The lonesome tool was looking better. She could proudly say her fur was growing back and the blisters and burns didn't hurt so bad anymore. Now that her body was healing, perhaps her mental health could begin its mending process. The poor thing knew nothing more than war. Compassion, friendship, care - none of what made life worth living had ever been shown to her. Yet she had found Constantine. He had been nice to her, gifted her a place beneath him without thinking of her as a tool. He reminded her, perhaps too much, of Commander William Blair.

The blonde girl scented someone. A young female, just like her and so many others, and Wallflower was feeling rather talkative. She wanted to report her progress to someone, after all. That habit would never die, she thought.

Wallflower. She answered immediately with a stern nod of her head, the same way she would great her superiors back at Falling Grace. A determined, totally serious look sat on her pretty yet somewhat dirtied face. I have been healing well. She informed, no matter if the other took note of her patches burnt fur and scars. I hope that brings you comfort. She added, genuinely wanted to make the other feel better with her progress.