Sleeping Dragon i suggest next time try feeding me to dragons

Movement doesn’t seem to play a big role in the wound, unless she moves her head more than a few inches to either side. Thuringwethil plays with her range a little and feels her skin pull too much when she looks too far to her right and easily returns back to a normal, stoic position. It won’t likely interfere too much with the way things are and in a day or two it’ll be completely scabbed over and nothing but a small scar she won’t see in the long run. She finds herself much more interested in the wound she left him.

“Yes,” she says, slowly turning her head toward Wildfire once she’s spoken. She grew up learning both tongues and speaking interchangeably occurs once in a while. Hearing Saria speak one and transition into another—even if she doesn’t think much of it then—isn’t enough to throw her off. To Wildfire, whom might not understand, might be confusing. The concern Thuringwethil puts off for herself, rather than an interest in her language, lest she might have explained more.

Instead, she shifts and leans against the side of the cave near the opening she sits, and watches for Saria’s return.

“She had been one of the main healers in Seageda. She patched me up after the conclave,” she says, recollecting the blur of moments leading up to when she actually could receive care from someone other than herself that cold, cold night.