What the fuck was that noise?

Ravenna had just begun to drift into the world of sleep, her body relaxing from its almost constant rigid state. After having filled her belly with hot meat she was tired. Life outside of a pack was more difficult but she preferred it so far. Grayson was all she needed for company because it isn't like Ravenna is the most sociable of creatures. The only reason she kept around him was because he was hers. While she had not come right out and said it thus far she had made it clear in her actions, the bristled stance she took near him when they crossed a lone female, warning strangers away. Ravenna was not incredibly tall but she was stout, a gift from her father. If it weren't for her lovely, sleek face, she would not appear feminine very much and pair it with her brusque attitude, well, who would know?

It was a yelp that had jerked her from that almost-nap-state. Her lips peeled back and she growled at the very air, warning it to not test her patience, but then she heard the yelp again and her ears twisted forward. She thrusts her legs beneath her now, rising up and loping towards the sound with the grace of a herd of buffalo. Who cared? They needed to know she was coming, a bull who would not be stopped if needed, but even as she rounds a quick bend, the white male is gone and in his wake is a bleeding, dead pup. He isn't much of a pup really - she would guess him about half her age and rapidly growing, but he was still small. And he had a lot of blood. And he smelled of Diveen. Shit.

Ravenna stands over him for a moment, certain he is dead until she sees the rise and fall of his stomach, and with a gasp of surprise - I mean look at those bites and blood!!! - she turns and races away. He better make it until she gets back, she thinks, racing back to the broken tree stump she had stashed her medicinal supplies in. She grabs the ragged beaver hide that contained it all, turning and racing back to the boy. "You better not die, you foolish creature," she grouses, growling to herself as she nudges open the bag and begins to shuffle things around. "Not bloodroot," she murmurs to herself, finding a purple flower and huffing. "Bergamot, perfect," she says, turning back to the boy now and reaching down to lick at his wounds. At least she could semi-clean them before packing them with chewed up leaves to help prevent infection and stop the bleeding. Once she has done what she can, pausing every so often to making sure he still breathes, she turns back to her supplies.

She pushes some small pieces of skullcap to the side now, turning back and staring at him as if just glaring will wake him up. "GET UP!" She shouts suddenly, her voice husky and demanding. "Wake up you imbecile!" After all, he WAS stupid. He had wandered out here and got himself attacked - who did that? Did he WANT to die? "Hey, I said wake up," she said again, one large paw pressing into his shoulder and pushing to try and wake him.