the book of love is filled with... screaming?

Lucretia was ragged. She had never looked worse in her life. Fur was sticking up at all ends, she was covered with soot and ash, and her ribs were peeking out from between unkempt tufts of her pelt. The healer hadn't slept since the volcano was erupted. Every step was a titanic effort, but was another pace put between her and the brink of disaster. Bourbon had stayed - annoyingly - glued to her side throughout the event. Luce was naturally a private creature and it distressed her to be seen at her weakest and most... immoral? She certainly felt depraved.

The Redwater Rocks were out of the main disaster zone, but the sky remained as bleak as her mood. She was grateful that her den was half a day's journey away at a jog. If needed, they could access the deep recesses of her herb storage. As it stood, she had managed to bring along the most pertinent unctions with the help of her companion and Bourbon. He did make himself useful. Luce just couldn't stand any kind of pity - and she was sure he would pity her if she allowed him to get too close.

If she laid down, she would surely crash into sleep. She kept her paws busy by pacing and scrabbling to higher ground in order to survey the distant mountain as it belched smoke. Luce slitted her eyes against the ash and surveyed the stricken land that surrounded them. It reminded her eerily of the empire in its last days. She hated it.