Ghost Lion Crag What fresh hell is this

She was on the precipice of sleep when suddenly there was another beside her, and in a moment she was pushing to her feet, pain as she disturbed old wounds. But then she recognized the scent of Malice, and her once, and she relaxed again, gaze, though dulled, sweeping to her sister's face. Her whispered words brought to ease the relentless tension and unease the woman felt, and she breathed the smallest sigh of relief.

For another moment she was silent then her voice, hoarse and soft, cracked the sience. "Nemesis...the Brotherhood...do not worry." She breathed, voice breaking in spots and but a whisper. She was so tired, she realized for about the hundredth time, yet she was torn from rest by the fact that she must return to Arthendal, back home. 

As if to certify her words she gently nudged her Lady's shoulder, breathing another sigh as she did so. Her pain did not abate, it had not since the fight and then the travel, yet she had become acostumed to it now.