[h3]Ranch House, Basement[/h3]

It was in silence that Dawn watched Montana take pause, knife still gleaming maliciously in what dim light managed to enter the basement. Her fingers, which had been tightened to the point of drawing blood from her palms, relaxed as the man sheathed the blade, kneeling to offer their resident prisoner a drink from his canteen over the death he had intended. She watched as he neatly bound the woman’s hands once all was said and done, and met the coal of Montana’s gaze with her own dusty ash. 

[color=#2d50ff]“Thank you.”[/color] The words were sincere. While the prisoner’s life was still at risk, it would not be taken by his hands. Dawn gave Montana a nod as he passed, a sort of warmth livening up her face for a moment. It faded as the man ascended the stairs, and, taking a deep breath, she turned her attentions back onto the prisoner.

Her life being spared today would ultimately mean nothing if she died of infection.

The first thing Dawn did was step over and around the prisoner, switching the radio off and ending the wailing voice it emitted. She didn’t speak as she did this, nor did she as she ascended the stairs herself, steps light and purposeful.

It was as she was returning to her room, digging through her bag for supplies, that she caught it. Her head lifted, tilted to the side like a bloodhound catching a scent. Someone was here. Before she could raise the alarms, however, Dawn heard her own name flicker through the head of one of their own, and she quickly tuned into the specific “channel” before the thought could pass. 

[color=#2d50ff][i]I caught him right now.[/i][/color] she began. [color=#2d50ff][i]If you think that he’ll cause trouble, then do whatever you feel best to keep him away. And thank you.[/i][/color] With that, Dawn cut out, returning to her searching. Toby was one of the more...reasonable of the group, thankfully. He could be trusted to handle the unexpected guest. 

Dawn eventually returned to the basement after a few more minutes, face stoic. In her freshly gloved hands were a variety of medical supplies- a roll of gauze, a small bag of cotton, and water. As she descended, she sought out Mina with her Gift, and began to “speak” to the doctor.

[color=#2d50ff][i]Mina? Once you’re less…[/i][/color] For a moment, she paused, struggling to find the right word to use. [color=#2d50ff][i]...preoccupied, could you please come down to the basement? I could use your help.[/i][/color] Dawn was by no means a medical professional. Life in the ash had taught her the basics of treating a wound, of stitching yourself up in a pinch, but the smell of diseased flesh and rat spoor had formed a near miasma in the basement. The woman’s face was haggard, likely doing little favor to her health, either. If Mina (quite understandably) turned her down, Dawn would do her best to treat the prisoner, but professional assistance in such a situation would likely be of great assistance.