she don't care about your words or how you'll save her

The sinner knew of rumors of packs forming upon the lands her paws scourged over, and she could smell the boundaries of the others, yet no care was given.
Indeed, flowing like honey among the lips of wolves and mutts who resided near, rumors of a nefarious pack slowly establishing itself in The Hiraeth too caught the attention of the murderess - not that she cared too much to let the notions of strangers wishing to build up their empire deter her from wandering the plains with little care in the world for anything. If she wished to prowl the grassy paths of the plains, she would do so, despite knowing that there may perhaps be pack-orientated wolves lurking near and approaching in hostility with the wishes to preserve what they hoped to soon officially and rightfully claim as theirs. These lands, are open and struck by the fortune of grass-whisking zephyr on an almost daily basis. Hell, even as the pale white-furred mistress herself lurked amongst the edges of the brush, she felt the cool breath of the wind ruffle coiffure tufts of fur across her spine, gripping and intertwining with her wisps almost possessively, like a jealous ex-lover. Or like herself. A possessive, ever-hungry lover, who always got what she wanted, always saw what she wanted to happen... or took it, or made sure that it did indeed happen. All in generously elegant play, and the allure of her coy mannerisms to accompany, she was sure to get what she wanted. But what exactly was that? Although superficial desires could always be found to play into her strings, she lacked true ambitions. She had no goals for her life and didn't derive any true, lasting joy from any aspect of it. Only short-lived moments of what she considered to be glee, or perhaps just an ephemeral period of almost feral euphoria, leeched from the dread or confusion of others. Well, whatever is was, she was content with this way of life, despite the fact that she was, in truth... pulled to the emotional experiences of others. She wished to learn more about the mental sensations, seeing as the way she was born... well, she'd always been incapable of processing things like others. Was it a blessing or a curse? Well, it depended on what part of it you looked at. She had no guilt, and wasn't restrained by sadness over the loss of others - or pettiness if she lost. She was not blinded by vainglory for her accomplishments, and always retained a clear outlook on life. But at what cost? These things led her to cruel acts, harmful ones, and ones she could not see as wrong in any way. It was safe to say that her morals were less than moralistic. Less than healthy... for those around her, that was, because as previously mentioned, she felt no shame for her actions or beliefs.

Her disposition was entirely neutral, if not wicked by the lack of ignorance. As they say, ignorance is bliss, but she'd no ignorance - at least, not of which she knew. Not other than the ignorance of how it felt to be normal... to feel. Then again, who would want to be normal? Regular? She had seen it - the destruction of wrath or sorrow, or even pride. She didn't need any of that. She was perfectly fine with how she was, after all, and nothing could change that.
  The pearly white-tainted murderess gave the air a single sniff, the leather covering her nose giving a light twitch as her nostrils took in the light smells of the territories. The area was frequented by a group of wolves who were forming a pack that she'd been told was called 'Demonia Empire', a rather curious name to the white she-wolf. She could make out re-marked boundaries encasing some of the lands, though not all of it - as if incomplete, but still, very near completion. In the future, if she went there again, she'd have to be a little more careful. Wouldn't want to overstep pack boundaries, even if the said pack was fresh, no? Well, in truth, Melantha really was not one to care for the established borders of packs. She didn't find a lot of them respectable due to their mostly traditional beliefs and outlooks on the life of a wolf, finding zealots to be stupid, most often. Perhaps the product of her anything but traditional upbringing as the religious leader of a pack more cult than actual pack, and her... unique ways of being this leader. She didn't loathe those who believed in the most common ways of the wolf - no, Melantha didn't exactly loathe anybody, but she found she agreed more with certain other views than theirs. She had yet to come across a pack that was to her liking, although on her travels, she'd heard of a few that sparked more interest within her chest than others. Names like the Nightwalkers or Warcrest faintly stroke the inners of her ears every now and then, and sometimes found their way into her mind, making her curious - though not enough that she'd actually went to visit the grounds of any of these yet, for she felt she needed to be out here in the open, learning, for a little while longer. She wouldn't be joining a pack anytime soon, if ever, and at least not before she'd regained the knowledge and power she once had. Power as in the mental string, of course, because it was unlikely she'd have the same authority and brainwashing control over as many as she once did if she ever did rise to a position of authority again. Truth be told, Melantha was content with being a loner or a follower, if it meant she got something out of it. Being a leader meant settling, and she was not one to get tied down easily.

