Now, Verity was not a deserter. No, she was just a…wanderer of sorts. She fluttered around the pack lands, making a land fill of herbs in the notches only she knew about, well Kershov probably knew of them but didn’t bother them as the alabaster healer took great pride in the fact that not a soul dared to touch her precious herbs, and overall just dancing her way through life. And quite currently, the snowy lass was skipping her way through the lands, her eyes drifting unseeingly from one bush to another. A squeal of delight tore from her maw as her sage optics alighted upon a small plant. She bushed through the thick, dead but growing brambles to grab said herb in her maw, snipping off the stem with the delicate precision that came only with much experience. With the task done she skipped towards the notch she assigned this particular type of herb, her sinewy frame slipping around trees and brambles and other obstacles with practiced ease, her dancing gait halting as she reached the small hollow of a towering oak. The notch were she placed this particular herb was a small hollow, small enough to be called a place where the squirrels stored their nuts, though hidden inside was something far more valuable than mere nuts. Oh how she had fretted over invasions of her home. And so, she was a rather smart thing when it came to valuables. She scattered them, hiding them in places only she would remember, for as flighty as Verity seemed, she was quite a resourceful girl, no matter how silly and dim-witted she seemed.

And when the baritone howl came through the inky blackness of night, she was on the move. Her paws sent her sprawling forward in that uneven, dancing movement that came to the sole frame of hers. She took a bounding leap over a fallen trunk, landing lithely upon the darkened wood before pushing off, her frame moving along the border and towards the meeting place. Pale pistons send her into the path that Kershov himself has just walked, as she can see the crimson markings of his victory. Her eyes narrow as the inner healer begins to run around like a chicken with its head cut off. She mentally starts calculating the most basic herbs she will need for a wound, though she doesn’t get very far in this, as she knows not of the wounds. She propels herself faster through the woods, her thin bodice weaving silently across the lands until she eases to a steady trot as she nears her packmates. She eases her arctic shaded body through her pack mates, huffing a soft greeting to a few, though her frame veers towards Kershov. She pauses briefly to greet Enigma, dipping her crown respectfully. ”Hello, Enigma. Still as lovely as ever.” With her words to the beta spoken she turns a scolding eye onto Kershov, though she remains silent as his arctic words slip into her audits. She scowls slightly at him as she flutters around him, words mumbled only for him to hear: ”Well one way would be for the alpha to stay in one piece.” She glares briefly at him, though her words hold no malice, just well meaning concern. As the inner healer sets in, her eyes widen at his wounds before she’s bustling off, her sinewy frame darting through the trees, mumbling softly to herself.

She returns with a clump of herbs in her mouth and she offers no explanation as she begins to inspect the wounds, pushing clumping fur away from the raw edges, grumbling about how the challenger shouldn’t have done this or that, and when she came to the deepest wound on his shoulder, she gnashed her teeth together, the grinding filling her ears as her eyes narrowed with anger. Her mumbling increased greatly as she started to shift through her bundle, picking apart stems and leaves, chewing them into a messy pulp. Her movements became swift, though gentle as was every action of the mostly sweet-tempered healer. She cast a swift glance over her shoulder, the sage optics narrowing in one Ivev. ”Well...” She snapped, obviously sharing the same judgment as her dear Kershie. ”Are you going to stand there like a idiot or are you going to help me?!” The outburst was unusual from the icy fatale, but Kershov was injured and if this Ivev was any sort of loyal then she, for Verity had arrived later then the other healer, would have hoped to it and started doing the very same motions that Verity herself was doing. As she worked, having cared to be as gentle as possible while she cleaned and cared for the wounds, she hummed a melody, the healing song her grandmother had taught her as a child. It was a simple little hum that she produced, probably too low for anyone but Kershov to hear but she continued this easily repeated melody, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She flicked her eyes briefly to Kershov’s when she began to work on another wound, as if to ask, Am I hurting you?




|| Verity || Fatale || Adult || lover || Abendrot || heirs || Healer ||
|| Momo ||