((This is a continuing story of a developing group of individuals, to be called Ekatra'nantaba, which means "united diversity". Should you be interested in joining the group, contact me privately, as this is not an open concept. You can read about the group's slow growth in the following rps.
Musings
Safety From the Storm
Urgent Summons))

Neera set about her work with grim determination. Skrissa had swiftly identified the bite to be from a quite poisonous variety of snake, one that could very feasibly kill whatever they struck, almost without any regard to size. It would take quick work, proper treatment, and a great deal of luck for this poor creature to survive. With such venom flowing in his veins for this long, who knew how much he could recover, if he did manage to live? This was not going to be an easy case by any means, but it was one she threw her whole self into.

She'd sent Skrissa off to a different area of the caves with the rest of them, admonishing her to keep the wild dog's companion calm and reassured, despite the severity of the situation. The serpent had welcomed this task, as it mostly meant she could curl up in a tight ball, keep warm, and merely speak with the others. That was a good deal easier on the semi-torpid snake than assisting her here. If she was honest with herself, the truth was that Neera didn't want anyone with her if she failed, and the dog died beneath her paws. Death tended to hit her hard, despite the appearance that death was something she savored. Bones and feathers decorating her were not there because she liked death. There were there to remind her why she gathered the herbs, devoted herself to learning to use them, and what her goal was when she administered them to others. They were a reminder about the preciousness of life, not a celebration of death.

The first thing she was going to have to do to him was not pleasant, but was absolutely necessary. The pressure in that paw had to be released, and the venom needed to be drawn out. Currently, neither thing could be done, for the bite mark had long ago swollen completely shut. This meant she'd have to either reopen the original punctures, or make new ones. Since the site of the bite was now swallowed in a crease, she would have to create a new one, possibly more. As delirious as he was, she wasn't entirely certain he'd even notice. So far, he'd just laid there, eyes rolled up into his head, tongue lolling dryly, only occasionally emitting a raspy whine. She braced herself for his reaction, but did not hesitate. She stood on his shoulder, which was also now starting to feel hot and inflamed beneath her paws, clutched a porcupine quill her her jaws, and leaned over to jab it hard into the grotesquely swollen side of his paw.

His reaction was immediate and violent. He bucked under her, his whine turning into a sharp but gravelly yelp, followed by a snarl of sheer pain. She kept the quill firmly in her jaws, holding it up and out of the way of his thrashing, but leaned hard into his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. She was glad she was naturally not a delicate, wispy waif, or he'd have thrown her clear across the cave. He was strong! He was still, of course, quite unconscious, responding only instinctively to the pain she'd inflicted. Who could blame him? Certainly not she! Still, the poison in his veins was impacting his strength, and he soon subsided into twitches and whimpers. She swallowed hard, hating to do it but never wavering from what was needed. She leaned forward, took aim at a point well away from her first puncture, and jabbed him with the quill once more.

This second injury had a different impact than the first, however. He still jerked away from the pain and yelped, but he didn't thrash or buck. Instead, his dry tongue began attempting to wet his nose, and his eyelids fluttered. Warily, in case he began a delayed reaction, she stepped off his shoulder and carefully laid aside the quill. His breathing pattern had changed too. She moved closer as his lids flickered open, eyes rolling and only half-seeing. He made an unintelligible sound, words impeded by both disorientation and lack of saliva. She really needed to look after those puncture wounds and start the process of pulling out the inflammation and venom, but she took pity on the poor dog.

She went to the entry to the cave and picked up a gourd that sat there, continually filled and overflowed by the pouring rain, and brought it in. Gingerly, she captured some of the liquid in her own mouth and leaned to trickle it onto his bone-dry tongue. His lids slid closed again, but his tongue moved, wetting his mouth with the moisture and attempting to swallow. He'd need much more water as time went on, but for now she could only spare the time to give him a little taste. She drizzled more water into his mouth until he could swallow without seeming to struggle. His awareness, what little there had been, seemed to fade about the same time as she decided that was as much as she could do for now. That paw really, truly needed her attention now. Relieved as he subsided back into full unconsciousness, she put the bowl back out into the rain and returned to his side.

There was already blood pooling, which she had anticipated. Dried grasses had been spread underneath the area to help soak it up without making too much of a mess of the floor. She examined the new wounds, nodding with satisfaction. Now for the poultices. She hummed softly, a low lilting tune that was half lament, half lullaby, while she assembled the ingredients in a shallow bottom of an old gourd. Gourds were such useful things! She actually grew them not far from her home, with the express purpose of creating more containers for herself. She even had a few traders that tended to stop by her hut, not just for the herbs, but for those gourds! She was quite proud of the variety and sturdiness of her homemade containers.

This one was very solidly made, so that she could add liquid as needed. She fetched some of the rainwater to add to her herbs, making a paste out of it. Still humming, she carefully applied the paste thickly to the two holes she'd made in his paw, which were just beginning to slow and clot. Musn't allow that! Some of those herbs would help keep the punctures open and oozing. Others would actually encourage seeping from the wounds. This was all to the good, for it would allow the swelling to reduce, and hopefully encourage the venom to slowly bleed out at the same time. She painstakingly wrapped his paw in strips of hide that had the fur removed and the remaining leather softened to ultimate suppleness. Later she'd have to remove it to do it all over again, but for now, all she could do was tend to him and let him rest as much as possible. Now only time, care, and luck would tell.