Thunder Dome No one's telling me the cure
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#1
Limit Two 
@Natshana
Dated: 29th September
He decided that after his conversation with Kynareth, this might be his last chance to hunt.
So he took it and was off the same night, and ended up in the Thunderdome by this day.
Where he'd met Orlaith.
Poor bitch.

Anyway, he slunk along the pathways made by rabbits and the like. Looking for a scent. A sign.
Renard nor Praimfaya would get away without consequence.
A soft whiff of flowers and herbal-ly-ness came over his nose, and he followed it, wondering if there was an injured wolf treating themselves or something.
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#2
the stone she holds in her mouth is making her teeth hurt.  for the last hour or so, she has gone between chewing and grinding various herbs into poultices.  she surmises she's lost all ability to taste, but that simply comes with the territory.  a large leaf lies nearby where she works with small, chewed-up heaps of goldenrod, horsetail, and marigold arranged neatly on it.  natshana has yet to discover which leaves she actually prefers to use in this place; however, this is the best one she has discovered thus far.

just as she has finished another batch of horsetail, she hears the sound of a wolf's approach.  one of her ears twitches, and she drops the rock aside with a clatter.  carefully collecting the herb with her teeth and tongue, she sets it on the leaf, seemingly unbothered by the arrival and presence of a stranger.  though she does not verbally greet whoever it is, a sound of acknowledgment rises from the back of her throat so that they do not assume she is ignoring them.
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He heard the clatter before he saw the wolf.
Indeed, medicine, but not for any wounds he could see.
She acknowledged him, and he quietly moved around her to observe.
He didn't know much of medication, and should probably try to learn something.

His head tilted in silence, looking at the goop.
Then he remembered that even if she isn't hurt, someone else might be.
"Is someone hurt?" He asked, at last, looking to her and really taking in what she looks like.
Her soft chocolate-pointed featured were...something to behold for Derg.
The soft tones to her otherwise silver fur made her look like she was bathed in sunlight, and her eyes reminded him of Kynareth, except much softer and held a deeper kindness than the brindle male's ever could.
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she's somewhat surprised when the stranger stops to observe.  while it isn't particularly alarming, she hasn't grown to anticipate the wolves of these lands' interest in healing or otherwise.   natshana glances up at him, heeding his scarred muzzle and the stark cut of his musculature.  though she knows it's foolish to make assumptions, she cannot help but speculate that this wolf is yet another warrior.

"no," her simple answer comes as she finishes transferring the poultice in full to its designated spot on the leaf. "i am rehearsing to keep my techniques sharp," the subtle lilt and ambiance of her voice suggests that english is not her primary language; however, she is not keen to feign a lack of understanding for the common tongue today.  it has not worked well for her thus far. "do the healing arts interest you?" one of her brows incline slightly; all the while, her moon-yellow eyes seem half-hooded.

"if you are so keen, perhaps i may practice on you."
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He likes her accent.
It is a harmony of honey in a field of wildflowers. Soft, but sometimes sharp. Whole and full.
He nodded. She was smart and clearly good at her trade.
Or so he hoped so.

"They do, but I do not practice them."
Sometimes he wished that he had done so. 
Her features enchanted him, suggesting that if she did...maybe she'd turn into a witch? Maybe she was a witch? Was she like Dove? No, surely not. Though women were easily deceptive.

"Of course," he replied, sitting.
He didn't mind free treatment, especially if she was happy to do so.
He tilted his head down so she could see the fresh nicks from his fight at Ursus along his nape.
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"what do you practice?" she inquires instead, choosing not to dwell on a subject that will lead them nowhere.  he then proceeds to surprise her for a second time by reclining to sit and openly offering his neck for her to scrutinize.  is he so trusting, or is she - somehow - bewitching some semblance of reliability?  she ponders whether it's a mixture of both, or neither at all.  perhaps he is a wolf with a thirst for a certain degree of risk.  if that is the case--

"you put great trust in me for a stranger," natshana remarks coolly as she approaches.  her eyes trace the length of his fresh wounds.  from the looks of him, he has quite a number of scars or healing injuries. "say i were a wandering charlatan who searched far and wide for wolves willing to let me put poison in their cuts... what then?" she poses the question as though they're conversing on the weather.  there is no real intent in her voice; that much is clear.  leaning forward, should he allow her, she gives his wounds a sniff. 

"no infection yet," she rules. "a poultice of marigold and goldenrod should suffice. marigold will stave any potential infection and treat inflammation. goldenrod promotes quicker healing." another quirk of her brow bids her to ask: "may i apply the poultice?"
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He wasn't sure what he practised.
A warrior yeah, but there was something more to him.
"Others say I'm good at listening, and I like to keep the pack happy and motivated. I'm a mercenary by heart though."
He tilted his eyes up to her, wondering what she was thinking.
But it seems she'd speak her mind now.

