In a glass case of emotion

Velox was recovering, but not at the rate she would have most liked. She left her den daily now, and could go farther and farther each day, but it was never far enough to do any good for herself. Dawa and Zombie were still very much needed to feed her from the caches, and she was quite frankly tired of drinking from the stagnant, frost-melt that formed in small pools and kept the ground wet in most places at the back of her dank densite. Today, she decided though, would be different...

It wasn't, however, and she wound up reopening a gash on her shoulder by trying to exercise her now-constantly stiff muscles. She was back in her den for several hours, craning painfully to lick her own wound before falling into a fitful, unhappy sleep.

When she woke again, it was nearing midnight, and the moon was nigh on another descent before she thought to move again. Dawa was presumably somewhere else for the night, so Velox picked herself up and began hopping gingerly forward on three legs, ignoring the less-painful sting at her shoulder as the wounded flesh flexed. She emerged into the moonlit Vale, but did not stop in the clearing to rest as she usually did—she pressed on, slowly and cautious of her other, healing wounds, as she made her way on her own.

The uselessness she felt threatened to consume her, so Velox eagerly pressed on, wanting to prove something, anything to herself. She followed her keen nose to fresh water, soon able to hear the constant gurgling of a winding stream when she was close enough. She attempted to pick up her pace but only ended up stumbling several times before slowing again. By the time she reached the thin creek, she was winded and sore, but immensely proud of her trip. She crouched—mindful of her hind leg—and took a long, refreshing drink with the moon's pale face smiling on her glowing-silver back.