Touching Base [Drachen]

The Mist was quick to appear, and she examined him closely with her gradated sapphire into sky blue gaze, keenly noting each change wrought by the plague. At his greeting, she gave him a pointed look, studying the wound on his shoulder. “Get this looked at, for a start. Ayodele and I have some suturing skill, and I was trained in healing enough to know what to do. I don’t think this will need extensive stitches, but if you feel it pulling apart at all, call me. For now, we’ll poultice it.”

She paused, mouthing at the frog of remnant glowing blue mucus in her throat and turned her head aside, dislodging it with a hack and with a most un-Queenly manner spat the glob to the ground.

She grumbled softly, studying the stuff before admitting, “It’s getting better, but I still feel like I swallowed a toad when I wake up.”

Her voice had smoothed slightly, and she straightened herself, eyes scanning the plains before turning back to Drachen, eyes tired.

“Do you think the other packs lost as many? Or more?”

There was no need to say what she meant; it was no doubt on everyone’s minds as well as her own. She’d lost two cousins by blood, a dear friend, and a cousin by adoption, even if Harlow had never considered her one. The Nomads had been hit with their own losses. Had the other packs fared any better? Were Theory and Abaven alright?

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Labhair an Sean-Teanga." ---- "Hear" ---- Think