  Rocky structures caught the woman's eyes in midst of her thoughts, and she quickly recognized them as the centerpiece of the territory - most likely a hotspot for the wolves that had begun to occupy it. Briefly, she brushed by, checking out the archaic structure of the tower, its hollow haven of an inside appeasing her eyes for short moments. Moss had overtaken large spans of rocky skin, growing from fissures and cracks as well as the general sides. Uneven slopes and 'branches' of the rock stuck out from the rest, but all was in a pleasant fashion. Despite momentarily considering entering the tower or settling down for a small break on these wanders of hers, the traveler knew better than to sit down in what was most likely a gathering place for the wolves of the so-called Demonia Empire while they were out and about, for she knew that, should they return anytime soon, she most likely would be seen as a threat to the establishment of their pack. So the wolfess continued, sparing the towers of The Hiraeth a last little glance before she continued out into the grasses, feeling the blades of randomized weed assortments tickle the in-betweens of her pads, calloused and blackened from her strolls - both those leisurely and those necessary. What type was this one? Most likely leisurely. She hadn't established anywhere specific to live - not even as much as a small, temporary den, so she was practically free to go wherever she pleased (in sense of her own responsibility and staying off of claimed grounds, of course) without having to worry about leaving anything important behind. Today, the plains whispered her name in their ever-soft croon, and she'd decided to follow the lull of their song without question. Who knows, perhaps she'd meet someone interesting here? Or someone helpful. For, despite being the 'careful' woman that she was, she had went and gotten herself injured somehow. Small, red marks encased the skin on her shoulder where her fur was thinnest, stark scarlet against the pale white hairs that plastered to the skin surrounding the wounds. It was hard to tell the cause of the wounds, and if you asked her, she would lie about that just as she did everything else, but they did seem minor - not a direct threat to her health. Unless they got infected, of course, and that was why... despite her solitary nature, she was on the lookout for a medic of sorts. She couldn't reach the wound herself, and she wanted to get something like a leaf bandage on them, just in case. After all, infection was a real thing out here... however minor it may seem - until you get it and perish.

ooc: jinx >:) (tagging on discord!)
the staff team luvs u

Honestly, she didn't really understand packs. There were wayfarers and kingdoms. She had been the former. A sort of Romani raised alongside war with that kingdom. While the scent was a bit faint, stinking to high heavens with piss and panic, Jinx waltzed. She followed the scent of blood like a moth to a flame. Smelt gross too. Infected, probably, if she could smell it so easily. Maybe the other person didn't realize it, but she did. Infected or becoming infected. Made no fucking difference to her.

The iron scent of blood was replaced with sickness. If she didn't intervene, they'd probably drop from fever. Then, someone else could come along and pluck them from the earth. They'd become a little angel, all pretty white with fluffy wings and whatever the hell people believed in. Freedom of religious belief had been a thing in her little group. She knew angels existed in the mindscape of others. "Hey," she called to the ivory figure as they searched. Funny. They did it with such a purpose. Maybe they was lookin' for help?

Easy target.

"Ya wound is becoming infected" Jinx dove straight to the point "everyone and their momma can smell that" she added with a pointed sniff in the air "course if ya wanna die, I won't stop ya. But if ya want some help, I know a thing-er-two 'bout spitting herbs on cuts." Her turn. Die or not. Made no difference. Maybe she'd pull a chair up and watch the show.

