Wheeling Gull Isle a fájdalom a harag

someone she hasn't met, maybe?

erzsébet had bathed the tender mangled flesh of her ear and cheek in the brine with more care than she had tended the torn places between her thighs. however, she was forced to accept the grim reality that her ear would be notched, and she would bear a small scar upon her face, a direct blow to her vanity. in the months to come, it would fade into almost-obscurity, only visible as a silvery line across her high cheekbone, but for now it raised itself up out of the pale, velveteen fur of her face, twisted and an ugly maroon. 

she had not seen fehér in some time, but comforted herself with the belief that the pale woman was only marauding on the coast as she often did. the handmaiden would return. had she the slightest knowledge of the handover that would transpire between ferahgo and the man from the coastal pack, erzsébet would have found herself bereft of sense.

as it was, she was blissfully -- relatively -- unaware of what would take place. 

the countess let out a hiss at the sting of the saltwater as she lowered her haunches again into a shallow tidepool along the edge of the ship. her eyes cut 'round then, hoping her discomfort had not been seen and if it had, daring that wolf to let his eyes linger upon her. erzsébet wondered coldly if the captain had bragged of his exploits to anyone, then decided it did not matter. when she had finished her soak, the hungarian gingerly moved along the shoreline, searching for a crab or a fish to devour.