[AW] Hush the wind and the ocean tide

[Yana]

Y A N A When all that you have's turnin' stale and it's cold, Oh you'll no longer fear when your heart's turned to gold The starry girl is checking one of her snares when word of the wreckage reaches her. She listens to the news while she works, grasping at the empty trap with her mind to reset it. Most of her attention is devoted to the task -- as she is not yet skilled enough to utilise telekinesis with minimal concentration -- but bits of the message manage to drift in and out of her subconsciousness. "-washed ashore, by the cliffs-" A nod of the head. The trap reaches up towards the sky until it dangles from a tree. "-unconscious-" A black ear flicks at the mention of her patient's state, and finally the witch dedicates herself to the conversation. She listens carefully now, forming a list of necessary herbs in her mind as the symptoms of a drowned and battered man pile up. I'll need to pack his wounds with Turmeric in case of infection... If only I had Goldenseal at my disposal to stop the bleeding. An irritated snort erupts from black lips at the thought of her sparse selection of herbs; she should have sought to trade with the neighbouring realms weeks ago.What's done is done. If he's lucky he'll have minimal internal hemorrhaging, and hopefully someone has thought to apply pressure to his wounds by now. Grey eyes note the severity of the messenger's gasps for air and deem it unnecessary for the poor soul to guide her. Her low tones are devoid of emotion when she dismisses them, "rest now. And don't set off my trap." Fortunately the hag is only a brisk trot back to the decaying stump housing her medicines. She rushes to collect everything, grasping the earthy roots in her lips and tangling a strand of garlic in her mane in absence of a proper bag to carry them in. The slick moss quickly turns to mud as the witch makes her preparations, her dark legs flitting from one rotting stump to the next as she thinks of more remedies to treat him with. Valerian root for the pain, perhaps honey to soothe the throat.... Damn it all! There's no time for this! Rolling back on her heels the hag propels herself in the direction of the cliffs, splashing through a puddle remaining from the storm. The witch thinks of nothing other than reaching her patient as swiftly as possible. Pain lances up each leg with every rushed step, but her safety is not a priority as she picks her way down the steep face of the cliff. Her grey gaze drifts from the uneven stone underfoot to locate the gathering of bodies at the shore below. She cannot make out the figures at first, but the girl becomes a little more certain of their identity with every step. Rannveig, of course... And Florentine, thank the Gods for her message- Her hoof strikes a rock, demanding that she return her attention to the path while she regains her footing. And the tall one... Dark, lengthy wings sprouting from bulky shoulders... Damascus.  Thankfully the root between her lips prevents a smile from forming on them as she joins the crowd around the buckskin. The witch sets to work without a greeting or introduction, gesturing for Damascus to give her some room before nodding her head in approval. The witch drops the Turmeric root in the sand before acknowledging their efforts in a scholarly tone, "excellent use of the furs." Her gaze intensifies as it slowly moves over his body. She takes note of the gash above his eye and the spittle dripping from his maw.A cough, undoubtedly from trauma to the trachea. I'll need to know what they've managed to do for that. "What have you treated him for thus far?" White hairs are picked up by the ocean air, and the girl tosses her head to free the herbs she has stored in them whilst waiting for a reply. "We need to get him warm and dry as soon as possible." The words are stated as more of a suggestion than a command: the girl is unused to the power of her position, and isn't certain of the abilities of those around her. Florentine clearly has familiarity with medicine. She can help address the bleeding. Anyone can share body heat with the shivering man, however, and Damascus is the closest to him. At least they've thought to clear the debris away.  "He'll need something to give him strength -- can someone bring him honey? There wasn't much time. I brought only what was necessary." She picks up the root again, talking more to herself than to anyone else when she mumbles, "This is more effective in powder form, but paste will have to do." I don't know who to tag anymore, but you know we're here! Everyone is welcome to take up Yana's suggestions, or sit and watch. I think it can be assumed that she's begun applying the paste to his wounds, I was just starting to write wayyy too much >.<