If Fiora wandered here with others, she seemed blissfully unaware of them. It might've been days since she hauled the rune from its damp, dark hiding place, and it might've been months, years even. Things hadn't been, well... right, since then. She wasn't even sure if Mir was around or if she'd lost track of her younger sister, but it mattered little in the healers muddled mind; she just slunk on ever forward with glossy, unfocused eyes. Whether it was spite or passion that kept Fi on her path, she had not faltered.

She couldn't.

So she walked. And walked. And walked. And WALKED.

Her poor, beautiful, silky coat was dull and unkept, and flakes of color alluded to what undoubtedly used to be a cute design of some sort along her sides and face. Now, she was merely a speckled mess.... a painter out of supplies, an herbalist without medicine to give, a cryptid lost to the shadows. Her paws were raw, her stomach was always snarling, but she continued.

So she walked.

She floated through the mist, undeterred, and kept following the glimmer in the air that shouldn't be. It was strange, and new, and it called to her in a way she didn't need to understand -- she just needed to do. And when she came upon the twisted, foul body of an ungulate, she knew then what she needed to do as well. Without hesitation, Fiora approached and placed one paw on the shoulder of the stag and began ripping into the space between those jutting ribs.

She would tear it open until the light bared itself to her, yes, and she'd feast like she'd never feasted before.

'I did it, Mum, I'm helping!'