Dragoncrest Cliffs get a hold of yourself

The woman found at the seaside sleeps endlessly. She is kept alive with regular feedings of things masticated by others, coaxed down the throat, and drinks what is dribbled upon her tongue; water or poultice of some medicine, it does not matter, she is in no state to comprehend.

The obvious burn across her flank is red and puckered with white edges. A layer of something has been administered to the fevered flesh to combat the onset of infection. Whoever it is that tends to her wounds and keeps her alive is well taught. A week passes quickly.

Her dreams are incandescent, fluctuating columns of red smoke.

Heidr wakes in a stuffy hollow that smells rancid; the smoke is gone, there is a strong salted fish smell instead. The smell of the medicine, which itself is overpowered by the heavier barbecued meat stench. Her eyelids flutter.

She turns and gags. A phlegmy mess of fish and herbs that she has no memory of eating sluices from her maw. Someone beyond her awareness comes to inspect the sounds she makes, but she does not turn to look at them in the moment.

Njord and @Mireille had delivered the castaway to @Erzulie’s practiced hands. Her – for Njord, finally, took the time and realized that the wolf was female – wounds were ugly and required special attentions. After tending to, she slept for many days in the heart of Sapphique. Njord often stopped by with a small catch to help feed the sleeping wolf, spying protégé @Sobo looking over his maman’s shoulder at the stranger’s quiet body.

This day was no different. Njord approached the den site with fish in tow. It seemed, however, that Erzulie had stepped out. He rocked back on his haunches and curled his red tail ‘round him. She was a young woman, about Haunt’s age, and it disturbed him to see another paralyzed with injury. Could this be Haunt reincarnated? Delivered to them by the sea?

Suddenly, she jerked awake with a sputtering cough. Njord dropped the fish in surprise as she rolled over, dry-heaving. “Easy there, lass,” Njord said quietly, “you were in quite tha wreck.”

The jerking movement brought on by the abrupt need to spit came to an end swiftly also, when a voice cut through the air. Weakness prevented the castaway from doing much else. She sagged to the dirt, licking slime from her lips.

Her sides shifted with each uneasy breath. Pain slowly radiated from the wounds across her back; due to the extensive treatment she had received and the mix of drugs in her system, she felt very little of anything.

Hvar er ég? The girl went on to say. Their words were slurred, slow.
Hver -- ertu? As her voice diminished to a wheeze, she gave up the attempts.

The girl was in obvious pain. Who wouldn’t be with wounds like hers? Njord scanned their body and tried his best to not grimace at the sight of puckered flesh and patches of fur, burnt away. Part of her tail was missing, as well. The castaway's teeth jut forward unnaturally and Njord wondered if her jaw had been broken. 

Erzulie was a capable healer, but would she survive? Rosalyn would be sure to try and end this one’s like prematurely, Njord thought to himself. No… she deserved a fighting chance. The sea washed her up on their shores for a reason. Njord had always shunned his family's religion and superstitions. But now, after seeing Haunt's specter, he had begun to reconsider the possibility of the ethereal.

Hver -- ertu? she asked in a foreign language. Though Njord didn't understand, Hver ertu sounded a lot like ‘who are you?’. The red tail gestured to himself with a wave of his paw. “Njord,” he told the woman. He then looked around the den and waved his paw again, as if to motion to their surroundings. “Sapphique.”

He paused and then tipped his chin towards her, ears cupping with a tilt of his head as if to ask, who are you?

There was a disconnect between them. Despite that, one of the girl's messages met their mark; the man motioned to himself first (Njord) and then the air around himself (Sapphique).

If she recognized either of these things, it did not show upon her face. The only thing nested there was concern. Even that, hazy from medicine and levels of trauma that had only started to register, was fading quickly.

He motioned to her next. As she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came as an answer. She was frowning and trying to remember something - anything - which could identify her.

Heith...a. The sounds felt right. It flowed from across her tongue and yet, the girl had no way of knowing if that was meant for her. Heidr, she repeated more emphatically, and then tilted her chin as if to indicate, me.

Njord searched her earthen face for any sign of comprehension, but if there was any it was barely a flicker. Brown eyes swam in their sockets, disoriented, as her gaze roamed across the walls of the den. The red-tail frowned, concerned, and cursed the fact he had very little medicinal training at all. Would she be in this quasi-lucid state forever?

