Broken Antler Fen klir

a buuunncchh of assumptions as apart of some indirect character exposition as well as a lil pp, lmk if i should change! i think crogeda is supposed to be 3 wks away from the teekons but bc of their little friend, skai's mental state, and probably not walking straight there it took longer

it was discarnate, rancorous.
its wartime drum in her ribs rooted itself in her ears; especially when she slept. moving with it bore a labour skairipa derived all on her own.
she was a defect. a failure. she had been for seven weeks.
the most forgiving of the cuts that had whittled down her face and neck all but disappeared under her coat. in these slowly lasping four weeks since she departed crogeda, she'd grown accustomed to peruse her reflection, her cheeks uncharacteristically full to @Polar's credit. 
the natblod's tarnished pride was drained in every watery mirror she found, all the color and glow that once enveloped her was now gargled and spat back up in furious bubbles. her image was abstracted, skairipa was arrested in a quiet deluge of ire and sadness she'd never had to weather before.
her wocha was her lighthouse master, tall and imposing, a private sun casting all his admiration and care on the deadness behind her eyes before she crashed upon the jutting rocks on the coast and died.
all her stress was evident in her taut brows and lips, her twitches and soft whining in her sleep. from a promising commander-to-be to a refugee, it was bound to send her body into a cold sweat! so all this time she'd been leaning (begrudgingly) on her wocha's shoulder, outwardly only Polar would call himself that.
to be protected by him felt good. to him, she was a but a reverent vicar who held power over another man's soul, a man who would eat her words out the palm of her hand. 
her word was biblical.
and as she recovered piece by piece, her pride hoped she would need him less and less.
her shriveled heart hoped he would always need her, selfishly. 
presently, the only thing that shone on her features was her evident disconcertment with his delicate super-faith. what kind of person? what kind of gona, would ever let another master them?
what kind of person was she, even? after her greatest disgrace, she dared to wonder again.

҉҉҉

abandoning crogeda in bad faith was a death sentence.
it sent them in an evident goose chase, they'd felt the bleeding eyes of something in the undergrowth, hidden behind a different rolling hill, staring down a sentinel cliff face, burning holes through their heads. 
as the cobwebs in her mind began to rot, she began to settle back into her harsher ways and words. she approached his resting figure, where she had left him a an hour earlier, returning as she always did after one their quarrels, always spurred on by her reckless notions. 
she had wanted to turn around and meet their little shadow problem, and as always, Polar had insisted they think it through. innumerable scars, but there were always questions when it came to her well-being. it miffed her slightly.
she stalks him now, flush with the loam, whether he was aware or not, she slugged along, her imbalance making her attempt less than graceful.
sneaking behind to the back of his head, her warmth pokes through for the briefest of brief seconds, poking his neck twice: "hei."