The bleeding girl sprints through Inaria, her wails and cries echoing through the fields and trees like a banshee. There is a deep crimson that stains half of her face, down along her neck and her chest, a stark contrast to the pale white fur and even the other shade of red that she was born with. She leaves nothing but blood in her wake, her pawpads cut to pieces and it hurts everything huRTS WHY DID THIS HAPPEN WHY WHY WHY--

Everything is overwhelming to her, and she dashed past anyone and everyone, whether they wanted to help or not. She didn't stop, couldn't stop, all she could see was this darkness and all she could feel was a horrible pain and everything was closing in on her and god make it stop MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP!

The blind girl crashes full force into a lone, colossal oak tree within one of Inaria's fields, the ruined side of her face smashing into the bark and leaving a mix of blood and white fur upon it. She still lets out an ugly cry, her 'good' eye clamped shut but her other eye still had the remains of the burst eyeball within - an awful, sickening sight.

(They're coming for you, they're getting closer)

"DON'T HURT ME! DON'T HURT ME PLEASE! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!" She shrieks at whoever approaches her first, trying to move away and pressing herself against the tree.

And still, she screams.

For a terrible moment, the ringing of screams that echo through the trees fall as white noise to the silvery healer's ears. Background noise. Nothing out of the ordinary -- not even a hitch in his step as he makes his way toward the healer's garden. It is only for a brief second, but it is enough for a wave of sickness to churn deep within Anglachel's gut. Stupid, stupid, was he doomed to forever be Saboran?

The healer does not waste another heartbeat on his thoughts, his legs taking him as fast as they can toward the source of such terrible screams and the cry of a scared child.

What greets him is a reminiscent sight -- a haunting one. Had nightmares of the same thing not plagued him in the past? Blood upon soft pastel fields, screaming and begging again and again; NO NO, PLEASE NO! . Silver stained crimson, the remnants of scarlet underneath. Anglachel stares in the face of a nightmare turned real -- but he forces himself to be a doctor before daring to feel the storm of brewing emotion.

(Later, when the girl is tended to and resting, Anglachel will dream of yellow-green eyes and snapping teeth. He will suffocate beneath the weight of his fears and will wish for Zachariah's warmth. But only once Leonora's storm had been soothed. Then and only then would the healer succumb to his own).

"Leonora, Leonora." The healer calls to her, hoping a familiar voice would soothe her terror. "Leonora, sweetheart, it's Anglachel. I need to take a look at you. Okay? I'll help you, I promise." He doesn't promise not to hurt her, for it would be a lie to do so. By the state of her grievous wound, it would hurt before it got better. Oh it would hurt, and his heart wept for the poor girl. He steps forward with caution, trying with all he had to convey every movement so not to startle her.

Anglachel knew all to well, how pain and fear wired the brain to startle and snap.

"I'm right in front of you now, okay? I'm here to help. I need to call for some others, but we'll take care of you. Alright?" Wine red eyes glance toward the child -- a vaguely familiar face from Wheatley's funeral. One of the little princesses. The girl shouldn't have to see such things -- but in some ways, perhaps it was best she learned. It does not due to stand numbly in shock. Even princesses need to act. "Do you know what poppies look like? They're white, with big petals and black seeds in the middle. There's a patch just by the edge of this field. You can see them from here, see? Can you get some for me? It'll help Leonora here. Quickly now." Spare the youth the gruesome sight, give her some gratification in helping, but keep her within sight.

With that the silvery healer tilts his head back with an urgent call. Another healer or two -- bring herbs -- and soldiers.

For sweet Leonora's wound was a bite, and acts of viciousness was not the norm in Inaria. Someone had a attacked the young healer.  

She'd been gathering flowers, the nice looking ones. This was how she was spending some of her time, because she didn't have the energy to throw herself out there and greet all those new wolves.Okat well... not really "new" but... allies. Or whatever. There were a buncha strangers in Inaria, and she didn't really like it. She felt cramped and... she was probably overthinking everything. Wow look at her. Inaria Princess, hiding.

Picking flowers...
Or whatever.

