Silver Moraine all the world you roam turns you into stone

tiny pp, lmk if it's not okayy

In time, he returns; by now she's slightly zoned out, and it takes her a moment to register his presence again. As he speaks, a realization strikes her — her usual wit has been dulled, much as she's trying to pretend otherwise. So she nods slightly, letting him apply the moss to her. If her wounds sting a bit more from his clumsy work, she hardly notices, and she doesn't mind anyway.
She knows what herbs she needs, but before she can force the words from her lips she's distracted by Aditya's questions. To the first, she nods, a dark expression briefly passing over her features — to the second, she shakes her head slowly. I left. They won't be looking for me, She tells him, voice soft, and leaves it there; he's done nothing to offend her, but she doesn't owe any explanation. And if he's perceptive (though men never are) he'll know regardless.
She pauses, fully registering her situation — she's badly wounded. Aditya is — taking her somewhere? Helping her. Why can't I think clearly? He touches a particularly sore place, then, and she winces slightly, suddenly brought back to reality. It seems I owe you now, She says without thinking; this is far more than he'd ever owed her. The thought grips her like icy talons, but she keeps the emotion from her expression. She wants to tell him to leave, to let her fend for herself or die trying. Instead, she sucks in a breath and says, Thank you.