Dawnlark Plains The silver apples of the moon

Saena skittered backward as Indra lurched and gagged, but within moments she swept forward again. What the hell? was the pervading thought of the moment as she sniffed and inspected her heaving daughter, but she was at a total loss for what might be ailing Indra. She'd never shown an interest in plants, so their effects were well beyond Saena's ability to understand. Helplessness gripped her as her daughter sagged, and she pressed near in an effort to keep her coherent, but she failed. Indra mumbled and Saena said, "yes, baby, yes," but before she could ask again what happened, Indra passed out cold.

"No, no, no," moaned Saena as she lapped at her daughter's face, utterly heedless of the danger to her own self. If Indra's affliction was a disease, she would be guaranteed to catch it. Luckily for her it was not. "Indra," she breathed into her daughter's ear as she jostled her, attempting to rouse her. When it didn't work, Saena rose to her feet and did the only thing she could think to do: she snagged the red-haired child's nape in her teeth and began to drag her away from the puddle, away from the plains, and away from Larksong Grotto.

She was helpless to do anything for Indra right now unless the girl woke up again, but she knew she wanted Indra in the safety and security of Duskvale. If she had to drag her the entire way, so be it.