whenever he asked something of her; and coming to his side had begun to feel like--

The white smudge she saw a whiles away made her halt.

Too far away for them to hear the little, staggered noise that left her. "H-hanar?" It couldn't be. It couldn't, she saw him fall, vanish, unable to reach for him; and before she knew it she'd started off towards them in a trot. The little she-wolf’s gait light and fleet, but a smidge hesitant, restrained.

Her trance was only broken by Verx's presence, who she gently pressed against on her arrival. She was right there, within reach, and her mouth was a ghostly presence at his broad, marred shoulder. "Ĕrĕmelda," she breathed, her birth-tongue making her voice airy, wisping. Tender.

But then her attention was snagged by the pale-and-cream before her, and her voice died in her throat once again. ...Not him. It wasn't the same heft, the same, feathery token of his coat that they'd been adorned in. Her words sounded far-away, her spirit feeling farther, as she finally mustered a soft, "A traveler?" More of a statement than inquiry, but her eyes, a bit glazed, were unassuming besides, and open for any interpretation. And then, when the herbalist in her exuded, "How do you fare? Are you... skarnā?-- Ahm, hurt?"