"Then I guess I'd die a peaceful death."
He smiled. No war. No last-second dying-breath mutilation. Just acceptance of what would come to be.
He let her close-in. He didn't fear her.
Her voice held nothing malicious, nor did her eyes. A suggestion for him to be careful.
He hoped anyway.

She gave her verdict on his condition and declared her intentions and the remedy she'd concoct.
"Of course, witch-doctor." He jested with a grin and wave of his tail.
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#8
perhaps she should check her own biases. his explanation of his strengths is unexpected; she had wrongly assumed he was just another warrior, only to be pleasantly surprised. "it sounds as though you would make a fine leader," she muses in reply. maybe he already is. she has no way of knowing. at any rate, she has already made incorrect assumptions about him.

his response to her good-natured threat provokes an airy laugh from her. it's good to meet someone with a sense of humor. a lazy smirk tempers the corners of her mouth. as she begins to prepare the poultice to apply to the other wolf's neck, she receives his consent and a moniker. amusement flickers briefly over her feminine features like an extinguished candle flame.

"natshana," she corrects him fluidly before gathering first poultice in her mouth. the apothecary holds it with her tongue and then leans forward to press the mixture onto his wound. she carefully uses her tongue to spread the medicine throughout the injury, and then repeats both processes with the second salve. once she is finished, she steps back to admire her handiwork. "you will have to avoid licking or washing the area for at least a day. after that, it is better to flush the wound with water and leave it be."
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A fine leader.
That what others think. What he shows himself as.
A leader.
But none knew what was in his head, lurking. Waiting. He could feel it slithering through his body from time to time...when the blood of another bursts into his mouth or when another cowers beneath him.
His bane.

Her name was thrown to him like a lifeline in the deep waters he was threatening to slip under.
"A beautiful name," he couldn't help to compliment with a smile.
To shove down his bane back into the dark hole he had to close sooner rather than later.
"I'm Derg," he offered his name, for the politeness.

Her tongue was oft and warm against his wounds. He didn't feel any pain for some reason. Kindness was the best medicine, it seemed.
She gave him instructions on how to look after himself for the next few days to make sure he got better in a timely fashion.
"Thank you." A natural pause before his next question, "Where are you going, hm? Got a group of some sort?"
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#10
natshana chuckles, "to you, perhaps. in my language, it is simply the word for 'moon,'" whenever she introduces herself to a non-native speaker, this thought always crosses her mind. "but thank you, nevertheless." once he gives his name, she nods, acknowledging him with a cordial bob of her head.  she has never been one for idle pleasantries ('well met' or 'nice to meet you').  they ring hollow for her, somehow. when he expresses his thanks for her treatment, she does much the same.  there is a nonverbal reception of his gratitude, and they continue on.

"i go wherever i am called," there is some irony in her words, sheltered by the subtle sarcasm she employs. "i have traveled far from my birth pack to utilize my talents here." that is all she is willing to divulge thus far. "what about you?  were you born here?" as they talk, she begins to assemble her supplies, never one for tolerating a mess.
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"Do you not believe the moon is beautiful?"
A mere question. She seemed so flippant about it, cold even.
Perhaps she hated it. Good for her, he guessed?

She accepts his name quietly. He didn't mind, words weren't needed for everything.
Though her next words were puzzling. Who called her? Was this some more religion stuff?
Not his vibe anymore really. Wintersbane tried it out and it didn't go very well. Fuckin' summoned a bear so not for him.

"I was born somewhere pretty far away too," he replied. And he had no intention on going back. Like ever.
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#12
"i believe the moon is very beautiful," she concedes. "but intangible.  it is unattainable and abstract, an idea.  we idolize what we cannot fully rationalize." natshana certainly knows he had not asked for such an extraneous observation, but it isn't in her nature to care.  her mind doesn't deal with imagery and prose; she thinks in concrete facts and analyses.  needless to say, she often finds herself fitted with descriptors like 'buzzkill' or 'pretentious.'  they aren't incorrect.

"i see we both employ similar tactics of diversion," she comments as a result of derg sharing his own origins. "what can you tell me about the politics here?  i should like to know who to be wary of." who to trust - if any.
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Such big words for small talk.
He stared at her blankly for a few moments, processing in his small mind what her words were winding up to mean.
Essentially, he concluded, if it couldn't be touched it's irrelevant.
Derg shrugged, fair enough in his mind.

He stretched himself out and plopped himself down where he was, watching her clean her workspace.
She had such charm about her, yet...something unplaceable really. It was like he was trying to fit a trapezium into a square-shaped hole.

