She was raised to believe that those who got injured in battle deserved to die. If they couldn't survive their battles, they are no use to the litch queen. It was a tenant she followed faithfully her whole life.

When she watches a hook horror split open your side in battle though, she can't help the fear that grips her heart. She fights through it. Fighting it what she is meant to do after all, and she is good at it. She slashes at blackened carapace with precision and trusts you to survive the battle.

When you return to camp, worse for wear but still alive, she pushes you into her tent. She clumsily prepares bandages and a wet rag to dab away blood. Her hands are not made to heal. She knows no magic like the cleric or durid, and she doesn't know how to sew wounds like the warlock, but she will be the one to help you.

"Chk- you need to practice your dodging and blocking." She mutters.