The war is over

Along with the others, Nesaea followed, her head bowed and eyes flicking up only to periodically check where Leucothoe was. The gash under her left eye stung as the wind blew against it, and the punctures on her neck — while not life-threatning — throbbed painfully. She wasn't too worse for wear, however, compared to the others of the mob who woefully made their way back into the Sound. As they came upon the comforting sight of the sea, the ragged sirens and the single consort (Nesaea was unaware that they had lost one to the Duskfire wolves) all seemed to simply collapse in exhaustion.

The silver girl hung back, keeping the blood-stained side of her face hidden from view. While she knew they couldn't care less about appearances at the moment — for they all looked as bad as each other — she couldn't bare to face the other sirens with her face in such a state. The sound of weak and shaky laughter caused her to glance up, looking over to where Wynter and Leucothoe stood over the rangy consort. He seemed to have taken the most damage, especially his leg which hung limply as he explained to her sister how to fix it back into place. Despite his condition being most likely the worst of them all, why they were helping the male first caused Nesaea's eyes to considerably darken, and she stalked past them towards the white-furred siren who lay within the shallows of the ocean.

She would have gone to the Matriarch first, however she had withdrawn, sitting a ways from the battered group, seemingly introspective. Either battling with the pain of her wounds or their failure she couldn't be sure, but Nesaea decided to leave her be for the moment. Drawing up beside Phantom, the youth nudged her awake with her muzzle, leaving a faint print of her own blood upon the siren's white fur. She stared at it sombrely for a moment before speaking, "Do not sleep." She had about as much training in healing as Leucothoe, but knew it was never wise to sleep after losing large amounts of blood.