Domum Sanatus
Domum Sanatus
Den of Healed
After an aimless wander, one that left you worn, the Forest grounds suddenly disappear behind your dirtied paws and you tumble head-first, swallowed by the Earth. Once the throb in your body settles into a tolerable ache you reposition yourself onto your side, heaving. Your heart pounds in your ears as the sunlight pours past the leaves and bathes you. In front and behind you stretches a shallow ravine, a path, which bends off to your left.
Strange, isn't it?
Caution causes your fur to bristle and a shiver to rake your frame. Sensing the draw of time being spent lying in the ravine you awkwardly stumble up onto your paws, sensing eyes all over your body. Your nostrils flare, scenting the air, and a peculiar smell is adrift, subtly brushing along the ravine and, strangely enough, not reaching above the Forest Floor. Your brows furrow, curiosity replacing skepticism. A distant ring of barks and howls is heard just up ahead, hinting to inhabitants.
You plant a paw forward. Then another. Slowly, you begin to walk. Winding the corner, picking up the pace to a silent trot as you glide by the twists and turns of the ravine towards the gradually increasing volume of howls, whines, and youth. Something stops you in your tracks. Voices! Your eyes dart towards the walls of the ravine which, without you noticing, had gradually lowered with every accompanied turn. Without much thought other than fear-driven adrenaline, you leap up at the right side of the ravine, crawling up onto Forest grounds and dashing away; voices of alarm ring out and a single growl makes your skin crawl - seems you made it just in time.
Your intense running was abruptly cut short with, unsurprisingly, yet another sudden disappear and drop. You yelp in alarm as your body flies out and gets dragged down by gravity. You flail before slamming against the gravel-decorated Earth and groan. Throbbing and burning sensations decorate your skin in a combination of pain as you struggle to get paws underneath your aching body. Your dilated pupils shakily dart from side to side before settling at the formation in front of you. The vague smell of herbs and nature ward at your nose without warning and you grimace at the stench.
Before your mind can stumble to judgments an alerted bark rings out from the trees. Thankfully, it's a way behind. You shake away the pain from your mind and rush towards the formation of rocks, slipping inside.
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Inside it's nearly overtaken by nature. Roots sprouted out and branches spiraled out. Leaves overhung and vines draped across the stone walls, aimless in pattern and meaning. Small signs of life - such as nesting material - was scattered across the leaf-covered floor, creating a leafy illusion. You brush past the rough entrance-way towards an eye-opening, bright clearing and stare, awe-struck.
Besides the sunlight that perfectly lit the collection of rocks that acted as shelving for the herbs gathered, numerous empty spots were littered with nests that smelt of birth and motherly love, and a few paw-crafted dens made from the craft of thickets for roofing.
That, you think, must be where whomever lives here rests.
Your ears pivot behind you. Appearing from the shaded area of the den appears a herbal-decorated she-wolf with heavy-lidded eyes, creating the illusion of a glare, and a dark pelt with eerie vibes emitting from her presence.
The she-wolf pause, her eyes boring into yours. "Who are you."
Her tone is cold, unreadable. This causes you to stammer. Before you're able to catch your breath and breath meaning into your worried brain she scoffs and approaches without a fault in her step caused by caution.
Your ears pivot back once more to a flatten pin of dread. The whites in your eyes reflect off her red irises and your rear bends down as you submissively begin to lower yourself. The she-wolf looms over you, staring downward, and cranes her head, licking at your temple. Specifically, a gash stretched across it.
"There," she says, "Come. You're limping. Bloody, too."
You don't voice to protest, allowing yourself to be guided past by the nests that smelled of puphood nostalgia towards nests in rougher condition, more used. You're seated and the she-wolf leaves, drifting towards the stack of rocks in the middle of the clearing and snagging medication and chewing up herbs to create poultices.
She approaches you again and clears her throat. "This," she explains, "Will prevent infection. In addition, it'll help your open wounds - heal them." She rummages for a moment through the herbs, poultices, and actual herbal medication she'd brought for a moment before retrieving a leafy herb with a peculiar smell. "Take this." You eye it, skeptical. The she-wolf's glare makes you think twice, and you swallow it whole. You immediately gag at the foul taste as it coats your tongue and throat, coughing until hoarse. You eye her, shaken. "Don't worry, it's not poison." She shifts, cleaning up, "Herbs naturally taste... odd."
Moments pass afterwards, both including her cleaning up process and the introductory stage of both retelling how you found your way here and how your injuries occur. She nods, truly a good listener, and introduces herself as Onaya.
"Apparently, it means 'Night', or 'Darkness'." Onaya shrugs. "It fits."
With yourself patched up Onaya ushers you back to the entrance, ranting on about how staying in her den - called the Domum Sanatus - wouldn't be practical. From what you gathered she's this pack's Herbalist. But, with yourself patched up and with no other needs to be assessed, you're forced out. You turn to Onaya and spare a moment to ask for a way out. She shrugs, indifferent on how you'll fair, and turns back to her den, disappearing.
You huff. Turning on your paws to face out at the Forest, you eye a path that's been slightly dug out and flattened out by paws. You sigh, deciding to accept whatever bruteness awaits you, and begin walking towards the path, wishing Onaya an internal farewell.