the staff team luvs u

The thrill of trespassing was a familiar one, yet one the mistress played around with care - she wasn't stupid, after all.
One had to be careful. She didn't mind toying with the smaller packs - sneaking over their borders, hunting right over their markers, little things. She wasn't one to venture deeper into the heart of their territories; she knew that that would be stupid. No, all she needed was the bones - the marrow, the markers that extended out so far from their core that it was almost pointless to even bother stepping that single inch over the borders just to be a bother. Just to alert the pack wolves and keep them on their toes - just to make them think that some traveling pillager had now come to them, returning for a few days after another to drink from the blood of their lands - the rivers - and to eat their flesh, hunting both hoofed beast and pawed toy for just a bit. Then, as quickly as she'd come, she'd be gone - after a few days of fun. She often compared the thrill to another type; the one that coursed through her veins when she fought, or when she gave chase to something. Fought. Right. She remembered now -- why she was even wounded in the first place. It wasn't anything she needed to speculate about more or think about. It hadn't even been a fight, much more a one-sided struggle - and the struggle was not on her side. At the thought, the moon-white maiden snickered, the smile on her lips somehow getting bigger, yet all the same, not changing at all. It was difficult to describe, but it happened, and if you were there to see it, surely you would understand. As if she was a mosquito following the sickly sweet, delightful smell of blood, or perhaps a fly following the sugary scent of decay, the woman continued to stray over the plains for a little while, until she met with a silvery brook. It carved through the earth smoothly and easily, like the claw of a feline through the thin skin of a bird. As if the water was a mix of both fleshly rot and lifeblood, she began to drink from it. It didn't matter whether she was a winged bloodsucker or a thousand-eyed rot-eater. It tasted all the same, and it replenished some of the energy lost in the miles she'd traveled to reach this point.

Of course, this travel's purpose was not solely to locate someone who may possess medicinal knowledge but to simply expand the white wolf's internal map of the territories around her. A possible medic would be a nice little treat on the side - a pleasant reward for her efforts to gain knowledge. Melantha was highly intelligent, but that didn't necessarily mean that she knew a lot of things, merely that she was highly capable of applying both knowledge and skills to herself in great supplies, usually in short periods of time. She learned and picked up on things extremely quickly, which was a good thing when you didn't remember anything from your past life. Apparently, most other wolves in this strange land had also woken up here out of nowhere, but they remembered their past lives. She had not been awarded this luxury, but it didn't really matter. In truth, she didn't care about her old life at all, regardless of how good or bad it may have been. In terms of that, she truly was neutral.
  The smell of her own ichor slowly caught up to the she-wolf, and she did little to ignore it at this point. It did smell a little differently from other wounds she'd gotten in the past, didn't it? It didn't smell fresh anymore, despite being relatively recent, and it was slightly tainted by something else. Maybe it really was infected already, and she hadn't been quite as careful as she'd previously thought herself to be. Shrugging upon the realization, she sat down so that the fluffy ends of her thighs could rest against the grass-padded earth, nose sniffing at the air for a flicker of a moment. She turned her head in an attempt to assess the wound, briefly lapping at it - the proteins in her saliva would help to heal it up, so she licked them as any injured wolf would do. Still, she wasn't able to reach it all too well, so she was sure she missed a few inches of bloodied skin and flesh.

Then, the woman lapped a tongueful of cold, silvery water into her teeth, and lightly 'poured' it over the wound. For any wolf, it would've stung and prickled in response, but she barely felt it. Another abnormality of hers, another extension on the list of them. She rarely felt minor pains - those that would commonly plague and irritate others if they stood in the same situation. She supposed it was good, but some part of her wanted to feel what it felt like, sometimes. Then, as she cleaned it a little more, she noticed a wolf not too far away, and they'd noticed her too. They called out, even, with a slight accent. Melantha looked up from her little wound-cleaning session, seemingly delighted rather than surprised or intimidated by this sudden appearance. She wondered, briefly, if this wolf was a piece of the forming pack around here, but dismissed the thought quite quickly. She smelled differently than The Hiraeth, much like herself. So they were both strangers to this land, but neither of them lost.
 Neither with a specific purpose, but neither without any reason to be either. She smiled, much as she always did, and studied their figure with her eyes.
" Yes, it is just dreadful. " She commented, a jest lingering within her tone, despite the other's apparent and complete apathy. Their neutral, disinterested expression didn't deter Melantha. Oh, she did, did she? How lucky she'd been - to meet a medic here of all places. " Ohh, lucky me. I'd love it if you could, actually. This thing hurts a lot. " The woman spoke, her voice trailing into a complete lie. It wasn't because it was an extremely small cut. It actually did look as if it hurt, but judging from the fact that there was not even a single little twitch in her expression, an observant wolf could easily tell that she couldn't feel it at all. Perhaps because of her insensitivity to pains such as these.
the staff team luvs u

"I'm sure it is."

