Rosemary took to the evening and night far easier than the day – she hated the glare of the morning sun. Her sleep habits often kept her snoozing the morning away until the early evening, and she kept up the habit regardless of how often someone might awaken her for immediate medical attention. But the Rosebloods, unlike the Typhoon, appeared to hold less idiotic members; she had yet to treat much more than a few dehydrated joiners and their own leader’s broken nose. Minor wounds, compared to what she usually treated from her own family.

Her forked tail twitched behind her as she walked the lakebed, satchel slung over her shoulders. If she came across an interesting herb specimen, she’d likely collect it – but for now, she wanted to enjoy the river silence. Spotting the familiar sight of the calico against the shoreline, the ocelot hesitated. Her steps slowed as she drew closer to the figure. Rosemary rarely interacted with the members of the group beyond the necessary social occasions; even then, she usually counted on Eri at her side. But her croc swam in the lake now, leaving her without his comforting presence.

But her curiosity drew her in. Thus far, the witch never saw another female in the group besides the vizier. Given her opinion on their leader’s unchecked ego, she knew the pharaoh’s right hand had the most authority to act as a balance to Sephiroth’s delusions of godliness. And the vizier was female – Jiyu, if she remembered the calico’s name correctly – which made her more approachable than the messy men of the group. Even if her aura looked off; Rosemary never saw an aura so grey, and never did she see one that flared so bright and brief with all sorts of lights.

And she had to wonder why nobody mentioned anything to Jiyu about this. Everyone appeared to treat the woman with respect befitting her rank, but not a care that her mental state appeared far off balance. So, as the group’s sole physician now that Frightfur disappeared, she supposed it fell on her shoulders. Mental health, after all, should be treated with as much respect as the physical health.

Tilting her head as she finally came up beside the slightly taller calico, Rosemary’s ears flicked momentarily. “Evening, Jiyu. Are you doing alright?” she asked, voice dry and almost cold. Rosemary never managed to show her emotions too well; outward apathy came too easily to her coven, and Rosemary failed to escape those genetic markers. But she meant well, she really did; she wanted to help Jiyu, even if her voice made that difficult to convey and her odd four-eyed gaze seemed strange.