cat scratch fever

Halo had been well on her rounds, dropping off jars of tea and collecting empties from her various patients. There was probably a better, more efficient way for her to do it-- something that didn't involve walking to see each individually. Sometimes it took more time than truly necessary, too, but it wasn't like Halo minded. It was nice to get out and to see everyone, and she could check on each member of the pack. Getting to see their faces, getting to hear their words, and usually patching up bumps and scrapes or cleaning wounds along the way. The pack was filled with warriors, and there were pretty much always minor abrasions that needed her attention. Beside her, Mr. Raccoon padded with his basket in his paws.

The scent of blood in the air on its own wasn't that concerning. No, the real concern was with the sheer strength of the smell. If it was this bad then someone would need to be bleeding a lot. Keen nose to the wind, Halo took off at a striking pace in the direction of the danger. If someone had been attacked on Armada soil? Well, she'd been the first one to notice it so she'd deal with it accordingly. The tenderhearted girl's eyes were wide, near wide enough to take up more space on her face than usual. A whimper in her throat... where was the wounded party? Pausing to catch her breath and scan the world around her, Halo's gaze caught the wolverine. The creature's eyes were wide with panic, searching.

More quickly than Halo thought she was capable of, she met the panicked creature. "Take me there," they were all the words she could find. At her side, Mr. Raccoon did his best to keep up while not bouncing the things out of his basket. Right, this was important, and they would hurry.

"Halo"