A coyote, and a rather mundane one at that, with only a hint of uncanniness that was probably overshadowed by the fact it was a dead body. The sick scent of disease overshadowed the fledgling rot- probably the cause of death for the poor soul. A light dusting of snow coated it's fur, attesting to how long they'd been laying there. Scavengers had finally found this buffet, however. The piercing calls of raven filled the air like flurries, and they weighed down the branches of nearby trees like black icicles. And they lighted down upon the snow, hopping warily and bobbing their heads, waiting for someone to take the first plunge.
A raven pecked sharply at a cheek, and the corpse screamed.
Instantaneously the flock scattered, leaving behind only dark feathers. This flurry of action was nearly enough to send the coyote tumbling back into the snow- she swayed as if the wingbeats were creating storms. She wasn't able to stay standing, but slumped back into the stained snow in a more controlled and marginally more elegant way. Her eyes flickered side to side, casting into trees and monotonous, snowy fields. The eyes of a prey animal.
She knew, in her putrefying guts, that something wasn't right. None of this was right. This wasn't anywhere she recognized- at least, she didn't think it was. And her body. Her body-
A beast. She knew she wasn't a beast. She was better,mightier. Although the exact distinctions were foggy, and overshadowed by thoughts of recompense, guilt, and regret for memories that didn't fit.
By now, Ceartas had been in this land for a few weeks. She had scoured most of the land, aided by the portals scattered throughout and her own growing magic, which made traversal easier. Even as a believer in doing everything the 'normal' way, she had to admit that such commodities were extremely useful.
In fact, she used them now. Her new ability to shapeshift allowed her to transform into a snow leopard. By all accounts, she looked rather normal and unoriginal, but she knew through practice that if she tried, she could look rather fantastical. The wolf turned leopard explored her surroundings with casual intrigue, noting down especially the plants both familiar and unfamiliar to her, and memorizing their location for later gathering. She wore on her left shoulder a hand-crafted satchel, a crude thing made of dried leather and hardy fiber as straps. It was far from the polished, designer satchels she had seen some others use - this one was made entirely by her with her own wolf paws. Something she was proud of. It did its job, even if its lifespan isn't very long.
A scream pierces her thoughts, and instantly the woman is on the move towards the direction of the call. Healer instincts compelled her to follow, to see who was in need of aid either for combat or for nursing. Before she arrives, Ceartas transforms back into her normal wolf form. She stops on a low slope, narrowed eyes watching the flock of ravens make their ascension away from a rather sickly looking coyote. Keen eyes immediately note the rotting flesh covering parts of her body, infection clear in her smell.
Provide aid first, ask questions later, “I am a nurse,” she says, German accents lightly accentuating her words. Slowly, Ceartas approaches them, now on high alert in case the coyote attacked or those ravens decided to come back. Or something worse, “I can help,” she would continue to approach, if the coyote's reaction is favorable.
So swamped was she by these thoughts- the all consuming feeling of wrongness and rot- that she did not notice the other until a voice ran through the air. It took a moment for her to process what had been said. A nurse, a healer. Who was coming closer.
"Don't touch me-" She gasped, a little more sharp and fearful than she meant. She'd scramble back a couple paces, falling flat on her rump in freezing, powdery snow. She forced herself to sit upright, trembling with what she hoped was the cold rather than fear or sheer effort. Her ears twitched and swiveled like the hare whom she'd stolen her eyes from. "You don't- I don't need-" She stared down a the wolf. She knew, in her memories-that-weren't, that a wolf was no big deal. A bullet between the eyes, and she'd have a nice pelt to sell.
But she knew, in her brains and guts and bones, that a wolf could kill her. Snap her skinny neck between powerful jaws, no matter what she said her intentions were.
She stood, sharp ribs shuddering with quickened breaths. Lanky locks of matted fur doing little to hide each protruding bone or sunken wound. Most of it was crusty and dried, but a glint of something dark and wet stood out on her cheek. She was not healthy by any means, but...
"Theres- There is nothing to heal." She declared softly. "Please just- go."