Despite his worries, she replied! It seemed like it took great effort to press her tongue against the back of her incisors to render any sort of word. Heidr she said. “Heidr,” Njord replied with a small bob of his head. He gestured to himself once again, “Njord,” and then extended a paw to hover over her shoulder. “Heidr.”

It was a very Tarzan and Jane moment.

He bent over and picked up the fish he had brought for her. It was a small steelhead trout – rainbow and iridescent with speckles across its body. Njord carefully placed it a bit closer, nosing it some, and hoped she was well enough to keep some food down.

He was the north wind. She could understand that much. Now he accepted the word she had given for herself. Even if it wasn't her real name it would not matter.

When he moved again to touch her, or at the very least reach for the fur of her shoulder, Heiðr didn't have the self-awareness to move or even to flinch, if she felt any such inclination. The moment passed quickly enough.

He brought forth the fish next. In her current medically-induced state the scales of the fish looked beyond iridescent: luminous certainly, with little to no defined shape the the belly, and a stone-like cleave to the gill along the head's base.

Fiskur. Her eyes linger a while on the glittering pile of ice that the fish has become. She stares down at its slack face, unaware of how slack her own features appear.

It was clear her thoughts were addled, Njord observed, as she regarded the fish with a doped expression. She mumbled another word, Fiskur, and Njord couldn’t help but chuckle a bit – maybe a defense mechanism to lighten the mood. “Aye, fish,” he said slowly, annunciating well. How funny that their languages had similar sounds.

Njord waited for the woman to take a bite, but she only stared blankly – jaw loose and skin drooping. His ears turned back, unsure. “Ah, let me ‘elp ya, lass.” He bent over then and placed a paw on the fish to hold it steady as he gingerly shredded it into bitesize chunks. The man felt determined to care for this stranger – a gaping hole unfilled by the trauma of not being able to help Haunt in the same way.

He picked up a small sliver and dangled it by her mouth, brushing her lips with the fish in the hope to instigate the need to eat.

When she did not move to grab the fish or begin chewing at it, the man wisely moved to do that for her. How many others had done the same? She had been asleep; someone had to have chewed her food and deposited it upon her tongue until now. The thought was half-formed as it came to her and evaporated like wisps of white smoke when the man got closer, dangling peeled fish skin and flesh near her lips.

The smell wasn't appetizing. The metallic scent of fish fluids struck her nose hard, yet she moved to lick her lips, and touched her tongue to a piece of meat. Soon enough she was reaching for it and straining the tense muscles of her neck in doing so.

But, it was enough. A soft grasp brought the fish to her tongue, and the muscle there pushed it to the back of her throat. Barely chewing with her molars, and swallowing — an act which made her greedy for more, thoroughly enough that Heidr reached again for some fish and nearly smacked Njord in the face with her face.

There he was, feeding the stranger like a mama bird. She took the scrap of fish and managed to swallow. A good sign. Abruptly, she reached for more. Njord side-stepped away, almost getting his jaw bumped in the process – but he didn’t mind. A soft smile spread across his muzzle, pleased that she was eating.

The seafarer backed away to give her space and then walked towards the den’s opening. “I’ll leave ya ta rest,” he said, “An’ I’ll bring ya more food when I return.” His blue glaze flicked over her, to be assured she would be fine for the time being.

Most of the small trout was gone now. The tail remained, just out of her reach, and Heidr wasn't eager about reaching for it. The act of eating had given her some life again but her neck was sore.

When the man moved to leave, Heidr looked stunned. She knew well enough that people had jobs and responsibilities - so she didn't stop him from leaving.

However, as he moved to depart, she called out to him, Norð... Norðanvindur. There was a pause as if she meant to say something to else too, but it lingered, because she forgot what she wanted to say. On the tip of her tongue was an unspoken thank-you.

Looking frazzled, Heidr blushed and withdrew in to herself.

Last from me! <3

At the sound of his name (and something appended to it, which was interesting) Njord paused his departure. She looked a bit discombobulated. He gave the castaway a small smile. “It’ll be al’right, lass,” he reassured her, “yer safe ‘ere.” With that he slipped out into the chilly day, red tail last to leave.