She flies alone.

She flies regardless of time of day.
Whether it is light, or the sun is setting
If it is raining, or snowing, or pitch black
None of it matters.
So long as her wings move
She flies.

She hears their pain,
Feels the suffering in the very marrow of her existance.
There is no escape.
...save sleep, and dreaming
Only then can she leave the echos of their agony.

When there is no salvation in unconsciousness, she flies.
She flies to their homes, their forests, their deathbeds
Regardless of species, regardless of station.
Her sad blue eyes greet them silently
Sometimes in their pools of blood
With their stench of rot, their dismembered limbs
Their racking coughs, their despair
In their cloud of misery she lands
Touches her paw to their foreheads
And heals them.

Some pass out from the pain of the link
Those who don't scream as if their soul is tearing
And beat and claw at her hoping to end it
The resistance is ignored
She is far too used to being unwanted.
She takes their wounds, sicknesses, and heartbreak into herself
Freeing them of their pain
Tears flow freely from her eyes wide with torment
As she lives and fixes their afflictions
Turning it into radiance
Her fur bleeding droplets of sunshine
Her open maw erupting with light

Their pain gone, they pass into peaceful slumber
Exhausted she takes wing
Never expecting thanks or kindess
Hoping for the day when her job will be over
And finally, someone can heal her of her own anguish.

Most never remember her being there when they awaken
Remember nothing but the pain and the splendor
But she is long gone.
Already on the way to the next one in need
Flying alone.