Unpacking

Elderberry. Ginseng. Juniper. Marshmallow.

Satira meandered down the rows of shelves in her den, taking stock of all the herbs and plants she had gathered in Valta to help keep their medical stores supplemented. With the fast approaching winter, the little wolf dog wanted to leave nothing to chance. The chillier days and snowy nights would undoubtedly test many of her pack mates’ immune systems and she wanted to be ready to treat anyone for anything no matter what it happened to be. But as her father had taught her early on in her career, having the tools and medicines at your disposal was essential to being an effective healer. And so she took inventory, auditing her own personal stores of medicinal plants and berries to make sure she was lacking nothing.

Meadowsweet. Valerian root. Watercress. Dried white willow bark.

The young woman nodded her head, running down the mental checklist in her head with approval and pride in her past self for being so prudent to keep such a surplus of helpful medicines. With this many on hand, she could create a good number of tonics and poultices whenever the need arose. Although she was pleased with her audit, there were still some medical herbs missing from her stockpile that would have been useful to have just in case. Boneset and yarrow were the two most noteworthy. Fortunately, both plants grew fairly abundantly in the territories Valta owned or in neighboring territories. A quick grocery run out to fill the gaps in her collection and Tira would feel much more confident in her capabilities!

Grabbing her leather satchel and throwing it around her neck, the tiny wolf dog girl set out of her den at the top of the falls and headed northward across the fields around the rapids. Cináed was busy with his own tasks, otherwise she would have asked her roommate to join her for a walk through the brisk autumn day. Tira did not mind; she was equally as comfortable being her own company as she was with someone at her side. Part of the independence she had garnered from her time living in the wilds with her family. Making her way across the fields, Tira briefly considered checking in with her uncle Indigo to see if he needed to do any herb gathering for his own stash as well, but ultimately decided she did not want to bother her mother or uncle in case they were busy, what with Asla being the new standing alpha for Valta.

She was passing by some of the other Valtan members' dens when the scent of her father gave her pause. Satira stopped mid stride, head perked as she looked off in the direction of the den that held his scent. Mojito was a healer too; he had been her inspiration behind her wanting to be a healer herself. She did not know how much her sire had brought with him in the way of belongings when he had come to Valta, but given that Asla had told her he had barely escaped from the Armada with his life and limbs intact, Tira assumed he had not come here with much more than his name with him. No doubt he would be needing to replenish his herb stores as well. For a long while, Satira stood frozen in place, weighing the decision she had to make. Her mother's words repeated in her head. "If you don't let yourself try, then you'll never know what could have been." Tira's chest expanded as she drew in a deep breath, held in her lungs, then released in a long sigh. This was her chance to start mending the bridge between them. Broken and rickety, but not burned—not yet.

Adjusting her path slightly, Tira made her way toward the den that housed her father, following her nose to his trail until she had found his home. All the way there, she was gathering up her courage, planning out in her head what to say to him when she got there. She stopped at the entrance of Mojito's den, lingering there while she took pause one last time—and then she poked her head inside. "Dad...?" called the hybrid girl inside, peeking about without stepping inside. Minding her manners, as always. "Dad, are you in? I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go looking for some herbs with me?" Tira stood in wait at the entrance, listening for either the silence or her father's voice to follow. If he was not home, well, at least she could say she tried and she would have lost nothing in trying. But like her mother had told her, she had to at least try. How could she expect her father and her to mend their relationship if she did not give him a fair chance in turn?

WC: 810
Total: 1274 / 1500

"Satira"