The dragon found her while she slept, tucked away out of sight behind a sad and wilting Juniper bush, breathing deeply of the smell and dreaming that she was a great apple tree, growing succulent fruit for all of her herd who she loved so dearly and they ate it up and smiled at her and thanked her and loved her back, but suddenly there was a flash of thunder and one of the foals with stick-heads fell over because he was dead and they all stared at her in shock and outrage and she cried and cried but she was a tree so they couldn't see it and she tried to explain that she didn't know it was a bad apple but she was a tree so she couldn't talk and she tried to run away when they came at her with fire and their horns but she was a tree so she couldn't run and then there was the smell of fire and scale and a shrill chirping which didn't make sense but then she woke up, drenched in sweat and tangled in the Juniper which had tangled around her protectively, and it was just a dream and she was not a tree and everything was okay.

Except that Zaffre was there, a handful - clawful? Pawful? She was not sure of the terminology, and she tilted her head, puzzling it over, while the vines on her side relaxed out of their defensive coils and withdrew their two-inch thorns back into their inky mass, budding leaves that wilted to show her weariness. Suddenly she started, pulling herself into a sitting position (the Juniper still refused to let her stand), and stuck her nose out to sniff at Zaffre's herbs. Something registered in her brain then, some lucid recognition and familiarity. "Fix herbs," she muttered, taking in their scent. That must mean... she gasped and launched herself up, small scratches tearing her breast as she tore free of the Juniper, using her magic to absorb some of the strength it had stolen from her. Then she took off after Zaffre at a run, little grey body skidding to frequent stops as she reached down to grab additional plants, holding them gingerly between age-stained teeth.

She reached the waterfall in little time but more than needed normally; however, the collection of plants she carried was quite impressive, and perhaps worth the wait. The smell of blood was enough to lead her to the source of the problem, excitement glittering in her ruby-rimmed eyes. The silky vines on her ashen sides curled and uncurled anxiously as she approached the small gathering, gaze drifting from the grey and striped mare who she thought was maybe someone she might know (she was far better at recognizing dragons than equines, for some reason), to the brown and white spotty colt, who was someone she did not really know she thought although she might and maybe she just didn't realize it but that was too hard to think about so she looked away, to the bright orange horse who was bleeding on his face and that was why she had come.

The diminutive mare dropped her pile of plants and got to work. All-business for all intents and purposes, she trotted over to the stallion, craning her neck to examine the tear that crossed his eye. A shiver ran through her, the red patch on her shoulder shaking violently; her vines sprouted spade-shaped leaves and she nodded to herself, agreeing with her thought. Turning around, she rustled through her stockpile, pulling out an Oregano plant - roots and all - and dropping in in front of the big orange horse. Face recoiled at the sight of how unappealing and dry it looked; This would not do. Slowly, creepily, the roots began to move, digging into the ground and launching the plant upright in a foreign and bizarre motion. In a burst of energy, the newly re-planted herb sprouted a great mass of leaves and flowers, blooming rapidly and unnaturally. To any onlooker, it would perhaps seem bizarre and terrifying. But there it was, a flourishing plant in a dry spell, growing contentedly on the banks of the water hole. "Eat," the little mare instructed, turning away to grab her next ingredient. She picked up a strip of Tamarack bark. The great tree had once whispered that it could make things not swollen, and right now the orange stallion's face was quite puffy. She chewed it thoughtfully, examining the wound with a concentration unusual for the scattered doe. The cut crossed directly over his eye, and she did not want to get anything in that - she did not know how to fix eyes. But she was not know how to be careful enough... a thought. Excitement. She turned to the others, almost prancing in the brilliance of her idea.

"Dfwagorns hwropw?" Gibberish; words obscured by mashed up bark. She frowned, spitting the mound of wet, goopy tamarack onto a stone in front of her, then tried again, carefully forming the words, trying to make her speech clear. "Dragons help," she said, looking at the striped and spotted horses for approval. "Can put fi- medicine, on hurt?"

[ ooc || I hope I didn't accidentally powerplay Zaffre finding her xP ]