The scream shattered her vision of endless colors of plants she was going to try and weave together, and how it was going to be done. The calls for help had her pawsteps falter, and what she was carrying was dropped from her mouth. And for some reason, Bel was running too.

She skidded to a halt somewhere behind Luna, her eyes catching Doli, and...

Her thoughts halted and all she could do was stare wide eyed as the other posed their questions.

There was... Ang, she liked Ang. So she... Leonora was going to be safe. They all were. If they stayed together.

"I can he-help t-too?" It was posed as a question, quietly as she peered around Luna, but not coming any closer. Her ears were flat against her head, because of all the noise.

Don't get involved. There's screaming somewhere, and Amando pointedly focuses on tearing up this tiny patch of grass between his forepaws for no reason in particular. You know what happened last time you got involved. Yup; it involved a court summons. It gets louder, and his nose gets closer to the ground until it's carving a furrow in the bare patch and his paws cover his ears. He gets just a glimpse of the gore as the poor girl dashes by, leaf-green eyes fixating on a stain of blood left behind her. Last time you got involved didn't end up well, but you know what's worse? The last time you didn't.

She doesn't know him-- nobody knows him; you need to get out more-- so he doesn't refute her pleas, and instead gives the girl space as he takes stock of the situation. Anglachel is an absolute blessing, knows herbs way better than Amando, and turns away the first child tactfully, but there are more than he can handle-- especially when the injured needs his attention so desperately. "C'mere, kids!" he calls, just loud enough to draw the attention of those already close enough to have seen. "Give them some space, alright? She's hurt."

His first instinct is to get himself between the babes and blood-- shield them from it-- but that implies they face it, lean just a little around and see the horrors beyond. He's not big enough to handle more than one that way, and there's-- what, three? Where are their parents, guardians? How many did the visiting packs bring--

God, did one of them do this?

The timbre whistles instead, anything to keep the puppies' eyes on him, and away from brutal beginnings of amputation. "Look here, everyone-- you too!" he directs to Pareidolia, after she's returned with the poppies, or if she hasn't at all.

"Is she going to be okay...? Wh-what happened?

"She had an accident, okay? It'll be alright," he lies, eyes scanning the distance above their heads for others incoming, "Is everyone here alright?" Obviously not. "Is anyone else hurt? Did someone see what happened?"

He does his best to keep them engaged directly with him, not bothering her, but he's half-hysterical between assurances and trying to find out what the hell [/i]happened?[/i]

"I can he-help t-too?"

Belioh draws his attention again, grounded by a child, how much of a mess is he? Amando holds her eyes, smiling, sadly. "Right now, this is the best we can do. Stay close." I don't want to be alone.

He hears something racing between the purple trees. It runs and screams as he lazes in the sun somewhere near Maeva and his mother, carrying a familiar scent with it. Mismatched eyes blink cooly -- once, twice -- before tracing a blur of white and red through the fields of lavender. Snake-like tongue flickers over a flashing smile before the black crowned prince slithers after the banshee.

Blood thickens in the air. But it's not hers. His interest wanes, though the commotion that follows gets his attention. More screaming, more bodies, pile after the bleeding girl who's scent is dangerously intermingled with Shuck's. He follows quietly, that disquieting smirk replaced by a mere nonchalance. He doesn't approach the group, instead deciding to watch from a distance (your teeth are clean); but he hears the barks of an angel haired stranger. He knows poppies well. He'd been sure to find some in the new kingdom, mostly in preparation for Antares, but assumed some kind of destruction would follow in the wake of Gemini. It always did, didn't it? 

Was Gemini finally getting her revenge on the lilac kingdom? An eye for an eye? 

Sterling plucks a handful of poppies from the ground and finally has the nerve to approach the group. YOUR TEETH ARE CLEAN! -- yet something still gnaws at him. This is their fault. His fault? For not extinguishing the fire before it grew and grew and -- 

He drops the poppies near the healer. The mangled mass of flesh dangled loosely from the girl's socket. " The tissue will get infected soon. " It should be severed, he almost said, but refrained for once. "I can help, if needed."  His voice was soft, apologetic. He was never good at comforting, that was always Maeva's expertise, but he'd picked up on some things.

This is your fault. Don't you care?