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Poor Sky. She wants that co-rank, but getting it by mending her mate and best friend!? Gyah.
That morning had been hell to her. The porch had been a mess, but luckily someone had agreed to clean it whilst Sky worked on barricading her entire house in case of another attack. She had no doubt in her mind that if there was a murderer in the area, she'd end up having patients soon enough. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that she'd ever let one of her patients end up worse off leaving than arriving. Not a chance.
Now she was inside, installing yet another deadbolt lock onto her bedroom door. It was almost done; she'd managed to install new locks on the front and back doors, two each, and the guest room had a nifty new lock on it as well. Girl was going way overboard with this, but to her, no precaution was too careful.
It was barely audible over her grumbling at the screws that refused to go in. The tiny 'sktch sktch' downstairs. Somehow, though, something told her to go down and check it out. At first she thought it was Casper... but as a second glance proved, she'd been wrong. The growing goat was curled up on her bed, sound asleep. If not him... than....
But why would Shawchert scratch at the door? He usually knocked if he forgot his key, and in this case, she couldn't remember if she'd locked the new deadbolt or not. Darting downstairs, she yelped a quick 'hold on, coming' and checked the window. Sure enough, there was her beloved...
...half dead on her porch. "Shawchert!" The frantic worry and surprise in her voice was drowned out by the scuffling and sliding across wooden floors as she dashed to open up and get him inside. After some angry tripping and falling, she managed to get to the door, swing it open and grab up his face, ice-blue eyes wide with fear and concern.
"Oh sweet mercy, what the fuck happened!?" Her voice was kept low, but the pitch was higher out of strain to keep from yelling or snarling. She couldn't help the whine that escaped, though, as she looked over his worst wounds on his face and neck alone. "Good lord, Shawchert... get inside, you're going to bleed to death, you stupid male. In. Now." Resorting to being sarcastic and angry rather than afraid and panicked was probably a new habit to her, but it had become her main defense against losing control of a situation.
She moved over beside him and gave him a gentle push. "Go over and lay down beside the fire. I'll get my medical kit from the back room. Not a word out of you until I say you're allowed to speak. Your throat and face... I need to make sure nothing's broken." As soon as the leader were to step inside, she'd close and lock the door, and then as quickly as she came, she was gone, hunting down her supplies. All of them.