Consciousness for extended periods of time became more frequent as the hours passed and the pain began to dull to an ache. But it was everywhere, still, and try as she might, any attempt at leaving her den left her wrought with fatigue and muscles that felt as if they threatened to burst.
She hated it.
She had no more tears left to cry. No more energy to worry, to panic, to self-destruct — she was merely a husk with sunken eyes and open, raw wounds, jagged-edged; the remnants of a grenade and left only with the debris of who she was before the incident in the marsh.
She knew not where she and Silvertongue stood. Thoughts of Mae and the newborn still flicker in and out of her mind; Eshe and Arric, who, if she remembered, had taken care of them. They were safe. But she still hadn't spoken to @Akavir.
Did he know about any of this? Did he hate her for sticking her nose in this, for getting herself almost killed? For almost killing someone else? Would he—
She sits at the lip of the den with her chin upon her forepaws. She stares out at the moon-dipped treeline just as she had the night before and lets the current sweep her to blissful nothingness.

Had she not heard him, she likely would not have registered the shadow that descended upon her den. She blinks, once, twice; bleary eyes searching for the source, until she lands upon Akavir.
She wished she could be happy to see him.
Hey, she chokes out, a dry cough coming from her throat. Did... did anyone-- tell you?
Based on the look he carried in those pale gold eyes, the chances were that her question had an answer. She shuffles, stiffly tucking her legs closer to her torso with a hiss and a low whine; an invitation to come in, should he take it. She hated this, hated being so weak and unable to do much of anything, hated—
Well.

He touches her. He touches her, and for a moment she feels a bit like she's at her own funeral. But she lets him. She didn't have the energy to tell him otherwise if she wanted to.
A small, tiny part of her wanted to curl her lips into a growl, to tell him to leave; a stinging memory of the last real conversation they had before all of this, the fact that he hadn't been there—
But she doesn't. She still needed him.
Moss. He'd seen her. Wren looks to him with glass eyes. We were too late.
She hadn't known her, not really, not at all. But Moss had been gamma before her; Moss was someone the Creek looked to with respect, even in the final months of her life when she hadn't been well. For a second, Wren wondered if this was a long time coming and they'd all turned a blind eye.
But there was no use for what-ifs, were there?
He asks if she needs something for the pain, and she quietly shakes her head no. It's... bearable, she tries to smile, tries to imply that she can handle it, that she is far from weak, and yet it falls short; her smile wavers and her eyes drop down to her paws, still flecked with dried mud.

What happened?

She swallows, dryly.
Friday morning, I heard a distress call that came from the... the marsh. I think it was Eshe. I found her and Mae there with, with Moss and these-- these two strangers. A man and a woman. I don't know either of 'em, never seen 'em before. They were playing fuckin' hot potato with Moss's baby. a shudder; she clears her throat. Mae, Mae got ahold of the baby and she-- she tried to escape, with it, and then the fuckin' dude lunged at her. At Mae. So I... I told Eshe to, to protect her, get her home, and to get someone to put the Creek on lockdown, and I... snapped at him. The guy. To try and fend him off. He just-- he tore into me. Nothing I did made him back off. I tried to tell him who we were, who-- who that baby belonged to, but I don't know if he even heard me. Or cared. shame ripples through every word that falls from her mouth. At some point, he gave up and limped away, and... god, we almost killed each other. I thought I woulda had to, he just-- he just didn't stop, at some point, she'd absentmindedly sought to hold his paw; a shaken, loose grip upon his wrist. and I hate myself for it. I-I don't know who or where he is or if he's still alive, or if he knew that other-- the woman. I don't know. I'm so sorry.

He praises her. He's praising her?
I did what I could, she murmurs, a hint of soft warmth to her haggard eyes; I tried-- I tried so hard, to protect her and Mae, and the baby. through the cracks and quivers of her voice, her tone remains humble. She did not feel like a protector, nor a warrior. I-I think we should have a proper memorial for Moss. I didn't know her, so I don't-- I don't wanna impose myself where I don't belong. But I know how important she was to you. And the Creek.
Kvarsheim. So that's where they were. I'll go with you, her tongue passes over her lower lip. I can't fuckin' stand being bedbound, man, I feel... useless. And I want-- I wanna help. You and Arric have so much on your shoulders, she pleads, prying at him with a gaze that glitters with a fire; dimmed, but not yet stomped out. If she was to virtually be Moss's successor, she needed to go. She needed to be better. She thinks of her conversation with Arric, of her ambassadorship and the potential of becoming beta alongside him. But how was she to do any of that if all she did was sit and wait to heal? please.
Silvertongue. Her stomach twists. I'll... I'll visit her soon. Go to Riverclan for a little once I know the Creek is stable. I don't want to-- to burden her. With this. She doesn't need that. And I can't bring myself to leave right now. Swiftcurrent needed her, right?