He thought for another moment.
He wasn't trying to avoid her question, but it seemed like he'd absently done so.
Alas, "Ursus. It bordered valley beyond a meadow to the south-east. They kill on sight." Other than that, he didn't care. His enemies were not of her concern as of yet.
Perhaps one day though, they may be.

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"ursus," she repeats the name back to him absentmindedly.  it is only vaguely familiar.  praimfaya had mentioned the pack in her long-winded retelling of everything she'd gotten into in the teekon wilds.  she finds it interesting that this wolf has a common enemy of her heda.  perhaps he can be of use with their disposal of the saints.  she won't dare bring this up, of course; it's a throwaway thought, and they're barely more than strangers -- but it does cross her mind in a stream of consciousness moment.

"that brings the number of packs i know the names of here up to three.  thank you," the latter is a show of genuine gratitude. "do you know anything of yuèlóng or the saints of the dying light?  i met a wolf who told me vaguely of them."
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He nodded as she repeated the name. Knowing it was just in thought, but feeling rude not to acknowledge her words.
Perhaps she'd heard of them before, been warned too to stay away. It would probably be evident if she'd run into them.

Though, seemingly not.
She now knew another.
But what she said next was interesting. It wasn't often you heard Yuèlóng and The Saints in one sentence.
What a joy.
"Oh really?he mused. Thinking. Buying himself time.
"Yuèlóng are coastal and territorial. They know everything that happens to the west of these mountains.He didn't care if he was exaggerating or incorrect. They shouldn't stick their noses where they're not wanted. "And the Saints, hm? I'm one of them. We're looking for our missing packmates." He smiled kindly. "Know where they are?"
From what she may have heard about them, this could stir up a shit storm, or she'd have no idea what he was on about and assume he was complacent. Though, if she knows Yuelong too, it'd be no surprise if she runs away.
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he was a member of the saints -- an interesting turn of events, certainly.  she doesn't react to this revelation.  truthfully, it doesn't mean much to her, save for the information he could provide.  natshana doesn't fear this wolf; despite his loyalty lying with an enemy pack, he has given her no reason to become defensive.  if he wants to hurt her, he will, and there isn't much she can do about that.

"are they missing, or have they been taken?" she wonders, recalling fragments of the little political knowledge she possesses. "the way wolves talk of packs in this region, tensions seem to be high.  do you believe they could be held hostage by any of your enemies?" natshana pivots the conversation back toward derg.
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She seemed unbothered. But she must've been told by an ally of Yuelong.
It seemed they were all allies, and the Saints were all enemies.
"No."
The only wolves that would steal them, as such, wouldn't. Renard and Praimfaya were too strong and too smart for that. They wouldn't have even approached the bear clan.

"They disappeared one day, their scent trails around in circles, they perhaps are injured."
Or they left. Though it wouldn't look good to say he was hunting down former packmates to force them into submission and prevent them from speaking fo the Siants.
They had too many aces to be let loose.

"Praimfaya, a woman like a stormcloud, and Renard, has a curled tail."
He couldn't be bothered with a long description, but that was better than nothing. If she showed any sign of knowing them, oh he could make her talk. 
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he spoke, and she listened.  having now finished cleaning up her supplies, she was able to afford to give him her full attention.  he invoked the names of both her commander and her commander's steward.  she didn't react with any semblance of recognition, but she did nod her head to indicate she heard the names and vague descriptions.  truly, if she did not know who they were, the details she was given wouldn't be much assistance.  such was why, to play the part, she thought to ask him to expand.

"a stormcloud and a crooked tail?" her pale eyes flashed with intrigue. "i would venture to say that many wolves could fit either of those one-word descriptions." whether or not derg offers her anymore was irrelevant.  she had their names if nothing else. "suppose i meet them, what then? should i come calling for derg of the saints?" she cocked her head to the side, imploring.
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She turned to him after fixing her workstation.
She gave no flicker of knowing.
A shame really, he could have a lot of uses for this one. Knowledgeable medics were often infected with wanderlust.

But she was right.
"They could," he mused. "I'll find them, it's ok. If you come across them, just tell them I'm looking."
They were both capable. If he really believed they'd not just upped and left in the night.
He gave her a small smile. 

"Thanks again," he mused, standing. He should get going, keep moving.
He waited for her to talk again before taking his leave, wondering if she'd say anything of interest.
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#20
she could sense that their time together was coming to an end, and she didn't intend to fight it.  when derg stood, she offered a courteous smile and nod. "keep the wound clean," natshana reminded him, having received his gratitude in the moments prior.  she let him leave without incident, wondering if she would ever encounter him or a member of the saints again.  not wanting to arouse any suspicion, though, she didn't permit her gaze to linger.  she glanced away shortly after he began to leave and sat with her own thoughts.  she would need to return to her den soon.