Zelda Verada sat cross-legged on the floor of her small room at Fort Orynth, sketching a tourniquet diagram in her worn notebook. Her tail flicked with concentration as she added notes about pressure points and timing. Tomorrow she would visit the military records building downtown. The old facility held decades of battlefield reports, and somewhere in those dusty files were the medical techniques she needed. Her ears perked forward at the thought. She wanted to create a complete survival manual, something that could save lives when trained doctors weren't around. The next morning, Zelda stood before a drab green and brown building with black trim. The structure looked tired but sturdy, like an old soldier still standing at attention. She pushed through the heavy doors and followed the signs to the archives section. Row after row of metal shelves stretched before her, packed with boxes and folders. A worker directed her to the medical section with a wave of his paw. Zelda pulled file after file, scanning reports from field hospitals and combat zones. Her notebook filled with sketches of improvised splints, herbal treatments, and emergency procedures. Some techniques used plants that grew wild near battlefields. Others showed clever ways to clean wounds with limited supplies. She copied everything carefully, her paw cramping from the work. Hours passed before she looked up again. Back at the fort, Zelda spread her new notes across her desk. She needed a proper place to store all this research, somewhere organized and protected. A tent with wooden beams and canvas sides would work perfectly, with space for rolled scrolls along the walls. She also sketched plans for a special cabinet to hold medicinal plants, something sealed tight against the desert heat. Her manual was taking shape, one page at a time. Soldiers would have the knowledge they needed when it mattered most.

Zelda stepped outside Fort Orynth's main gates, her notebook tucked under one arm. The morning sun warmed her orange fur as she headed toward the training grounds. She needed to see real medical procedures, not just read about them in dusty files. The Southern District Medical Clinic stood at the edge of the practice field, its grey stone and blue brick walls worn smooth by years of desert wind. Zelda pushed through the entrance and found herself in a narrow hallway lined with supply cabinets. The smell of antiseptic and dried herbs filled her nose. Through an open doorway, she spotted bandages being wrapped around a soldier's arm. She pulled out her notebook and began sketching the hand positions, the angle of the wrap, the number of overlapping layers. A medic glanced her way but didn't object, so she kept drawing. By late afternoon, Zelda had filled six pages with observations. She walked back toward the fort with samples of medicinal plants the clinic staff had given her. Near her research tent, she set up a metal drying rack with cloth-lined tiers. The desert heat would preserve the plants perfectly. She arranged each specimen carefully, labeling them with small tags. Above her workspace, a tall pole light cast steady illumination across the area. She could work here after sunset, transcribing her notes while the plants dried. Zelda sat on a wooden crate beneath the light as evening fell. Her manual was growing beyond simple sketches now. She had witnessed real techniques, touched actual medical tools, and collected plants used in battlefield care. The book in her mind felt closer to real with each new detail. Tomorrow she would return to the clinic and learn more.