It makes her nervous to think of how close the bear had been to Spirane's borders, the allure of the western mystery no more than a thought that makes her fur quiver now. Yet, she was unsure who to tell, unwilling to put another in risk simply because she had grown too curious during the seasons prior. Perhaps, she thought, the bear would simply move on from Moladion and its reaches, a mere passing that would lead to nothing. Yet, she was unable to shake the nervousness. Even throughout winter, she had fretted over its potential reemergence. She watched the western borders closely, quiet as she gathered her herbs by the boundaries. With spring, it seemed, that anxiousness refused to let up. Without an answer, her mind had flourished into a field of possibilities.
Though her goal was to gather more in the free lands, an ulterior motive slipped between the cracks as she departed the mountains. In the wind, she is sure to search for the bear's scent among the flowers and birds. Deep among it all, she knows it to be there, a musky scent that makes her paws tremble as she picks through the grass and roots. It is near her, she knows. Yet, she pretends otherwise, even more unsure as to what she ought to do. All that she can do, she thinks, is to stay in the shadows and close to the trees, her own scent kept at bay by the dirt and wood she kicks up as she searches for roots and truffles alike. They smell a wolf's fear. Her mother was sure to give her such advice, solemn as it were, and so she winced through it all, unwavering in her intent to remain unafraid. It is just a bear, after all, a bear with cubs that will surely leave her alone.
If she just stays quiet...just stays away... But how can one stay away when such a heinous scream slices the air apart? It is so sudden, so savage and raw, that she feels her entire body tense up the moment the sound exists. The birds above her go quiet and, for a moment, it seems as if the entire world has gone silent. In her ears, there is a ringing, a remnant of the sound that makes her skin prickle and her heart race. It takes her several moments to realize that she has stoppped breathing and before she can even grasp the situation, she feels herself surge towards the sound, driven seemingly by intstinct.
Was she fast enough? Would she make it? It seems, for a moment, that she is racing the darkness behind the horizon. She runs and runs, her lungs burning and her eyes wide with innate terror and yet, nothing can prepare her for what she finds. She is unsure what she expected but she knows this is not it: a woman, young and bloodstained, a crumpled mess beneath the shade of the trees. She is unsure where the wolf begins and the carnage ends. For what feels like eternity, she is only able to stand in bewilderment, her limbs shaking and her eyes wide with terror, darting ceaselessly across the girl's body. Then, something snaps.
In a moment, she is upon the girl, no longer silent as she scrambles over, forcing herself to move. "It's...it's okay! Yes, it's fine!" She tries desperately to bring a strength to her words, trying just as desperately to imitate her mother's smile. "I'm...Sila. Sila from Spirane. I'm...I'm here to help, to heal. Everything is okay." She does not know if she believes her own words and yet she nods along to them, her eyes trying to ignore the fear behind the other girl's as they lock for a moment. If she doesn't believe things will be okay, how could this stranger believe it? It is the single driving force that allows her to stand as she hovers over the girl's body, lost in an effort to find where she ought to focus. Focus. She knows she must. It is then that her eyes find the first sign of the bear's wound, the first inch of torn flesh that leads down the girl's side.
"We're...we're going to clean this! But...you need to stay still." She thinks that is right. The blood, after all, needs to be pure. It needs to be clean. If it is clean, it can clot...it can scab...she can lick the fur and torn flesh together and that she does. Hesitant at first, uncaring if the girl takes to her with her own fangs (a thing more common than many believe, her mother had said). By now, she is pure instinct as she takes to the wound, recoiling from the taste of blood. "It's not so bad! Look - it's just a cut, all skin. You might not scar." Her words are automatic, a nod and a smile, but her eyes are wide and shellshocked, completely aware of her own lies.