Dragoncrest Cliffs the city in the sea

set to 06.27; injuries: lacerations and bruises throughout her body, broken ribs, broken right hind ankle

half-dead, half-dragging herself through the redwoods. 

a good place for a redgirl.

she's found her way to borders; collapses upon them, nostrils flared at the acrid, possessive stench. 

maybe they'll kill her.

god knows everyone else has tried. 

she lets loose a croaking, wordless cry for aid, mouth dry, lips cracked and chapped. old blood matted over her pelt. 

dead meat. carrion.

but a nearby smell—

salt, and rotting things. all potential.

if she lives

erzulie, having put into rout coyotes only a scant handful of hours before, was upon the borderline once more. her children were tucked away with one of their sisters; she told herself it would only be for a short time. she licked blood from her teeth, but there was more upon the wind.
wolves had done this. or perhaps only one of them. erzulie knew the look of their kind's fangs.
she stood near the crimson wraith bleeding upon the edges of sapphique and was not sure she yet felt pity.
"girl." her voice was cold. "who did dis to ya?"

as the woman approaches, she shrinks away, cowering—for in her damaged, disoriented state, she mistakes her for Laurel, the browns of her coat all blending together too familiar. 

but she blinks, and the image clears, and she realizes this is a stranger, on strange land,

and a question has been asked of her. . .

womah', Avicus manages, the last consonant nasal, stuck up in her throat. damn this tongue! h-hay' me. hay' my fa. . .my fah. . .

she struggles over the word, intending to say 'father'. but. . . fami'y, she concludes lamely. that's just as well; they are one in the same, and she thinks Laurel would kill them all in her insanity if she had the chance.

her eyes rest upon the sentry's chest, unwilling (unable?) to meet the opposing gaze, which is, in this situation, likely a good thing.

erzulie's two-toned state drifted over the younger as she spoke, stammering, struggling out words. the girl would need attention if she was to survive; sending her off down the beach would be a death sentence, and letting her die here was cruel.
in another moment, it had been she and rosalyn here, begging for help after the bear's attack. ironsea sundered, and drageda unwilling to take them in.
the dragon wolves had failed for good reason.
erzulie would not continue it forward.
a grim nod to show she had heard. 
"can you stand?" the obsidian inquired, though this time her voice was minutely less cold, if somewhat resigned.

no blows, no snarls. nothing. instead, her plea is heard, and a question given in turn.

'can you stand?' 

no.

but damned if she will not try. sucking in a painful breath past snapped ribs, she rises, wincing, whimpering as she accidentally puts weight on her shattered right hind ankle. it hadn't been the same since Moonglow, and now. . .

Avicus gives the woman a nod in turn, a little shaky but definite, ready to follow wherever she is led.

a second chance. how often is one given that? she herself has been reticent to give them out to those she's wronged.

it would not do for the stranger to be so near her four at this time. erzulie stepped forward, lending her sinewy shoulder to help support the other. "family not always de right kin' of wolf," she commented, though it was not so true of sapphique anymore.
surreptitiously she took in the other details: the purpled eyes, the vibrant coat, the hardbit body of a traveler. young, but not so young to be alone. erzulie wondered if her solaire was like this, but set aside that pain for another time alone. 
of course she thought of reyes, his glimmering rich red hues.
"you be lucky, findin' sapphique. i be a medic."
the tone of her words suggesting that the wounded girl did not need to answer. eventually they came to a small abandoned hollow near the base of the cliffs, overlooking the inland beach. it had been a drying-place for kelp, but the harlot meant to make it a larder for medicine. now she encouraged the stranger inside, seeking to give a proper examination if possible.
"long time since you had water?" erzulie inquired then. yes or no rejoinders would be easiest.

it's hard to parse the woman's accent; she understands the words, but not together, and only belies her listening with a sideways cant of her ear. she's much more focused, anyway, on taking one halting step at a time, leaning hard against her rescuer, each breath a little burst of agony.

finally, they are settled, and Avicus folds herself down in a way that's least painful to the myriad wounds across her body. at the question, she nods, a little fervently. her mouth is suddenly quite dry.

wha'. . .ih'. . . what is this place? too many forbidden sounds. try again.

who ah' you? that's better.

she looks up at the woman with an uncustomary guilelessness, feeling all of the sudden like she is a child again, wholly dependent on the care of others.

erzulie looked up from where she had been flicking through the kelp until she found a piece of it malleable enough for a bandage. "sapphique," the harlot said, a sweep of her muzzle to the stone ceiling of their shelter and the sprawl of sand beyond, the distant crash of sea upon rock.
"erzulie," she said of herself. 
she dragged the kelp to the shattered leg and began to tuck it around and beneath, eyes surveying the lacerations as paws and muzzle worked quietly.
"i be back."
when she returned, it was with a bitter little herb and soaked moss for the wounded little fighter with barren eyes.
one to drink, and one to knock the unnamed child headlong into a deep sleep meant to burn any infection from her figure.

neither word is suitable for her tattered tongue. 'ulie, she manages, and places her head on her paws as the healer sets about wrapping her leg. 

it reminds her of how Evien had tended to her after the bear attack, and anger at Aventus's insistence that the man had been taken in place of Avicus (coupled with a fresh burst of mourning) sent her blood boiling again. but she is too tired for it to boil for long, and by the time Erzulie leaves, her eyelids are drooping.

she won't make it 'til the healer's return. she is fast asleep when the moss and herbs are brought to her—that dreamless deep void of exhaustion. if Erzulie decides to rouse her, she will do so reluctantly, but will struggle to remain awake.

no energy for emotions, nor future plans. she is alive, and she must rest.