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Unfortunately for Whiskey, his dissatisfaction with her presence at the Barn was not always enough to keep Percy away. She had as many friends among the cats of the Barn as he did, and he could hardly turn away a pair of willing hands when she offered to help collect herbs, help hunt, help keep the injured safe. If a few among them decided to throw their luck in with her and Foxglove along the way, then that was their choice. So long as she didn't loudly express her opinions, he couldn't really complain about it.

Well. He could complain. She thought he was pretty skilled in that regard, though she wouldn't say so, to keep the peace.

Today, she was at the barn with a bundle of herbs to support the kittens' growth and diets during the harshness of winter. She checked in with her usual friendly acquaintances, picked up some gossip and information to being back to the cabin, and then was on her way before the testy cat could raise a fuss about any of it.

Only when she stepped out of the barn, she caught a scent on the breeze that made her fur bristle. At first, she couldn't place it. Something tinged with the scent of the clans, yet not of the clans. Almost sweet, but in a sickly way. And iron - like blood. And then she saw the movement of a distant cat, losing her footing as she walked beside the chicken-wire fence.

Before she could call out to this stranger, the cat collapsed.

With an expression of grim focus, Percy immediately darted over to this fallen cat, briefly acknowledging her infected wounds before checking for breathing. With breathing confirmed, she very gently attempted to wake her. Even if she wasn't successful, she knew the others at the barn would come aid this cat - but better if she woke now, than if she let herself succumb to fever.

"C'mon, little bird, wake up," she said, gently nosing her forehead. "We have herbs. You will be tended to here. But you must wake."

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The unknown cat seemed disoriented when she woke, but some confusion was to be expected. Something about her wounds spoke of infection; she could be feverish. That's what Percy assumed, in any case. Surely most cats passed on knowledge of healing to each other, regardless of what culture they came from.

But then the stranger kept speaking. "But, Milo told me that cats in the wild only want to kill each other. Why would you help me? Plus, whoever I ran into wasn't very nice." Her voice was soft. Like a song, weakened by whatever or whoever attacked her. She couldn't speak to whatever this Milo said - the name didn't ring a bell. This lost cat must have come a long ways.

The cat attempted to stand, and Percy, seeing her sway, stepped beside her to offer balance. "Not here," she said, giving her a once over to decide if she thought the house cat could walk on her own. "Here, we take care of each other."

"Are you a housecat? Are your Twolegs in that red building? And they could take me to the vet?"

She frowned. "I don't know this word - vet. We are only cats. There are no two-legs." Maybe barns further out in the farm might have two-legs visit from time to time, but they still would hardly offer cures to stray cats they found residing within. She didn't want to frighten this cat, though, so she softened her expression. If she was attacked before, she didn't want her to think she'd be attacked again, now. "As I said, we will take care of your injuries. Can you walk?" 

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"You take care of each other? All of you? With no Twolegs, I... how?" the other cat asked, charmingly confused if not for Percy's slight concern that she may be disoriented from injury. Better to have her seen to now, before it gets worse. Whiskey might not enjoy her presence, but he wouldn't turn away a cat in need. And Summit certainly wouldn't turn her away.

She said simply, "We have no need for two-legs. I have never known one, and many here share the same story." Perhaps life with two-legs would be easier. But she enjoyed her freedom, and she still had vengeance to exact on the tom who abandoned her mother.

Then again, as the pet-cat described what exactly a vet was, Percy thought maybe life with two-legs wouldn't be easier, with all that poking and prodding she described. It sounded... quite horrible, really. She would take balms and slaves made from herbs over that any day.

"Yes, I can walk." What a relief. Still, Percy stayed close, to steady her as needed. "I-I'm sorry you have to help me. I tried to find Whitney, but I ran into other cats. I had no idea what they were talking about, and they attacked me."

Other cats. She didn't think she needed to ask who those cats were, though she would ask for details later. Once she was more stable. Poor molly had a limp, too. Whoever attacked her should be ashamed.

"You mentioned herbs. What do you do with them?" she asked, sounding like she never once considered that a plant might have healing properties. Didn't those house cats have catnip growing in their yards?

With some amusement coloring her tone, Percy said, "I do very little with them, unless a wound urgently needs patching. There are cats who dedicate their lives to learning the uses of herbs - they can treat infections, even illnesses, with the abundance of flora around us." 

"I forgot to mention my name. I'm sorry, I am just so disoriented. I'm Canary, like the bird."

What a coincidence that she'd called her little bird, before. "Canary. I'm called Percy - Persimmon. Like the fruit." They were close to the barn, now. "Easy now, we're almost there."