Give me some advice

Despite having been granted a small modicum of freedoms to move around the Armada, Marina still chose to remain in the confines of her den as much as she could spare. It wasn't a self imposed imprisonment or anything like that; quite simply, she just didn't want to see any of the wolves around her. She didn't want to be a part of this pack, she didn't want to be here or be forced into working for a wolf that cared nothing for her beyond the value of her laborious paws. But Marina was a survivor and she would do whatever it took to get back to her home, no matter how far away or how impossible it seemed. She would attain her freedom someday. So she would play her part for now, act the role of a subservient healer at the beck and call of her master. But she would not be happy about it.

Marina had returned to her den with some of the herbs from the Armada's stores in the Col, intending to start putting together an actually useful medical kit for herself. If she was going to be made to do a job, then by the gods, she would not be crippled by a lack of resources or tools! Her body was still stiff and sore from where she was recovering from her rough handling by the slavers, but every day was better than the last. She'd only just gotten back and settled down to begin working when there came a knock at her door. Marina didn't bother to respond—whoever it was would either leave her alone or likely barge in anyway, so her response mattered not. Sure enough, in marched the giant mutant wolf that held her very soul around his neck like it were nothing more than a mere trinket in a toy box. The marital wolf's lilac eyes lifted from her work where she was grinding down some dried herbs in an old pestle and mortar to identify her unwanted guest, then dipped her sight back down again. Don't make eye contact with the masters.

Basilisk gruffly asked for her advice as a healer. Though still young, Marina had been training with plants and medicines from the moment she could talk. This was why he had bought her, after all. "Yes, Warlord. What knowledge do you seek?" she asked, and he wasted no time explaining a theoretical patient to her. Female, mental disassociation, increased cardiovascular activity, unresponsiveness to outside stimuli. And he wanted to know what the cause was? Keeping her expression carefully measured so as not to tip off the snark that came in her reply as she chose (perhaps poorly) to respond sarcastically. "It sounds like she's having an orgasm, and a good one at that. If your Lordship is unfamiliar with such a thing, I could explain the fundamentals for you."

"Marina"