Dreadful, that is. But not really. The lack of worry in the albino's tune made her assume otherwise. Jinx was unnaturally perceptive at times, and the lack of pain was not notable or special. She'd seen it before now. Strange place or not. This world wasn't any different except for some things she hadn't encountered probably. The fact is, the lack of flinching and twitching... The fluid motion the other used, not cringing or yelping. It was clear to see. A trained eye she had, perhaps, but also even untrained eyes could question.

"Yeah, it looks like it hurts." Why hide such a useful ability? It needed to be studied.

But she kept it to herself for now. She inched closer, not cautious of the woman but sniffing the air for signs of anything else around. Permission was granted, and while Jinx knew it could be a trap, she was confident in her ability to fight off one wolf over two or three. "Ya cleaned a bit" She remarked as she came up "but it'll sting more" Ha "when I apply some herbs. But only for a bit, so don't fuckin' snap at me or I'm gone." She warned, knowing many patients lashed out in pain.

Shouldn't be a damn problem with this one unless she was committed to her fake bit.

Jinx bent down and yanked some horsetail from the location around the water. She began to chew, slowly and thoroughly. Cleaned wounds, stopped bleeding... She couldn't do much with winter on the way, but whatever. That'll have to do. "Ready?" she added thickly before spitting out the chewed herbs on the dry grass. It looked a lot like green goo, and it didn't taste great either. Jinx lifted her brows, eyeing the woman for permission.

the staff team luvs u

The bitch wasn't one to cry, but for some reason, she pretended as if she was -- would she follow through with her facade? Perhaps, perhaps not.
Nothing about her was really sure to say; none of it factual, nothing truly discovered by anyone around her. That was to say, every appearance of the white maiden did seem to be strung together by a few common denominators - her ovine, coy pretense, and sweetly mischievous demeanor. Polite and seemingly well-taught, despite her lack of memories of any moment of her childhood, and her lack of traveling companionship at any point during her time in Canis. She was self-taught in a way - molded into the perfectly shaped cookie, the one that could best allure her surroundings. She was extremely adaptable; a social intellect, and knew how to get by. She wasn't formal, but she respected boundaries - at least, if she wanted to, she did, but truly, she didn't care about them. Personally, it was needless to say that she didn't have any boundaries. She didn't care one single bit about how anyone else acted towards her, what they said to her, or what they did to her. She was incredibly difficult to get to act up, if this wasn't entirely impossible, judging by the fact that she couldn't remember a single time when she lashed out or acted upset. And that was saying something when you thought of her memory - excellent and photographic. It was extremely rare that even a little detail slipped from her mind. It was as clear as a sunny day; devoid of brain fogs and mists that others apparently yielded, apart from that truly mysterious thing - her past. In dreams, only in the cover of sleep, some memories returned to her excellently carved skull, moving back in. Only minor details, but enough for the intellect to make out an assumption of who she once was. And, well, it was safe to say, she had always been like this in one way or another. Deceptive and kind, albeit her works back then were seeming on a much larger scale. Heavens forbid anyone who formerly knew of her doings has awoken in this land as well, for if she ever met such a creature, she may just have to silence them to make sure nothing exposing tumbles from their lip. 

