Frying Pans are for...

Peggy had been a little puzzled, some time back, when she had been wandering from her den near the rapids towards the larger den Kassander had once used, only to scent something strange that had wrinkled her nose. Shaye and Rhyme, which wasn't unusual, but a strange sour-sweet scent and another deeper, musky scent that she couldn't place but she found disturbing on an instinctive, primitive level that ahe couldn't quite understand. It was unsettling, and she had been quick to get what she wanted to collect from the old healers den and escape pack lands. She made a note to check in on Corvus and his family when she got back, but she had made a resolution to do more to contribute her skills to the pack and part of that was starting to actually participate as a healer while she learned to fight.

She had found a pack on her more recent travels, a tan rig with detachable packs and loops she could hang things from. She liked how she could carry an emergency kit of herbs salvaged from Kassanders den in one pouch like she had now, and have other pouches to put fresh herbs in as she gathered. It was winter, but even in winter there were medicinal plants if you knew where to look. She was going to be on the lookout for juniper and wintergreen berries today.

But as she wandered into the now-leafless forest, an uneasy feeling came over her, and she sniffed. Wolf blood, some old and some fresh, sent it's tendrils into her nostrils. Someone was injured, an injury that wasn't all that fresh if she was any judge. A thrill of nervousness rolled through her, though it rang with more than a hint of excitement as well. She might be trained, but very little of her knowledge came from actual experience, so while she felt driven to help she was also not confident in herself just yet.

She went trotting along, passing through a grove of dormant trees and bringing into sight a tall, blue-gray male with pale speckles. Her gaze, while frank and admiring for the appearance of the long-legged warrior, was quickly drawn to the ugly wounds, and her breath caught with a slight hitch. She firmed her jaw, though, and squared her shoulders, marching up to the taller male to look up at him with a matter of fact attitude. "I am a healer," she stated outright without preamble, "And you are going to let me take a look at those wounds before you get gangrene and your leg falls off." Her mother had told her to always keep a confident demeanor to keep her patients calm, though Peggy was perhaps erring more on the side of bossy than her gentle mother ever had. She didn't wait for the males reply before setting to wriggling her way out of the pack.