Moss saved his life, once. A twisting feeling erupts within her chest; he wouldn't let her go to Kvarsheim, and there was no use in arguing. Akavir, one paw reaches outward, hoping to reach his shoulder or his cheek. at least let me do something. Give yourself-- let yourself grieve, if you need to. You and Arric are not on your own, you have me.
He was right. She could barely move without a groan and she hated it. Moss was dead. Arric was growing weary; irritable. Eshe overworked herself, threw herself at every possible problem, and she could not possibly do everything herself.
The Creek, if you asked Wren, was in shambles. And there was so little she could do about it.
When I'm better, she hesitates, even if only briefly; I wanna be good for something. I talked to Arric about, like, becoming an ambassador. For Swiftcurrent. Maybe taking up a beta position alongside him one day. she swallows again, sucking in a shallow, faltering breath. I know I'm-- I'm not much. But you have no idea how much this pack means to me. How much-- how much you mean to me. and she meant it, even as her voice grew hoarse with strain and her eyes grew tired the more she kept them open. But she didn't push it.
He talks of the memorial, and the side of her face presses against the wall of her den as she listens to the warm baritone of his voice. At the comment about the patrols, a puff of dry air comes from her nostrils. You'd do that for me? she supposed it wasn't just her; Mae, the orphan; but he said her. Her eyelashes bat in an attempt at sardonic playfulness, a smile flashing. Wow, would yah look at that. My knight in shining armor.

She's proven her worth in his eyes. What a blessing to have such words fall upon her ears, words that convince her, just for a moment, that she had been wrong about herself. She thought to take such a statement and hold it close to her chest as if she may lose it.
You make it sound so easy, she quips, gravel laced deeply and sitting low in her throat. but I'm tryin' here.
And deep down, Akavir had carved his own niche within her. A piece of her reserved for him and him alone, a home he'd dug with is bare hands and now laid in. Something that only existed between them and something she'd never speak aloud to anyone.
He rolls with her punch and looks to her with a gaze that melts her core. Her stomach twists with a feeling she herself could not put a finger on. Of course he would. You're a good guy, Akavir, a low purr as her eyes dart across the den walls; anywhere, anywhere but him. I'm lucky to have you.
He pulls back from her touch and she does not seek to replace it. Instead, she eases fully onto her side, tucking her legs close to her chest with a series of hisses and grumbles. There were very few ways to get comfortable while reeling with pain.
Just in case, her eyes flutter closed as the skin of her nose scrunches; a wince, as she tries to contort her limbs in a way that won't send fire shooting up into her spine. the woman was a... uh... god, maybe a coyote? That's what she looked like. She didn't attack anybody as far as I know, but I think she was an accomplice of that dude's. or maybe not. She didn't know. A-and the guy. The one who did this. He was this... like, he looked like he rolled in a dust bath. Dark browns and greys and blacks. About-- about my age, I think. a swallow, as her tongue runs over her lips in a desperate attempt at moistening them. I'd know 'em.

I'm not preening, smartass, her face scrunches as her expression contorts into something like a dimly lit smile. you just doubt yourself.
Maybe she should take a page from her own book.
He promises to find them and Wren cannot help but feel an itch of dread beneath her skin. What would they do if they were discovered? What would she say if she saw their faces again? How would she be able to contain the bitter red fury that surged at the very thought—
No, I think I'm okay, but thanks. she lets out a chuff as her tail bristles and flicks, covering now her heels.
And she saw it. She saw it when that flicker of cadmium rested upon her lips. Decidedly, now, she wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep; to pretend as if she wasn't boiling hot and frigid, to pretend as if she didn't ache in body and mind.
Try not to worry too much about me, eh, ragazzone? You've got enough on your plate. I'll live. and she would; she would.