The fluffy-bodied creature hailed from her seated position to adjust each settlement of limb; caudal tucking to her side and paws at a neat arrangement, close to one another but not pressed together as if anxious. Though fur tumbled over each delicate muscle and curve of her tall, athletic figure, the burly dame was incredibly relaxed - even abnormally so, considering the situation. A lone traveler with a complete stranger, wounded, and on the territory of potentially hostile wolves, protective over where they were trying to establish their affiliation. Not a single line of muscle had been pulled taut from within, not a single inch of skin flinching upon the movements of the opposing woman as she neared to inspect more carefully. The albinistic morph herself nodded lightly at the accusation, casting a brief glance over the water as if they were light, her shoulder producing a ginger twitch as if to test the feel of the wound. Nothing - as she expected. Although it wasn't exactly a curse to be this insensitive, it could be dangerous, too. What if she was injured someplace she couldn't see and required help? If she couldn't see it, and couldn't feel it, how would she even know that she had gotten injured? Fortunately, thus far, no such event had occurred, and she was typically in for meeting plenty of wolves on her travels - so it wasn't too much of an issue. 
  But still, consider the possibility. She certainly had, for she was no fool, and so, routine check-ups of herself were to be scheduled (albeit she seldom got into situations that may scathe her regardless). Melantha listened to the phlegmatic line of speech that protruded from the other's teeth. Cold and not exactly jesting or sarcastic, and a little tired, in a way. She didn't question it; kept smiling, changing nothing in her own tone or expression.

   The mistress sniffed the air as well, though found little but a lingering, common scent - wolfish, clearly, though slightly different. She immediately contributed it to the forming coalition, not needing to spend any precious time pondering on such an obvious concept. She wasn't worried, though - if they appeared, she was sure to be able to fight them - either that or flee with relative ease. She doubted they'd want to follow someone out of their lands. They probably had much more important things to occupy their minds with, just like herself. A small chuckle, ephemeral and low, cooed from the maiden's throat at the other's strong language. She herself was not one to swear often, but not because she was afraid of doing so. " Oh, I'll try to keep it in me, don't worry. " She assured the other, slightly sarcastically. She wasn't going to go as far as to pretend it really did hurt - why should she? Really, it didn't matter, and she wouldn't want this oh-so-helpful soul to stray off because of a fake 'ow'. Her eyes followed as they grit the plants into some form of a green, murky blend between their teeth. The smell that emanated from the substance was marshy and thick, much like the plant that it had been before being turned into a mushy pulp. She had to admit that it didn't look appealing, but it didn't play any role - she could think of worse things to go in her wound, and besides, it was going to help. She recognized the smell from former patch-ups, and the plant, too. Horsetail, was it? It warded off infection quite well if she recalled correctly - she always did - yes. " Do what you gotta, Miss Doctor.  " She cooed, her tones silvery, playing slightly. She didn't know her name, so.
  Doctor was befitting enough, mhm? How good that she'd come across one. How lucky she was.
the staff team luvs u

Survival of the fittest.

She should just leave this pale bitch to die here, surrounded by potential enemies. But there was a method to the madness. Jinx could gleam information from her surroundings. She could tell a lot about this community by sitting here. There was no loyalty formed here, between the doctor and the patient. She fully expected to be left in the dust if something came along, big and fucking mean. She had no rose-colored eyes. She had no hope for good people out there.

When push came to shove, they'd all throw you under the bus. Jinx was quite keen on this belief. So while she helped this one, she didn't expect to be protected if these others came along. Her reasons to assist were selfish. She wanted to see if coming here tampered with her skill sets in any way. The white bitch was just a proxy for experimentation. While she could slip other things into the mix, she played it safer with just the horsetail. No need to kill someone for the sake of it.

Jinx wasn't that far gone.

Without another word, the pulp was applied to the wound. It would prickle a bit, due to the horsetail's naturally fluffy exterior. Even chewing it wouldn't get all the shape out. If she did chew it more, the poultice stopped being a poultice. It'd become a gel of sorts, and lose a lot of medicinal properties. So she kept some edge in, so the plant could naturally close the wound itself. "There," she said as she leaned back, studying her work. Deeming it acceptable enough.

"The poultice will harden with time" she explained, in case this one was daft with healing knowledge "don't wash it off for a day or so. Let it dry and cake. Once it's all dirty, then you can wash it out. This place is full of horsetails, so it'll be easy to find more if ya really need it."

the staff team luvs u