it was already going to be plenty complicated surviving on this island for the winter, the rarity that some animal might swim ashore or have gotten trapped before the cold snap meaning that the pickings would be slim enough as it was. the world was icy chilled and her own lacking fat stores were none too kind in such weather. there was nothing for it, though. she was not the sort to leave a wolf to die, for all that she was none-too-prepared for this particular situation as it happened.
that he survived the whipped-up surf was a miracle, his surviving the cold another miracle, and now what was left was to see if she knew enough of her herbs and of enough caches amongst the rocks and thickets and so on. it was a blessing already that riopat island was a primarily evergreen place and her den, a deepened, broadened, and more opened-mouth badger set, was tucked beneath a high canopied copse of thickly needled trees where the fallen ones cushioned the earth and where the boughs of smaller pine bushes might create a natural filter for the wide-mouthed den. within, the warmth of bodies kept the space warm for long after she left and she feared more running out of water than him running out of comfort. his fever was not being kind and she uses a pine bough now that he has seemed to stir enough to drink so that she might encourage the eating of that frozen water and get more fluids into him.
from what she could tell, there were wounds to his ribs beneath that surface of what seemed to be heavily bruised flesh, not to mention the bumps and scrapes he had gained in her dragging him from coast, up the steep incline to the high-place where her den was situated in the north of the island. it was where the sheer cliffs of plateau had broken free, sloping down to where it had also once been connected to where glorall was across the channel.
he smelled only of the icy ocean when he had been dragged to the den, but any wolf with any sense knew the look of the angel-bloodline born. anyone even half as attentive as leviathan was made to be simply for her lack of skill as a warrior due to her build. so she tended him, lapped some scarce herbs she knew would soothe and maybe cure his fever while lacing his water with other things more difficult to take - knowing his fever would make it nigh impossible to deny himself water, his taste-buds probably as far away in his minds attentions that it left him an easy patient in those matter.
today, the velite of glorall brings with her a hard won meal that would once more not feed anyone but the patient who needed it in order to battle the sickness that was set on him. a pheasant, and just beyond the rise she had stashed a grouse, but that would have to do for later. she ducks into the mouth of the enlarged badger set, her comfortable sized home now a little more close quarters than she was entirely comfortable with with a stranger in it’s bowels. she looks in at him, away and aware, and her gem faceted teal eyes regard him warily as she drops the pheasant between her own feet.
“I am Leviathan of Glorall, Velite of Tesseract. You are an Angel, kin to Diveen who we have a treaty with. You did not remember your name when we spoke in the worst of your fever when I pulled you off the short and brought you here...” she relayed information as a way to skip over formalities that neither would care to be a part of with a meal sitting in wait of being eaten. “The water will kill you if you go, but food will be scarce as it is, so I cannot offer you more than the pheasant. Do you need water? It has recently snowed again and there is plenty if you would like.”
Again, professional clinical speak, dismissing any kind of deference or friendship in favor for promptness so that she too might rest and wait out the chill of the evening and sleep till morning came. “And if you would not mind too much, I have cleared out your leavings quite enough when you were not well enough to wake and keep yourself clean--- but I do not care for the job myself, and care for it less all over the floor of our den on this delightful vacation.” she offers in only half-jest with a raised eyebrow that dared him to deny her that relief at least.
THE LAST DAUGHTER OF MIROVIS
female | 8 years | 37 inches | 91 pounds
velite of glorall | fond of tesseract
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